In the late afternoon yesterday, when the temperature had cooled to a 103 or so, I went for a short neighborhood walk. Dark paved roads, pale cement sidewalks, high cinderblock walls, gravel yards the color of dried-blood, tan stucco houses; occasionally a small desert tree made a dollop of faded green in the muted landscape. You can see the reason for Las Vegas’ bright famous signs.
Not that I’m complaining, or much. It’s beautiful here, in a desert-y, oven-y way.
Most of the day I spent inside reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. At lunch I paused to watch Team America, a film I’d never seen. America, Fuck yeah! Peyton Manning was home with me, most of the time supine on the cool tile by the front door; but when I went into a different room he got up and followed and we chatted amicably. We went out to the backyard for a short time, but while I sat in the shade reading, Peyton Manning insisted on laying down in the full sun, on patio stones I found too hot to walk on. I tried to get him to move into the shade with me but he saw no point. So before long I took us both back inside, worried for his health.
Alix and I had started listening to the Harry Potter on the way out to Idaho. We got through about a third of the book, but then she flew home with the cds, because she can’t be separated from her Harry Potter and I understand that. When I arrived here at Rob’s I found the print book on a shelf and took it down and started reading. And while I have some reservations about Rowling’s writing, the plot pulled me right along and by the end of my second day here in Vegas I’d finished the book, because why else does one come to Las Vegas but to sit alone inside a quiet house with a dog and two cats and read all day?
After I finished the book I felt worked over, emotionally exhausted, and that’s when I went for my walk, because I wanted to think about what I thought about the book.
The book’s theology is a bit muddled, I think. There’s an afterlife, apparently, occasionally someone says “Thank god!”, and they celebrate Christmas, but there’s never, as far as I can remember, mention of a deity. I get that a fully fleshed out religion would have required substantial digression, but still, I wanted to know how the story’s quasi-Christianity fit into the Wizarding experience.....
Harry is a Christ-figure, that’s clear enough, but one who suits a modern sensibility, in particular the strong desire for a happy ending: he sacrifices for the good of others, but he doesn’t have to die, only to be willing to die. Christ is a loner in the end, but Harry gets the girl.
And three children, a family. And family is what it seems to me the books are mostly about, finally. Yes, it’s a story of youthful prowess and independence, like most children’s literature, but more I think it’s a story of parents and children. It’s about what kids want from parents: reassurance and love and support. Harry, Voldemort, and Snape are all more or less parentless, and they struggle accordingly. But Harry is saved by that one year of parental devotion, Snape by his love for Lily, while Voldemort apparently never got a hug and so turned out mean. All you need is love.
And those moments when love, especially the love of parents for children, is expressed, those are the parts of the book that choked me up: Mrs. Weasley’s grief over Fred’s death, Neville’s grandmother’s pride in his feats in the last battle, Xenophilius Lovegood’s fear for his captured daughter Luna, and the scene at the very end when Harry reassures his anxious young son, Albus, about the imminent Sorting at Hogwarts. I’m getting all watery-eyed just thinking about it....
When I got back from my walk Rob was home, and he guided me through my first Wii experience. I took the “Joe” avatar, despite the fact that I don’t wear glasses or a goatee. In tennis I flayed away like an idiot, both on screen and off. Rob and I, as doubles partner, were beaten in each game we played. Turning to golf, I did a little better—shooting par on my first hole, while Rob triple bogeyed. Thanks, Joe.
We went off for take-out from Archi’s Thai Bistro a couple strip malls down the road. Back at the house we filled our plates and sat down on the couch to watch the tv. Peyton Manning stood beside the coffee table as we ate, next to me with his muzzle inches from my plate, garnishing the pad thai and curry with dog breath. I pushed him away and soon he lay down, his demeanor suggesting that he hadn’t really expected me to share anyway.
Rob and I stayed up late watching one episode after another of the fourth season of West Wing.
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