Pottered Out

A dear friend of mine told me yesterday that she was in the throes of Potter-mania brought on, of all things, by a visit to Hong Kong (don't ask!). She is apparently plowing through the books at the rate of over one a day, whilst simultaneously watching the movies. Since the next, and last, book of the series will be released in just about an hour and the world at large will be in throes of Potter-mania, this is my "Stop the world and I'll get off" moment. For you see, I am not a fan.

J. K. Rowling is a wonderful author and she has a created an universe as rich and detailed in its mythology and history as Middle Earth. And the analogy between Frodo and Harry are also fairly obvious. Ironically, the richness of the rendering of Harry's world is the primary reason why I am not a Harry Potter fan.

I read the first few Harry Potter books (through Goblet of Fire - I think the fourth in the series) and here's the truth (and if anyone ever quotes me on this, I will flat out deny it with a straight face):

The fourth book scared the bejesus out of me.

There, I said it. The fault, dear Brutus, lies not with the stars but with me. You see, when I started the series I was expecting a mix of Enid Blyton and Hardy Boys with maybe a little Bewitched thrown in. And the first two books were like that - you had Hogwarts instead of Mallory Towers, quidditch instead of lacrosse and the weird jelly beans instead of the tuck box. The whole Voldermort angle was the Hardy Boys part (in a Case Files sort of way).

But then the books started becoming darker and more serious and by the end of Goblet of Fire someone had lost their life and it was not fun and games anymore. I was disturbed and yes, scared at the ending of Goblets of Fire. This, in my mind, was not a book for children.

Yes, I know that the growing seriousness of each subsequent book is a progression - planned - and a reflection of an audience growing with each book and as such, beautifully written. But still, for reasons that I can't quite explain rationally, I found the books, especially the fourth one, rather disturbing (by design?).

Will the epic of Harry Potter be regarded one day on par with the epic of Frodo Braggins as a literary endeavor? Probably. In fact, I think it is already happening judging by the gushing review each new book receives. And the good news, at least from my perspective, is that in a few hours I will know - without having read the book - how it all ends.

And once I know for sure that Harry - and his gang - lives and Voldermort dies, maybe I'll read the other three books. For now, I am just going to cower under the bed.

"Wise Men Fish Here"

That sign, painted by John Held Jr., the famed illustrator of Life magazine covers and New Yorker cartoons, hung outside the Gotham Book Mart - a store opened by Frances Steloff in 1920 after having sold books from her window under another sign: "Interesting Books Selected Myself."

Over the next nearly nine decades, that sign was to become as much a New York landmark as Gotham Book Mart, a beacon to book lovers everywhere. Over it's lifetime, the store counted amongst its customers, W. H Auden, James Joyce, Norman Mailer, Anaïs Nin, J. D. Salinger, and William Saroyan. Allan Ginsberg and LeRoi Jones worked there and Tennessee Williams apparently didn't even last a day because he couldn't wrap packages!

Frances Steloff, who lived to be a 101, was a stalwart defender of writers' freedoms, selling the 'obscene' works of D. H. Lawrence and Henry Miller when they were banned in the US. She was one of the founders of the James Joyce Society and the Finnegan's Wake Society, which had it's home in the Gotham Book Mart.

The store, famous for its vast collection, was a bibliophile's dream come true. Used and new books all jostled for space and the Gotham Book Mart's collection of rare and out of print books, literary journals, pamphlets and monographs and first editions and signed copies was legendary. For all its intimidating presence of wall to wall books, Gotham Book Mart was a friendly and inviting place to be. The Associated Press described it as an "American monument", "as close to heaven as a book lover will get" and "a sort of Carnegie Hall of modern literature."

I started going to the Gotham Book Mart in the summer of 2004, the year that I moved to the City and the year that the store moved into what would be its final home on 46th Street. It was on my way to office and I got into the habit of peeking in for a quick browse on my way to or from work. I always felt welcome there even though I bought something maybe one time out of ten. Unfortunately, after I moved to my present job in Downtown, those visits became far and few in between.

Last week, Gotham Book Mart downed its shutters for the last time. The store was nearly half-a-million dollars in arrears on it's rent and its entire inventory was auctioned off by court order. The tickets to the auction were $1,000 apiece and in a "Only in New York baby, only in New York" moment, the New York Times (subscription required) reported that the line stretched around the block (and it's an avenue block!). In the end, the landlord's bid of $400,000 for entire inventory was the highest, although John Held's painted sign was apparently not part of the auction lot.

Thus ends the story of Gotham Book Mart, "not with a bang but with a whimper." The following lines are from one of the cheesiest movies ever but since You've Got Mail was at least peripherally about a book store and about New York, here goes:

"People are always telling you that change is a good thing. But all they're really saying is that something you did not want to happen, at all, has happened...

My [book] store is closing this week... And in a week it will be something really depressing... Soon it'll be just a memory. In fact, someone... will probably think that it's a tribute to the City, the way it keeps changing on you, or the way you can never count on it, or something.

But the truth is, I am heartbroken."

Gotham Book Mart, R. I. P.

Semper Fi

I was recently reminded of this poem by Rudyard Kipling by a very special lady and since loyalty is the corner stone of all my relationships, this is for all the people who expect loyalty from me and from whom I expect likewise.

The Thousandth Man
-Rudyard Kipling (1865 - 1936)

One man in a thousand, Solomon says,
Will stick more close than a brother.
And it's worth while seeking him half your days
If you find him before the other.
Nine nundred and ninety-nine depend
On what the world sees in you,
But the Thousandth man will stand your friend
With the whole round world agin you.

'Tis neither promise nor prayer nor show
Will settle the finding for 'ee.
Nine hundred and ninety-nine of 'em go
By your looks, or your acts, or your glory.
But if he finds you and you find him.
The rest of the world don't matter;
For the Thousandth Man will sink or swim
With you in any water.

You can use his purse with no more talk
Than he uses yours for his spendings,
And laugh and meet in your daily walk
As though there had been no lendings.
Nine hundred and ninety-nine of 'em call
For silver and gold in their dealings;
But the Thousandth Man h's worth 'em all,
Because you can show him your feelings.

His wrong's your wrong, and his right's your right,
In season or out of season.
Stand up and back it in all men's sight --
With that for your only reason!
Nine hundred and ninety-nine can't bide
The shame or mocking or laughter,
But the Thousandth Man will stand by your side
To the gallows-foot -- and after!