It began late last night, the longish wait for HP7.
It is these endless intervals between books that make JK Rowling's world interesting/ intelligent/ worthwhile. These days of conversation, and speculation. These moments of utter conviction that she's McDonalded The Lord of the Rings into some cheesy Happy Meal accompaniment. These hours of wondering how anyone -- anyone! -- could sell ten million hardcover copies of a book within twenty-four hours of release.
There's stuff to learn from all of this, I'm convinced. (This is me, life-long believer that you can learn something from anything.) Single mom writing book in coffee shop can become a household name the world over. A generation of TV- and computer-addicted children can learn basic Latin like 'Lumos', meaning 'light', and 'Patronus', meaning 'protector'. People who never buy hardbound books will stack their Harry Potter volumes alongside their dictionaries.
And the debates will rage on, on subjects as far-ranging as Rowling's writing ability, Dumbledore's striking resemblance to Gandalf the Grey, the course of true love in the battle between good and evil, Horcruxes, and the ink-and-paper-twin dedication of HP6.
For all our sakes, I hope she's begun the final book. Impatience has always been my strong suit.
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