Harry Potter Things We Wish Really Existed

"Ron, you're making it snow," said Hermione patiently, grabbing his wrist and redirecting his wand away from the ceiling from which, sure enough, large white flakes had started to fall. - Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (Harry Potter #06), page 514 (US Version)

Just like Hermione, we're sick of snow too. If only we could just ask Ron to make it stop... Or, you know, modify the bad behavior everyone begins to display as the winter wears on. Trudging through the narrow snow-clogged streets only to have a perfectly-normal-looking woman decide her backpack belonged in our lap on the subway and then become enraged when we suggested she hold it herself (not.making.this.up), we began to wish some of J.K. Rowling's inventions were real. (We're resisting suggesting any of the Death Eaters' curses were real, but really, some fellow subway riders apparently need to be scared into realizing the trains do not run solely for them.)

APPARITION
Yeah, OK, Harry thinks apparition is uncomfortable. He thinks it's suffocating and it does risk loss of small appendages. But when it goes well, it's more or less immediate. If he had to rely to public transportation to fight Voldemort, he'd probably enjoy apparition a bit more. And if we could apparate,  our feet would be much drier upon arrival at work - or, for that matter, our arrival anywhere in the world, because we wouldn't be limited to traveling places the subway goes.

Plus, despite Harry's complaints, we bet we'd arrive everywhere happier. Because as long as all our limbs showed up at our destinations, no one along the way would be, say, cleaning their ears (seen on the subway), or deciding that our laps were good seats for their belongings (seriously, have people been taking manner classes from Umbridge?).


MUFFLIATO
Who doesn't hate winter at this point? Everyone has wet feet, a runny nose, and really would rather snack all day rather than work. Well, our co-workers have lately brought their bad behaviors to work. One spends the day alternatively chewing bag after noisy bag of Cheetos with his mouth open and making bodily noises we wouldn't be surprised to hear coming out of an angry elephant. Another coworker has decided to take out her anger at the winter by attacking her keyboard with each furious keystroke into G-Chat (that is, when she isn't busy calling friends and families to complain). It's probably a good thing that our workplaces don't use memo-owls: loud typing probably doesn't hold a candle to squawking owls but we still think a well-placed muffliato spell would be helpful.
 

It was good enough to keep Harry and Hermione's tent-bound conversations from Death-Eaters' ears through most of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Harry Potter #07). We certainly think that a well-placed muffilato would make us more productive at work!
And, if that doesn't work, we could always be in the market for a VANISHING CABINET!

What exists in Harry's world you wish were real?

Autistic Narrators, Day Three: Marcelo in the Real World

Without planning for it to be, this week has somehow become devoted to autistic narrators in recent fiction. I'm not sure I can think of another example after today, but I do have one more recommendation in this sub-sub-genre: Marcelo in the Real World.

Marcelo is called autistic because the specialists he's seen all his childhood can't think of a better diagnosis. He's really only interested in pursuing activities that fit into his hobbies, and his hobbies narrowly revolve around music. But he's about to graduate from high school and his father wants him to have experience getting along in the real world.

Almost more sheltered than autistic, Marcelo comes of age assisting his father's law firm for the summer. Marcelo's real world matches the real one. Because he views the world through a narrow lens, the dishonesty of some co-workers, sexual appeal of women, and duplicity of his family is a unique revelation to him. Marcelo is a gentle introduction to the thinking of an autistic person, and an interesting one.

Autistic & Unreliable Narrators, Day 2: Curious Incident of The Dog in the Nighttime

Yesterday's post was about a heavy-handed Asperger's narrator. Want to read a good exploration of autism? In The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time the main character just happens to be autistic. Unlike Mockingbird's main character, there's a plot beyond the autism aspect.

Of course, through his autism, Christopher John Francis Boone - Curious Incident's protagonist - sees the world differently. Emotions confuse him so he still buys wholeheartedly into his father's lies, even at age 15. The dead neighbor's dog is an injustice in his highly logical world (the chapters are numbered in chronological prime numbers because he likes math). But because he loves Sherlock Holmes, Christopher wants to solve a mystery: why did the neighbor's dog die? Because the book starts as a mystery with an unusual narrator (and it is now said that Sherlock Holmes himself would be diagnosed with a form of high-functioning autism), it is wonderful. The author isn't trying to make a point about autism. His autistic narrator has a journey to explore. His youth and sheltered world-view make that journey unique. Curious Incident is an unusual hybrid: coming-of-age mystery. And it is highly recommended.

Autistic & Unreliable Narrators: Mockingbird

Mockingbird won the National Book Award. My reaction? Strongly negative. This is an "issues" book gone over the deep-end. Supposedly we're reading about an Asperger's elementary-school girl dealing with her brother's murder during a middle-school-shooting.  That's a lot to pack into a short book: 224 short pages with large print, including an author's note that's partially diary entry, mostly mea culpa. (The more I think about the book, the more I find fault.)

