And this thing is the end of our collective childhood. What makes me so sure of this cutoff?
That would be the real end of the Harry Potter saga.
True, they're just movies, and true, I'd known the ending of the story for years, but there's no question that when those credits rolled after the epilogue, something was done. This story we'd all grown up on was at last done being told. Some of us are young enough that we were read the story at first. Some of us are old enough that we stooped to "children's books" to read this story that everyone else was talking about. I was personally above the stupid story about the nerdy kid who was actually a wizard-- until, that is, I actually read it. Wherever we were when it happened, The Boy Who Lived is the story of our childhood. Its the story of a child who was totally unremarkable being pushed forward into a big world that was alluring and unfamiliar. This world was a magnificent place, full of wonder and excitement, but not without danger. Truly in 2003, when I was reading of a faceless enemy attacking the home of the heroes I'd come to see as Us, when I read of parents unsure whether to send their children back to school in dark times, I couldn't help but realize that Order of the Phoenix was a story of my own time.
I saw an ordinary boy dragged by chance into the grandest adventure told in my lifetime, saw him grow as a hero and a person while he juggled exams and relationships, and finally saw him confront an enemy that literally was a part of himself. And the next thing you know, the three children I grew up with are adults. The credits closed to black and one thing was absolutely clear.
The mythology of my childhood was finished.
Now what are we supposed to do? We can't find a new legend like Harry Potter to throw our whole culture into-- such devotion and delusion are unbefitting people who have reached adulthood. We've lost the ability to be told a story.
And the music swells in minor, running helplessly down the slow strings of a violin. But all hope is not lost. Because, you see, when we become adults we may lose the ability to be held rapt by tales of magic. But we gain the ability to live our own high adventure. Children sit safe in their rooms and live vicariously through bedtime stories-- adults travel the world.
Do I honestly think actually just going somewhere in the real world is equal to the magic and adventure of the Hero's Journey of Harry Potter?
Without a doubt, yes.
There is mystery and wonder for lifetimes out here. Anyone who knows about what happens inside the Large Hadron Collider knows there is magic. If it's adventure you're after, take a trip to Komodo- the dragons there may not breathe fire, but they're much more likely to stalk you for days for a taste of your flesh.
So, class of '11, the point that (Hogwarts class of '11) I'm struggling to make without sounding like a graduation speaker is this:
My generation hasn't lost anything with the end of the Harry Potter saga. They were wonderful stories. And some day I will pass them on to children (or flush with pride some night when I catch my children reading Harry Potter sitting by their nightlight because I told them "lights out" an hour ago). But those stories are confined to the page, an imitation of a real adventure. There's real adventure out there to be had. Harry Potter has taught me a few things about how to meet that adventure, but I don't need yearn for his story- mine will be be real.
Have a look into the Pensieve for a moment. Eighty years before Harry Potter, in a time that had very little in common besides the popularity of round spectacles, there was another literary character who surged to popularity in the English-speaking world. Hopefully the longevity of this character says good things for the unforgettable Harry Potter, but it's what this character had to say for himself that I want to share with you now.
Let me live deep while I live; let me know the rich juices of red meat and stinging wine on my palate, the hot embrace of white arms, the mad exultation of battle when the blue blades flame and crimson, and I am content. Let teachers and priests and philosophers brood over questions of reality and illusion. I know this: if life is illusion, then I am no less an illusion, and being thus, the illusion is real to me. I live, I burn with life, I love, I slay, and am content.These words come from Robert E. Howard's character, Conan the Barbarian in 1934. I learned recently that this story is coming out as a new movie this year. I'm not surprised. The message here is clear, universal, and endlessly part of the human spirit: No story can be told that is greater than the experience of life.
And we only get one shot at that.
It's my turn to step into the night, with or without Dumbledore, and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure.
Jeff-Teacher
(I realize this was a little short on Korea-stories. Don't worry, the adventure continues next time as I'll tell you what Korean history has taught me about how I should live to become a legend.)
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