WHY RON AND HERMIONE WEREN'T MEANT TO BE

Photo - Daniel Olgren

J.K. Rowling is easily one of the sweethearts of the publishing industry, having not only created a world of much-loved characters, but also having stood up for the little man, making her views on tax evasion widely known.

But if that small display of opinion-holding wasn't enough, Jo-Ro has stirred up a veritable fan-base shit-storm this week, by admitting that Harry Potter characters Ron and Hermione shouldn't have been married after all.

Talking to Emma Watson in an interview for Wonderland (an interview I could only guess was fraught with awkwardness) she admitted that the pair ended up together "for reasons that have very little to do with literature and far more to do with me clinging to the plot as I first imagined it."

The interview led many journalists to realise that the word 'Hermione' doesn't actually come up on spell-check as a real word, and many die-hard fans to cry into their first editions.

More importantly, the story brings up many debates of authorship - mainly the degree to which an author has the sole property of the characters or story that they created. Young adult novelist John Green is often quoted on the subject, saying of his books:

“They belong to their readers now, which is a great thing–because the books are more powerful in the hands of my readers than they could ever be in my hands.”

This idea was explored on it's head in his most recent novel The Fault in our Stars,  in which literary novelist and drunken bastard Peter Van Houten is followed to Amsterdam by a fan of his novel intent on finding out what happens to the characters in his book after it finishes. Being the drunken bastard he is, Van Houten makes a point of reminding her that the characters don't exist beyond the end of the book.

Rowling-gate also brings up a point of realism. Her regrets bring to light questions of whether or not the characters would have been compatible at all, going as far as to say that the pair would have likely needed marriage counselling, (an idea that might provoke a scoff from people with a distant relationship with fiction.) Is realism this important however? With the fan-base for the series being the record breaking size that it is, Rowling foresaw " the rage and fury it might cause some fans" - opting nonetheless to be honest about her feelings.

Personally I can sympathise with Rowling. As a person who has spent hours of my life putting to paper events, people and worlds that don't exist, I really do get the idea of writing things as I first imagined them. Nothing compares to knowing a character so well that you can conjure up facts about them with a convincing confidence.

However, with the considerably less amount of experience I have in the craft, I don't know where I stand in terms of letting what I imagine and what would really happen see eye to eye. Either way, it's evident that realism is hugely important: even if you write about wizards for a living.

-Lewis

NUTELLA ROBOT

It’s official, I’m rejecting people. I’m going to sit in the dark for… most of the time. Wall-E will be my only company. If old friends come by they’ll say ‘But Lewis, you hate Disney!’ And I will tell them to go away and throw empty Nutella jars at them until they do. Wall-E serves as a wistfully palatable criticism of consumer culture; you just haven’t realised it yet.

In a few years, the only people who will care will be VICE journalists looking to write a shocking article about the man who ‘REJECTED REAL PEOPLE IN FAVOUR OF AN ANIMATED ROBOT.’

I will be like the Captain of the Axiom, sat in a darkened room, sleeping and getting fat until I’m needed.

I will rely on the sun for Vitamin D. I know I’ve got at least that much of my nutrition covered, because the guy in the film Oldboy said that’s where we get vitamin D from and it helps boost our immune system. I haven’t yet checked what nutritional properties Nutella has in it, but it’s got ‘Nut’ in it and so does nutrition so there’s obviously some.

Someone will have to pay the rent on my bedsit for a few years so the landlord doesn’t bother me. In return, I may or may not produce a saleable manuscript for a novel worthy of a Nobel Peace Prize, the proceeds of which I will happily give you in return. I’ve already got a working title, actually. ‘Nutella and Robot.’ Like I said, it’s a working title. We can change it if needs be.

Domino’s deliver, and also do vegetables all sliced up and ready to eat on top of the pizza itself. The only problem will be getting them to the door of my room. Maybe I will have to come to an arrangement with the landlord. Maybe my benefactor will have to pay for these daily pizzas as well.

I don’t know. I haven’t quite thought this through yet.

Anyway, fuck people. Time for lunch – in a jar!