That the narrator's mother is dead barely warrants more than a mention. Autistic and Asperger's children may have trouble communicating their connections to close family, but that doesn't mean they don't value them. The young narrator is practically socipathic in her lack of emotion connected to her dead mother. Plus, geez: a murdered brother, dead mother, and "Asperger's"? Mockingbird suffers from an overload of after-school-special sentimentality.

Perhaps calling a disabled narrator unreliable is unfair, but it certainly limits readers' view of the full story. Combining that with a tough issue for readers of any age, let alone very young ones, could be very interesting. But there is no depth to the book: there's too much to explore and then the narrator's disability is much more severe than a diagnosis of Asperger's allows. She behaves much more like a moderately-functioning autistic child. I'd like to know how this discrepancy fits with the author's note that her own daughter has Asperger's. Who misunderstands whom?

Mockingbird struck me as a book that got accolades because it is daring: Asperger's and school-shootings are rarely seen in children's literature. But just being first to the scene is not enough to make something wonderful.

Agree? Disagree? Whatever your thoughts, we'd like to hear them in the comments.

Skippy Dies

Every best-of, year-end list seemed to include Skippy Dies. I've now tried twice to read it and failed twice. It's not bad! I'm just not compelled to keep reading it past page 100!

Boarding school stories typically are my favorite type of novel (I'm pretty sure my problems with Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Harry Potter #07) started with realizing Hogwarts was largely absent). Skippy is an angsty, dorky teenager - again, my favorite type of person, both fictional and real. There's a bit of mystery too: Skippy dies at the beginning, but why? The rest of the novel explores what led to his death.

So, those of you that are Skippy fans: can you please explain why I should keep reading? I want to love the book!

The Graveyard Book

I (Older Sister) happen to have a signed first edition of The Graveyard Book. Perhaps meeting Neil Gaiman himself was enough, or something (he drew me an illustration as part of his signature!), but it took me two years to finally get around to reading it; I don't really have a good reason for the delay. And of course, Graveyard Book won the Newbery award since. It's well deserved (though, frankly, I don't remember the other contenders that year; if there was controversy over the win, I don't know).

I really liked the story: an orphan is adopted and raised in a graveyard. Usually Neil Gaiman tends to write a little staidly for me: not enough atmospheric description or inclusion of emotions or deep inner thoughts. But I both read and liked this book. An author's note in the paperback explains that Graveyard Book came together as short stories that ended up linked together, ultimately forming the arc of a childhood. I appreciate the art of writing in a novel comprised of short stories contained in chapters (Jim the Boy comes to mind).

And the bits of history really kept my interest and are what have me still thinking about the book weeks later. What else happened on the bit of earth chosen as a graveyard? Romans and Celts lived in England - where Graveyard Book is set - far before Victorians and modern Brits did.

Little Sister also liked the book but perhaps not as much. She is of the opinion that the plot - an orphan is adopted into somewhat magical circumstances is overly reminiscent of Harry Potter (and perhaps she'll further explain her thoughts...hint, hint). Older Sister rarely reads fantasy; Little Sister frequently does. So we wonder: how many ways are there to tell a fantasy story about an orphan?

Room by Little Sister

Room: amazing book.  I can't recall being so invested in a character's fate within the span of one book.  Donoghue obviously thoroughly researched the topic and she artfully addresses the physical and psychological consequences of such extreme captivity, down to Jack's stunted visual development.  This is one of those books in which the characters seem so real that you find yourself wondering how they're faring now.

I would recommend this book to college psychology classes, all mothers, and anybody who loves to read and is interested in a story that is simultaneously heart pounding and heart wrenching.  Donoghue's novel will truly change the way you see the world.

Previously: Older Sister's review

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The Help

Yuck.  I don't understand the hype over The Help.  I didn't really like any of the characters and didn't really care what happened to them, because they were so unlikeable.  The premise of the book is interesting but the author didn't do a good job of instilling the sense of fear that the reader should feel for the characters.  I don't expect many authors to be as good as Harper Lee, who expertly conveys the constant unease and fear of racial issues through a young voice who doesn't quite understand how afraid she should be herself but.... there are subtle ways (without using violent grisly details) to project these integral pieces of novels, and ......It just doesn't happen in this book.

Even if I had liked this book, the very end would have completely changed my mind.  The last little forced quip, the imagined "kids say the darndest things", meant to be trite at best were just plain nauseating. The author's note was better written and better received than the entire novel.  The author should have just published that. - Younger Sister

Older Sister: Time and time again I've had this book recommended to me. I've still only read the author's note and thought it came across as a middle class white woman's belief that creating a fictional black protagonist completely eliminated any need for actual reflection on racism. The author is still fond of her black nanny, if I remember correctly. Without acknowledging that this nanny was paid to be nice to her, the author wishes she knew more about the nanny's life, but you know, not enough to put any effort into researching the woman's past. That white people weren't nice to black people just a few decades ago is not news. A better inquiry for thoughtful readers: What can we do about the lingering racism? Both sisters are of the opinion that a rather frothy novel does little to solve problems, and perhaps even contributes to them.