Oh the young dudes
I’ll be the first to admit that I’m a literary snob. There are simply too many fantastic books in the world to waste time on bad ones. I used to only read the ‘classics’, thinking that it was a sign of good taste and sound judgment. But as I began to read more broadly across genres, time periods, and countries, I realized that relying on the ‘classics’ label was a reflection of my own intellectual laziness. I bypassed the step where I needed to make my own judgment on what is good and outsourced my reading list to some literary consensus. Thus I began the journey of deciding for myself what is good and worthy. It was through this open mind that I delved into the world of fan fiction.
The Harry Potter series has a very special place in the hearts of millions of people. But I’m convinced that my generation was the one that shared the tightest bond with the magical world. I was 11 when I discovered the series, the same age as Harry when he boarded Hogwarts Express, and I’m the same age as Emma Watson. I literally grew up with the actors in the Harry Potter films. I can never fully express the sense of wonder the very first book evoked in me. One day when I was about 12, I found a sealed, unaddressed envelope in my home. My heart leaped to my throat. My pulse fluttered wildly with anticipation and excitement. Even though my 12-year-old mind already knew that magic wasn’t real, for those few moments I allowed myself to fantasize. What if it were? What if this were my letter of admission to Hogwarts? What if I were to be whisked away to a foreign land, learn magic, and find my best friends?
I didn’t open the letter for days. I wanted to live in this fantasy for just a bit longer. Until one day I finally gave in. With trembling fingers, I opened the envelope.
It was a cheque.
As I grew older, the tether to the wonderful magical world began to weaken. But what would I not give to relive the magic of discovering the books for the first time? In a sense, I was granted my second chance when I reread the series in its entirety for the second time over 10 years later because this was my first time reading it in English. Although my opinion of the books diminished some because I was reading with a more critical eye, my appreciation of the series was heightened through the rosy lenses of nostalgia. Now I will never get to rediscover the books a third time.
Enter <All the Young Dudes>.
At first, I thought it was a strange name. I understand that it was about the marauders and that was enough to get me interested immediately. I used to joke with friends, “If JK Rolling wrote a prequel beginning with <Sirius Black and the ladies of Hogwarts> I’d queue up to buy it.” Let me tell you. <All the Young Dudes> was better than the marauders prequel of my imagination.
I didn’t think <Call me by your name> could be surpassed in terms of how many times I had to put the book down and have a good cry, until now. The relationship between Remus and Sirius is the ultimate slow burn. A mischievous glance, an innocent touch, a playful exchange, a heated argument, an illicit yearning. Everything seemed feathery light until it became leaden with unbearable sorrow. Watching the marauders’ youthful adventures unfurl in your mind’s eye gives you the same sense of dread as reading a Greek tragedy. We know that the story doesn’t have a happy ending but they don’t. I find myself slowing down after reaching the half-point mark because I wanted to stay with them for as long as possible. I wanted the summer of 1977 to never end. I wanted the sun to never rise when Remus and Sirius are sound asleep, holding each other’s hands under the covers. I wanted the carefree grins on their faces to never be replaced with the sorrow and grief I knew would haunt them till the end of their days. I wanted them to bask in the warmth of their happiness, their friendship, and their love for eternity. But I feel just as powerless to stop turning the pages as they are to stop time. When innocent is lost, love turns into grief, lives vanish decades before their time, who will be there to pick up the pieces?
As a bystander, I’m powerless in protecting them from the pain. But part of me also deeply envied them. One has to have loved so deeply to be devastated so completely. How does it feel to love Sirius? How does it feel to be loved by Remus? Even in tender moments when Remus tries to be satisfied with what he receives from Sirius because ‘someone like him gets to have someone like that’, I can hear my own heart break. I wanted to reach into their world and convince Remus that he deserves the whole world and more because he is my Moony too. I know how silly this sounds. But the bond a reader forms with a literary character is unlike any other. It is more personal, more intimate, and more long-lasting.
I have no choice but to finish the book. But before I do, can I just pretend that the story had a happy ending for a while longer like I did with the mysterious envelope? I wanted to close my eyes and see the unbridled joy on these young dudes’ faces enjoying all the pleasures and richness of life, untainted by the horrors of war and all that is to come. Please. Only a while longer.
