So, finally, after years of being inundated with advertisements, glowing endorsements and media reports about its ability to create frenzy amongst pre-teens, I have read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. Okay, so strictly speaking, I didn’t read it – I listened to it on tape – but I think that still counts and anyone who disagrees can please spell out their reasons below.

At any rate, I think Harry fell into that same trap that so many highly rated works of art fall into: I was expecting the absolute best. Not sure why. I think, because it’s the best-selling work of fiction of all time (excluding the Holy Bible), I was expecting something phenomenal. The same way I expected Gone with the Wind to be phenomenal for being the best-selling motion picture of all time.

I always seek out those “#1 selling” bits of art/entertainment just to see what all the fuss is about. Titanic, Thriller, Seinfeld, DaVinci Code, Citizen Kane and Roots are all things I initially looked into because they are, in their respective fields, some kind of superlative. I’ve met with different levels of satisfaction in each case. In the case of Harry, I certainly wasn’t blown away. I was never caught up in the action or emotion of the story so much so that I couldn’t put it (the car radio) down.

Overall, I enjoyed the book and am currently ‘reading’ book two in the mile-wide series. I appreciated how all-encompassing the world was: names of streets, names of potions; all sorts of things were detailed reminiscent of Star Wars in their ability to enhance a fictional world. As a side note, I wish we really lived in a world where you could tell if someone is good or evil based solely on their name.

At the same time I was listening to this book (well, not the exact same time), my wife and I were watching a TV miniseries entitled Tin Man, which billed itself as a ‘re-imagining’ of the Wizard of Oz.

I bring this up because both works of fiction had that same old worn-out premise: what I like to call “The Messiah Premise”.

Here’s the synopsis: A young person comes of age by discovering they are (in some ambiguous prophecy) destined for greatness. Only they can save the world! They are endowed with special powers, allowing them to cheat through their obstacles. In fact, they are so special that there was even something unusual about their parents: immaculate conceptions come to mind (or, perhaps we are just never told about their lineage). As they begin their world-saving journey, they are helped along the way by various friends – including one all-wise oldster who, for whatever convoluted reason, can’t do the job of saving the world themself. Along the way, they are told various bits and clues about their past and their future, all very cryptic and, without fail, would have been a lot more helpful had they known such things a wee bit sooner. In the end, they meet up with their greatest foe. And though their loyal sidekick may have been there with them right up until that point, through some twist of plot, they must face the demon alone. Oh – and they’re probably related to that demon. In the end, however, they succeed in saving humanity as we know it.

This story is perhaps best known in the gospels, but is also central to Harry Potter, Tin Man, Lord of the Rings, Superman, The Matrix, The Never Ending Story, Star Wars (twice!), The One Moses, King Arthur and a thousand other tales. I’m not saying this makes for a bad movie/book/comic/TV show, I’m just bored with it. I much prefer someone who rises to greatness through their own gumption. Indiana Jones, Sherlock Holmes and Captain Picard come to mind…

Here’s my recommendation of the week: if you have a life, write a life story.

Okay, I know, I know. Some of you might complain you’re not good writers or good spellers or your life is boring. But come on, do it for me. It doesn’t have to be a long book (why not shoot for that minimum of ‘official’ book status: 96 pages?), it just has to be a book that no one else could ever write: your own autobiography.

I long thought about writing an autobiography. Alas, I felt my life was too short, too common, too trite. All that stuff. Moreover, I worried that it was impossible to sum up my life with one overarching theme. Life is more like a recurring TV show than a single novel…and I didn’t know how to compress family, friends, jobs, hobbies, schooling, weddings, funerals, and beard-growing all into a single tome. More than that, there were big chunks of life I didn’t want to think about or share with other people. I worried that people would get offended or upset or bored.

In November 2006, I began (for the second time) writing my autobiography. I’m still plowing through; I’m almost done. Actually, I’m almost done with the first draft. I forget where I read it (I wish I remembered…) but in one book the author said that every book tells two stories: The story itself and the story of writing the story.

