I am feeling quite lost today. Last week, while at the mall shopping, I spotted the mini-serires Band of Brothers. This was the best mini-series that I have ever seen and probably one of the best war stories I have ever watched. Last week, Leah and I started having another go at watching at watching the Lord of the Rings. And, of course, I have been reading Harry Potter and last night I finished the sixth book. Of course, with all these stories, I have been left thinking about the nature of war—once again.

I don’t have anything particularly inspired to say. Other than, when I think about war, I realize that there isn’t much that really matters in this world. Love being one of the few ideas that does matter. If anyone has read the sixth book, I don’t want to give anything away, but it is incredibly sad.

I have been wondering what makes the Harry Potter series so good and I have come to the conclusion, I think, that it is the subtle brilliance in the writing. I can’t help but wonder if the majority of people only pick up on this subconsciously. I don’t mean to say that I am more brilliant than the majority of readers, but because I pay attention and read everything slowly, taking it all in. Granted Harry Potter is not a work of high literary standards—at least not at first. But I think there is an almost Paley-like quality to Rowling’s series. Small moments that contain wisdom and years. She’s not as frequent as Paley (or as good), but it’s still there.

I have heard many people tell me that the sixth book, Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, is the worst of the series. I think it is the best, containing the most beautiful writing yet.

Only one book left and then I can return to my normal life.