I went to my friend's house in Philly a while ago. He and I have a long history, and when I looked on his shelves, I found a bunch of my own books, some of which he came by inexplicibly. I filled a bag with those and he told me, in his sleepy, fatalistic way, that I could take whatever else I wanted. I guess I wanted the new Harry Potter.
I tend to read children's books when I am stressed out. I read the second HP while in the hospital for extreme abdominal pain (unexplained), the one before this one on an airplane, and the others I don't remember, but I am sure that I read them during times rife with tension.
Children's books have the power to make me feel at peace with whatever comes, even if the good guys don't always win. It is a precious feeling, even if it sometimes comes from retarded places.
Anyway, in HP some stuff happens, there is magic and danger and all that. The mystery was less interesting than the earlier ones, but still good enough. Then it ended.
The thought I was left with after the Half-Blood Prince was this: Where are the gay witches and wizards? It's not like JK really needs to be worrying about pissing off the fundamentalists any more than she already has...