I’ve often expressed to my wife that I feel like I’ve relived everything while writing about it… When I detailed events from my elementary school days, I pulled out old dusty papers from the ‘80s. When I wrote about my first public speaking experience, I listened to the cassette tape of that day. When I wrote about the bus trip where I met my wife, I rewatched the footage I shot during that vacation (and subsequently edited it). When I wrote about my wedding, I looked through the guest book. And now that I’m writing about my son, I keep referring back to a book I wrote from that time period. I’ve contacted people to verify events from decades ago, and I continually check calendars and mementos from the past to verify chronology. I didn’t think my life story would have an appendix (heck, even I don’t have an appendix), but there you have it.

After a verbose 530 pages, I am finally writing about the present. Or, more correctly, I am writing about the most recent year that I will write about. For now. I am hoping to wrap this monstrosity up pretty soon so I can work on my next project: editing my book.

Through all this, I keep thinking that many of the people in my story should write their own story.

I encourage anyone out there to write their life story, too. Don’t be nervous…you can set your word processor to autocorrect spellig or punctuation, errors.

I am currently reading the book The 101 Most Influential People Who Never Lived, a book that was inspired (at least partially) by Michael Hart’s The 100: A Ranking of the 100 Most Influential People Who Ever Lived, which is one of my favorite books.

Besides its obvious connection to Hart’s book (which the authors simply “leafed through”), I was attracted to this book because of its potential. Yes, of course real people have influenced our lives, but can it really be true that fictional people have also had such influence? I was immediately taken in by the prospect of reading captivating, persuasive arguments on how fictional characters had impacted my life. Paging through the book, I caught the names of Mickey Mouse, Odysseus, Captain Ahab and Superman, and I thought “Yes, I can see how these people may have influenced culture, I am eager to read more”.

Alas, the persuasive arguments are not there. Well, they are in some cases: the argument is made that Uncle Tom was a partial cause of the US Civil War, that The Cat in the Hat encourages children’s love of reading and that Buck raised animal rights awareness (though I think that distinction belongs to Black Beauty, who doesn’t make their list)…but in most cases, the authors simply give a ‘bio’ of the character. When I read the entries on Don Quixote, Ebenezer Scrooge and Tarzan I made a mental note to one day read the books from which these people came, which is a good thing. But unfortunately, the authors spoiled the plots by deciding to reveal the entire story of said characters, rather than detailing their lasting influence.

This is a missed opportunity, to say the least. The fun of Michael Hart’s book is not found in retelling the life of Buddha or Darwin or Shakespeare, it’s reading Hart’s arguments as to why those men belong in the top 100, and why they belong at the position he assigns them. Conversely, this book makes no such arguments. Why do they place King Arthur above Santa Claus? How is it that Dick Tracy finds himself nestled between Hercules and Joe Camel? What’s Peter Pan doing at #70? What’s Dracula doing at #33? Why is J.R. Ewing even on the list at all? And why isn’t Ronald McDonald on the list? Sadly, we’ll never know…because the authors’ miss this great opportunity to make their case.

To make matters worse, the authors nix the idea of discussing each entry in order of importance, instead placing them in the book by category. Another fun aspect of Hart’s book is the variety: one minute you’re reading about Adolf Hitler, then you turn the page and you’re reading about Plato. But in this book, the authors lump characters into categories, which they are very proud of. Heck, the list of entries by category appears in the book prior to the list of entries by ranking. Sherlock Holmes, incidentally, appears in the “Crime” category, instead of the Adventure or Literature categories. The authors even interrupt the discussion of each character and devote a chapter to how they decided which category to place each character into: Why is Dorothy Gale placed in the Movies category rather than the Literature or Americana category? The better question is: Who Cares? Dorothy’s influence, like Superman’s and Luke Skywalker’s, isn’t limited to cinematic appearances.

One more thing: the authors miss a grand opportunity here for real controversy (and higher sales!): in the introduction, they tell us of their lame decision to leave out all religious characters. Too bad – God belongs at number one.

Bottom line…
The idea of writing such a book: A
The execution of the idea: F
The book as a whole: C