- Lewis

MONOCHROME IS COMING BACK IN

Josh walks into the kitchen, headphones in. Immediately, I tap an open copy of Shortlist on the table.
‘You see this? I fucking told them,’ I say. Inside the magazine a guy (dressed tastefully in a navy sweater, blue jeans and blue brogues) lounges on some stairs. ‘I told them monochrome was coming back in.’ Josh doesn’t respond. Instead, he turns on the kettle and begins to stair absent-mindedly out the window.

‘Still raining.’ I take it upon myself to fill the silence. ‘It’s like an absolute monsoon out there. Went out to get my post earlier and was only outside for what, a minute? Completely drenched.’ He seems to be nodding. Either that or his head is slightly moving back and forth, I can’t quite tell. I tap the magazine again, reinforcing my point. ‘This though. They never listen to me.’

‘I think Ani might have died,’ I say. ‘I texted her to say that Space Jam is on LoveFilm. No response. Probably a heart attack.’

The kettle boils and Josh starts to make a cup of tea. I take to scrolling through my phone instead. Like a flame, a complaint strikes up in my mouth.
‘Friend on Facebook just posted a status: “omg in such a bad mood” with a little sad face.’ A flicker of recognition flashes across Josh’s face. I’m not sure if he’s just thinking about adding another sugar. ‘Why do people constantly feel like they need to notify us how they’re feeling? What’s wrong with just… I don’t know, keeping things to yourself?’

Josh adds a dash of milk and makes towards the door. I look back at the guy in the magazine – is there a slight blue tinge to his hair? This is ridiculous.
‘I’ll see you later.’ Josh says. ‘I’m going to go smash my head against the desk.’

FUNDAY: NIPPLES, EARS, GLASSES AND BEARS

Monday is Funday. Perhaps First-Time Friday would have made more sense given the circumstances; but nonetheless, it was decided today that Monday would be the day that we took time to chip away at the ever-growing bucket list.

Today was concerned mostly (but not entirely) with making holes in peoples bodies.

In a world largely concerned with things that are on offer, tattoo and piercing parlours have gotten smart. Too smart, in my opinion. The 2-4-1 deal that we all know and love, it turns out, applies to nipple piercing, as if a nipple piercing was something you might only get one of. That said, I can't speak with authority on the matter, never having had or wanted one myself.

Unlike Grace.

We marched along to Asgard Tattoos & Piercing of Southampton, wherein Tom booked a tattoo (His first First Time of the day) for a bear on his ankle, which is now going to happen on Thursday (a sight which I can't wait to see, given that he gets hilariously freaked out over games of FIFA.) In case you were wondering, they run a very professional and polite establishment.

Grace got her nipples pierced - yes, both of them, thanks to that aforementioned deal - an ordeal which she later described as 'It's really cold, ow, erections are happening.' I never suspected Grace of being the sort of person up for such endeavors, and am not entirely sure whether I'm a poor judge of character or whether she genuinely isn't the sort.

Whilst all this was going on, I achieved a first. The opticians called with the news that my glasses were ready - at an opportune time as well, given that I was a quarter of an hour away from a lecture, which without the aid of glasses usually results in an attention shattering migraine. I popped into the branch five minutes later, picked them up, and now I have a very trendy pair of eyeglasses.

Later, Tom appeared still in the piercing sort of mood. But the shop was closed.
'Tom, don't look at me that way. I'm trying to cook my dinner.'

Cue our second firsts of the day. This mainly involved me trying to balance cooking dinner with pushing a piece of cold metal through Tom's ear whilst he yelled at me (as though it were my idea. Which it wasn't, for the record.)

Generally speaking this wasn't my first go at ear mutilation - I harked back to a simpler time, back when stretchers had just come into fashion. That old chestnut can easily be summarised with the quote 'Lewis, I can't do it, you do it - [screaming].'

This time wasn't so traumatic.

Grace assisted with the pushing and the puncturing and the disinfecting and putting an apple behind the ear (a trick she apparently learnt from The Parent Trap, of all things.) We filled in the bloody gap with a fox/wolf/generic-beast earring that he had bought, until he decided that it looked 'gay,' prompting us to push a whole new stud through.

If I go a whole year without having to puncture another human being, I won't be saddened by it. On the bright side, this whole situation gave a great opportunity for a selfie with my new glasses.

Bis Montag,
-Lewis