Sitting on the Metaphorical Shelf: My Experience Reading Harry Potter

     Over fifteen years ago, in 2003, my father-in-law, Jay Pace, put a copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone in my hands. "Read this," he said. "I don't usually like this kind of book, but it was really entertaining." I put it aside, thinking I would, perhaps, read it at some point. J.K. Rowling published the book in 1997, the year I graduated from college and started teaching. That year, I confess, I was just trying to keep my head above water in my classroom. I read only the books I was teaching; that's really all I had time for after staying up long hours writing lesson plans, grading papers, and learning the art of adulting.  I remember students racing to read the series once it became an international sensation, but it didn't seem to captivate my attention. Even when my father-in-law--someone I respected as a person and a writer in his own merit--placed the book in my hands, I struggled to crack it open. In 2004, my father-in-law passed away unexpectedly, a year after he lent me the book. I still hadn't read it and just couldn't seem to bring myself to do so.

Jay Pace, my father-in-law, posing with The Herald Progress at the Ashland train station

       I always imagined I would read the Harry Potter series with my kids. Somehow, though, we never did; like me, they were never interested in the books. I watched as their friends dove into the culture and magic of Harry Potter. I took my kids to birthday parties bearing the theme, and so many of their friends have worn Harry Potter Halloween costumes. And yet, I still hadn't picked up the book. Over the years, I've had students marvel that I was an English teacher and hadn't read those books. "I just don't like that kind of book," I would tell them. I've had students who were required to read J.K. Rowling's work in college classes. One student even wrote her extended essay--a 1600 word essay students are required to write if they are pursuing the IB diploma--on Harry Potter and Shakespeare. I was intrigued by the topic, but I still hadn't picked up the book. At an elementary school book fair this winter, my son's principal approached me, also amazed that I hadn't read Harry Potter. After her encouragement, I bought Jack his own copy, and we were going to read it together. Yet, I never picked up the book; neither did my son.

      I'm not sure what made me make excuses for not reading Harry Potter for so long. Perhaps it was too mainstream. Perhaps it was knowing I wouldn't like it because I tend to like more realistic fiction. Perhaps it was the fact that if I read the first one, I would be committed to reading the entire series. Perhaps it was because it would make me remember my father-in-law, wishing he was here so that I could have discussed the book with him. Whatever it was, those excuses evaporated this year, as I found myself making a promise to one student I taught that I would read the book. I volunteered to supervise the Atlee Book Club this year, and the books they had selected for the final meeting were all books that I had read. "You could read Harry Potter, Mrs. Pace!" one of my students said, smiling. I didn't know how to tell her that I was scared to read that book--that I thought it would be too hard  personally. So, I smiled and told her I would. At her graduation I told her I had read three--no, not three of the books in the series--three chapters. I had started and made a promise to really read it over the summer and to give her a report.

     Like most English teachers, I have a pile of books to read this summer; I adore the unencumbered time this part of the year affords me to read. Harry Potter was carefully placed at the bottom of the stack--until I saw Toy Story 4. I promise not to give any spoilers to the movie in case you will go see it, but there was a line in that movie that stopped me in my tracks: "If you sit on a shelf the rest of your life, you'll never find out." Woody says this in the movie to one of the toys, encouraging her to take action. For fifteen years, I had left Harry Potter on both the literal and metaphorical shelf. I didn't know what I was missing. So, that afternoon, I stopped sitting on the shelf, moved Harry Potter to the top of my pile, and started reading.

     I learned much from reading Harry Potter this first week of summer. For one, I learned that I actually like the book. Dumbledore was the character who I admired most because of his sensibility and wisdom. I loved that  Hermione seemed so real because she was a rules follower who occasionally didn't follow the rules and found Harry to be an innately humble hero. Towards the end of the book, Dumbledore states, "It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live" (Rowling 214). I marveled at how much that sentence resonates with the line from Toy Story 4. Suddenly, Harry Potter motivated me in ways I never thought it would.

     I will admit, I still don't love the fantasy genre as a whole, but what I got out of reading Harry Potter was far more important. I learned that I can't make excuses for things that might seem difficult or out of reach. I can't put things off for a future date. I can't dream of what I want my life to be like; I've got to take action. I can't sit on the shelf for the rest of my life. When my father-in-law was living, he was the editor of the Herald Progress, a community newspaper that served much of Hanover County. A few times, Jay asked me to write an editorial for him. I was scared to do it in much the same way that I was scared to read Harry Potter after he died. I never did write for him. He would have loved the blog I started writing three years ago, though. This summer, I encourage you to do one thing that you've been putting off. Let if shift your perspective or change you positively. Let it help you grow as a person.

      Sadly, I never got to discuss  Harry Potter with my father-in-law, but I now know that's okay. For had I read this book when he asked me to read it, I most certainly would not have gained this perspective. I think I still might be sitting on that metaphorical shelf, forgetting to live--and what a rather unfortunate life that would be.