[spoiler alert: I have finally read some, but by no means all of Deathly Hallows, by this point. While I will take great pains to keep my impressions to events thus far as elliptical as possible, if like me you have been cutting yourself off from the outside world since its release to maintain a pure sphere of discovery, you may wish to read no further. And if you should need to check up on a character's name or background, on Wikipedia say, be warned that even as early as yesterday afternoon entries had been updated with details from book 7.]

About 12 hours after the arrival of Deathly Hallows here, with K finishing it first and my Prediction finally wrapped up, I started it for myself around 2am this morning. The rigors of the preparatory ritual having taken their toll, I made it through 8 chapters before stopping to sleep. Now it is some 16 hours later, and with the lawn cut and dinner served, I am finally preparing to settle in again for a proper focused reading. Yet that strange urge that has kept me writing of this series all week prompted me one last time to reflect on what may come. This, of course, will come of no surprise to t.n.g., who probably suspects my delaying gratification out of sheer habit.

To start, I have to express simply how much I am enjoying the book. Contrary to the experience of book 6, which was rather like swimming underneath an ice floe towards the next airhole, the story so far in book 7 has been just thrilling, chilling and rewarding even after only 8 chapters. The change in tone strikes me as a return to classic quest fantasy, worthy of the word ‘epic’ - a term I am sure to be the first to associate with…wait, no, it’s on the inside front cover. But truly, from terse inside flap to unprecedented flyleaf quotations, and on to the story itself, it feels that we have stepped up the drama and danger beyond all endured so far (cf. Serenity). And the dangers present are in far greater measure than I had expected, having underestimated the limits of the protection left at 4 Privet Drive and overestimated the solidity of the Ministry. We also get compensation in some tender ’shipping moments before launching into the quest proper, to gird us for what must lay ahead. And the heralding of Kingsley’s lynx at the Burrow came as if from Susan Cooper’s Dark Is Rising, another tale of children caught up in the prevailing struggle of Light and Dark (and I had forgotten that its Will Stanton began his quest (1) once he turned eleven, (2) that his quest was to discover Six Signs, and (3) was called the Seeker).

Next, as far as the Prediction holds so far, I would only mention that with the additional insight provided by Hermione’s research, I can now see how we may resolve the central conflict by an alternative avenue. The William Penn quote, however, still holds the course. I am very excited to see just how wrong I can be!

Finally, while grinding through the death march of the “Green Mile” (our back yard) with a mower hindered by a gimpy front wheel, the iPod Semuta IV fed my slightly hypnagogic state with the following apophenic morsels.

Morrissey’s “Irish Blood, English Heart” became translated immediately to the filkish “Wizard Blood, Muggle Heart” as sung by Harry:

Wizard blood, Muggle heart, this I’m made of
There is no-one on earth I’m afraid of
And no Ministry can buy or sell me

I’ve been dreaming of a time when
To be pureblood is not to be baneful
To be standing by the Muggle-borns not feeling
Shameful, racist or partial

Wizard blood, Muggle heart, this I’m made of
There is no-one on earth I’m afraid of
And I will die with both my hands untied

I’ve been dreaming of a time when
The Wizards are sick to death of part-human haters
And Death Eaters, and spit upon the name of Lord Voldemort
And denounce this pureblood line that still salute him
And will salute him forever

Next was Esthero’s “My Torture”, which contains lines like, ” I want you to stop disturbing my sleep / I want it to stop hurting so bad”…while echoed in the refrain from Garbage’s “Bleed Like Me”, we hear “You should see my scars.”

And last came the brief interlude to Sarah Nixey’s “Sing”:

There are at least two sides to every story.
There are songs that tell of the beginning, and some that come towards the end.
Some of these songs are true, and some tell lies.
One or two are eager for impossible romance.

And if there is a better description of the whole of fiction, well…it didn’t come up in my playlist, anyway.

Now, back to book 7, to revel in the last hours of an unknown End.