Rereading Harry Potter

I read the Harry Potter books as they came out. I lived in the Galapagos Islands where everything took forever to get to and somehow I was able to read them relatively shortly afterwards. I managed to get a copy of the first one, released in June 1997, around February 1999. I was 28. I read each book at least three times. The second immediately after the first. The third just before the next book would come out. In those early Harry Potter years, I travelled to Melbourne for a conference on lobsters and relatives and I went into a building that seemed – to me – how the Great Hall in Hogwarts would like that in a smaller version. I got the CD of the soundtrack.

I recommended who ever wanted to read something, to start with Harry Potter. Some took it as joke. Especially when the movies were coming out. Few understand while not all gave the books a go.

I think I made my point.

Now I am re reading them with my son Theo. He is 10 and has seen the movies. The first three. We are in Book 3. The Chamber of Secrets. One chapter a night. Sometimes after he falls sleep, I start reading the next chapter to keep remembering. And then I normally start wondering whether the movies are so well done that match the general idea of the book? Or our visual memories from watching the movies have created the movie characters as the real ones in the books. I cannot imagine a better Hermione. I could see her attitude in class with the hand flying above everyone’s head. I could perfectly picture her saying – “It’s LeviOsa, not LeviosA”. Ron with his Ron face. His family just matching the abbreviated description. Harry – his parents, too.

Nina just can’t put the books down. She told me that her favourite so far was The Goblet of Fire. I just told her to keep the small details handy. I wonder what she thinks now that she is in the Order of the Phoenix. She tells me how scared she is with the Forbidden Forest. She reads them in spare minutes in school. We talk about merpeople and dragon eggs. And it all started after we bought her a wand in the Harry Potter Theme Park in Orlando. She had not read the books, and I told her that if she wanted that wand, she will have to read the first three books of Harry Potter. She reluctantly agreed. After she finished Book 3 I told her she did not have to read anymore. Thank you very much. She told me ‘no way’. She is in Book 5.

If there is a book I really like, I prefer not to watch the movie. I have not watched “Like water for Chocolate” (although everyone tells me it is a good adaptation). I just don’t have the intention of watching it. Somehow the magic the books, the spells, the locations, Hogwarts and the candles floating in mid air, made me want to see how it was transcribed into film. So, still a bit despondent, I watched 7 out of the 8 movies. I did not see ‘The Chamber of Secrets’ for some unknown reason.

This time around, I am still finding out things neither the movie or previous times reading the book I had realised. And how that little piece fits together. I am so enjoying Harry Potter the fourth time around.

aquí, mashando...

Luego del almuerzo familiar salíamos a mashar en el jardín al frente de la casa. A veces en la de campo. Migrábamos como golondrinas buscando el calor de la tarde. A echarnos en el césped largo y picoso donde daba el sol. El olor del césped pisoteado en la algarabía de poner los ponchos, almohadones y casacas resaltaba la conexión con la tierra.  La jardinera cercana y sus rosas olorosas completaban la orquesta de olores.

"paula mashando" por graciela monsalve durán

Todos nos poníamos cabeza con cabeza. Hombro con hombro. Unos de espalda, la mayoría boca abajo. Unos dormían el sueño de los justos, otros asimilaban el calor de la tarde y los olores de la proximidad de la tierra, el resto entonaban la conversa propia del llacta. La tertulia empezaba con lo delicioso del almuerzo y poco a poco mutaba hacia el clima, el matrimonio del sobrino, la cosecha de julio y la siembra en octubre.

Los que estaban boca arriba jugaban a buscar formas en las nubes. Los que estaban boca abajo buscaban tréboles de cuatro hojas – como si fueran éstos receta para la felicidad. Con ahínco y perseverancia. Encontraban hormigas y arañas saltarinas. Saltamontes asustados. Los que hablaban buscaban emociones en los ojos de su interlocutor. Se veían claramente. Había conexión. Conexión con las nubes – el aire; los tréboles como un bosque lleno de fauna minúscula – la tierra; con nuestros seres queridos – el fuego, por el calor humano.  Hacíamos una tertulia cálida y llena de sentimientos.

Ahora, apenas al almuerzo termina con la una mano llevamos el plato a la cocina y con la otra revisamos el celular. La mirada fija en ese aparato frío y demandante. Ese que nos indica permanentemente que hay algo ahí - lejos - que es más importante que el calor humano cercano. Si no nos tropezamos es porque ya conocemos el camino. De memoria, por la práctica permanente. Es imperante ver qué pasó en el mundanal ruido durante nuestra ausencia cibernética. Esos breves momentos dónde dejamos de tener amigos virtuales para socializar con los reales. Con quiénes nos rodean y nos pueden dar un abrazo de esos apapachadores.

Ya no mashamos. Ya no nos miramos a los ojos con intención. Miramos a los ojos buscando una pausa minúscula que permita desviar nuestra mirada al celular. A esa lucecita que nos permite ausentarnos si bien estamos físicamente presentes. Ya no conocemos el olor del césped pisoteado en la algarabía. Ya no podemos discernir los olores de la jardinera cercana y sus rosas olorosas. Los celulares todavía no han logrado emular ese sentido. Y poco a poco nos vamos sumergiendo en una realidad virtual que nos conecta más con las máquinas y menos con los humanos. Creo que la solución podría estar en volver a mashar…