Saying goodbye to Harry

There is nothing quite like an ending.
Harry Potter, the buzz about town – around the world really – is over. There will be no more midnight launch parties at bookstores, no more costumed crowds of people waiting for a Harry Potter book. This is it; this is the end.
Endings make us think, wistfully, of beginnings. Without the end, the beginning would have no meaning. Without the final battle, the others seem worthless. When I first read “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone,” I thought that this would just be a children’s story, a lovely romp through a magical England rife with creatures and spells blatantly stolen from classical myth. I did not expect to become enchanted.
The Harry Potter saga, it must be admitted, is not exactly the stuff of Shakespeare. It is not as enduring as the classics from which Rowling took much of her inspiration. It will not be remembered in 50 years for being extraordinarily well written.
It will, however, be remembered for what it caused. Because of Harry Potter, young people were brought back to the joys of reading. Publishers actually began to print longer books for children, since Rowling proved that young people could read long books. The fantasy genre for children received a surge of support. Harry Potter is the godfather of fantasty characters Bartimaeus and Eragon. He reminded people of Diana Wynne Jones, Tamora Peirce, and Philp Pullman. In a way, Harry Potter is like the gateway drug of the literary world, leading to deeper and darker novels beyond.
This ending is not an ending for all of them. It will not end the surge of book sales. It will not end the magic.
All it really finishes is Harry Potter.
I’m not going to go into details about the book. For one thing, Rowling specifically requested – almost begged – that no one leak details of the plot. I agree with her. Nothing can kill the magic, except already knowing what is going to happen. To tell would be to spoil it all for someone else. It would be almost obscene.
What I will say is that she did it. Rowling managed to tie up everything, all the loose ends. And, thankfully, she did it well. It is and ending I can live with, be happy with. I do not pine for more, nor do I feel cheated. It is the perfect ending for such an influential and magical series.
I’m 17, making me the same age as Harry is throughout most of the final book. Once, I overheard my sister saying, at the age of 15, that she felt like she was getting older, until she realized that she was the same age as Harry Potter. There is some truth in this. It is strangely both embarrassing and humbling to be the same age as the Boy Who Lived. And yet, I wouldn’t have it any other way. In a way, I’ve grown up with Harry, along with the other millions of people who have followed the story. And now it is time to say goodbye and explore the other realms that Harry has opened up for us all.