September 12, 2007
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows sits idly on top of my desk, where it hasn’t moved since the day I was given it nearly a month ago. Unlike most people, I didn’t start it straight away because I was in the middle of A Tale of Two Cities at that time, and I wanted to finish it before moving on to another book (no small feat).
But, now that A Tale of Two Cities is hauntingly behind me, I can’t quite bring myself to pick up Harry Potter. It’s not that I don’t want to read it, because I do. I’ve heard great things about it. And, the Harry Potter series has consistently entertained me possibly more than any other book series.
But, starting Book VII will kind of be the beginning of the end. And I know that when I do finally start it, I’ll go completely crazy like I have with all of the books and finish it in no time at all. After that, I will never read a new Harry Potter book again. It’s something I want to savor. So, while I’m very excited to read it, I’m also not in a huge rush.
On the other hand, the fear of spoilers pushes me to read it sooner rather than later, because I know the longer I wait, the more likely someone will accidentally (or purposefully) let something pivotal slip, which would seriously be the worst thing.
Spoiler-free comments, please.
January 22, 2007
I love Pride & Prejudice. It’s one of those half proud, half shameful confessions. The “man” in me finds it offensive and doesn’t know what to do about it. The other, admittedly stronger part of me, however, recognizes it as a respectable part of who I am. So, I am in a quandary.
This particular little identity crisis started a few days ago. I got the super-long, super-awesome 1995 BBC Mini-Series for Christmas, and finally watched it over the course of nearly all of last week. The issue as a whole, though, started when I read the book early last year, and discovered to my delight and horror that it was one of my favorite books that I’ve ever read. As I read it through, I found myself anxiously uneasy. I hadn’t ever seen any adaptation of it (except Wishbone), but I knew that Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth got together at the end. Yet, I would spent the better half of entire afternoons reading it, trying to get myself closer to Darcy and Elizabeth’s eventual union as fast as possible. It was torture. And I’m not sure if I was tortured more by the anxiousness that Austen’s incredible story and writing style were inflicting on me, or by the mere fact that it was torturing me so.
Fast-forward to this time last week, and I decided to finally start the five-hour journey that was watching the British mini-series. And, as I watched it, I was plagued by the same uneasiness. It was just two hours in, and I was already fidgeting around, desperately wanting Darcy and Elizabeth to just hook up and get it over with. But, that would completely defeat the genius of the story and drop it from “brilliant period romance” to “typical 21st century romance.” Couple all of this with me listening to the soundtrack to the almost equally as excellent 2005 movie version of the book at work this past week and you can probably imagine how infused in my brain “Pride & Prejudice” really is.
My man-points have dropped to a dangerous low.