In the throes of elementary school torture and ridicule, weaker creatures derogatorily named nerds often took refuge in reading books for hours upon hours. This shouldn't come as much of a surprise; with the exception of some self−isolating bullies — you know who you are, line pushers — the vast majority of Tufts students have vestiges of nerdness stored up within their hearts. Many at Tufts even admit to this quality openly and honestly; I have had multiple friends suggest that this dweeb tendency is what unites the greater population, knowingly or not.
It is easy to forget, then, how opposed to reading some of our young comrades once were. My enjoyment of books was labeled as an irregularity by insensitive schoolmates, at the very least something to scorn and deride. Whimpering in rejected shame behind my dog−eared paperbacks, I was confident that second grade would be a hellish monotony of misery.
But the unthinkable happened. Some floppy−haired kid on a broom made reading popular. Harry Potter was born on the pages of a book filled with complicated names and vocabulary that required a dictionary, but somehow it gripped the minds of my otherwise derisive companions. Suddenly, that dweebish streak that so characterized my elementary school persona was erased by an overriding sense of coolness I had never enjoyed until that shining moment. I was ahead of the curve! So began the Potter craze. Kids brought these books to class to read independently, and I basked in the glory of a collective movement towards reading.
In light of the boomingly successful release of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 1," the clear allegiance to Harry has survived the many years of anticipation; the $330 million in global ticket sales for the film this weekend speaks for itself quantitatively. This of course drew much attention from the greater media world, with the expected New York Times article reporting these returns and numerous articles from other publications like The Atlantic and Slate commenting on the nostalgia and legacy associated with the series. Harry has staying power within the greater cultural identity of our loosely defined generation, and few can dispute that.
The secular movement against Harry Potter, however, has earned considerably less attention. This anti−Potter sentiment is not one rooted in a fear of witchcraft corrupting the minds of youth or in any religious doctrine that might find sorcery disagreeable. Rather, the disinterest and rejection of the series among certain youth circles represents a peculiar counterculture movement against an activity that, at one time unpopular, has enjoyed soaring success.
Those who dislike the Harry Potter series do not necessarily dislike reading. Many even claim the series to be of a caliber below their desired level of sophistication, citing its assigned genre as children's literature. That said, the rejection of Harry by some of our closest friends embodies an odd phenomenon: It is the countermovement to a countermovement in itself. Pre−Potter, the idea of wizards and dragons seemed too deeply ingrained in a fantasy context to be accepted by a wider audience. To think that, years later, a world of witchcraft would be in the mainstream conscious as something popular was baffling. Now, that same disbelief lives on in the disdain some feel towards Harry. A countermovement to a countermovement solidifies the series' place in the cultural canon, if albeit complicating the canon some.
I still admit, regardless of Harry Potter's mainstream popularity, my nerdish tendencies are alive and well, manifesting themselves in other avenues. It's just harder to explain my obsession with Ewoks in this column, and dignity is still (barely) a concern.
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Madeline Hall is a sophomore who has not yet declared a major. She can be reached at Madeline.Hall@tufts.edu.
