In case you hadn’t noticed, everybody seems to have gone Harry Potter-mad this weekend. The Internet, the media, even real-life people talked about it.
Half my friends’ blogs disappeared for the weekend while their owners sat down with a nice cup of cocoa and a huge book. I, meanwhile, went to a christening of Swansea (say hello to Cai Llewelyn!) where there was a copy of the final tome on the bookshelf, untouched thanks to church scheduling but the mother confessed that she was hugely looking forward to reading the book tonight. Mischievous git that I am, I quickly skimmed over the last page and told her how I didn’t know how wizards could regenerate.
However, I’ve never been particularly interested in fantasy-based works like Harry Potter or Lord Of The Rings, even though many friends are. I’m not too sure why I can happily swallow and enjoy tales of a 900-year-old humanoid alien travelling in space and time using a machine that’s bigger on the inside and out, battling aliens with the help of a wand-like device that makes a buzzing noise and emits a blue light, while I just can’t lose myself in a world of a young boy with magical powers and a magic wand. Perhaps it’s because they’re rooted in a magical past, while science-fiction pretends to concern itself with the future. Although the difference is rather slight in the end.
Still, give me science any day. Although since these days science seems to include magic spells – sorry, equations based on words not mathematics, and faith-based telepathy, it might as well be fantasy.