My Romance with Harry Potter, Part 1

Until the spring of 2001, I was only dimly aware of Harry Potter as a popular children's series that some people were trying to ban (I had no idea why). That all changed on the first day of class in the sophomore survey I was teaching--British Literature, 18th century - Present. As I was going over the syllabus for the semester, a young man in the back raised his hand.

"Is this the section of this course that's doing the Harry Potter books?" he wanted to know.

I was taken aback by the way he phrased the question--he seemed certain that somebody would be teaching Harry Potter. When I told him that, as far as I knew, J. K. Rowling wasn't on anybody's syllabus, he was absolutely crushed. "You mean nobody's teaching Harry Potter?" It was as if his world no longer had meaning.

When the class was over, the young man stopped on his way out the door to ask despairingly, "Haven't you ever read the Harry Potter books?" Behind him, another student paused to hear my confession that no, I hadn't. "Oh, you should read them," the young woman announced confidently. "They're hot-diggity."

Maybe I'm reading too much into this episode, but the fact remains: both students dropped my course.

After that, I had no choice. I had to read the books. I hit my local library and slunk my way through the children's section, feeling strangely guilty and conspicuous, like a child molester hanging around a school playground. I expected to be challenged at any minute--"What do you think you're doing, lady?"--so I made up an elaborate story about a sick kid at home who had begged me to bring him a book, any book, to while away his lonely hours. (I don't have any children.) When I reached the Rs, I grabbed the only Harry Potter book on the shelf (The Goblet of Fire) without even looking at it and fled to the adult section of the library, where I loaded up on Margaret Atwood and other "literary" writers to shore up my credentials as an intellectual.

I was feeling pretty good until I saw the librarian at the circulation desk. Studly-looking guy, earring, purple silk shirt. I just knew he was going to give me grief about Harry, and I handed over my books with dread in my heart. Studly Guy checked out my books without comment, but when he came to Harry Potter, he paused and looked up, just as I'd known he would. I readied my cover story, heartlessly giving my fictional son chicken pox and a broken leg.

"Now, have you read the first three?" Studly Guy asked, his voice concerned. "Because you're going to ruin it for yourself if you read these out of order."

Safe!