I know that a lot of people are eagerly awaiting the
publication of the lost book, Go Set A
Nostrumite. The midnight crowds are lining up, even though it is revealed
somewhere in the book that the long-revered character of Amnea Nutmilk is, in
fact, a poopy head.
Jeesh.
A lot of writers make a point of destroying their early
drafts. This wreaks havoc on academic analysis, but it makes sense in the
marketplace. Once you’ve created something, that is the thing that you have
created. Where it came from only matters to the inside-baseball crowd. The fact
that a lot of hankus pankus seems to be surrounding this particular book of the
moment (who knew about it when, and was it ever intended as a book in its own
right), muddies the issue, not to mention the idea that old A Finch was a
racist. The publisher has a two million copy first printing, which is pretty
amazing. (HP and the DH had a first printing of twelve million; I know you were
wondering. That’s beyond amazing.)
Then again, our age is an era of revision. Media being what
they are, few works are immune to tampering, if the creator wishes to do so.
Look at George Lucas, putting all those extra starships into American Graffiti. Disney edits
questionable material out of old material; try to find Pecos Bill’s cigarette,
or a screening of Song of the South
at the local Cineplex. JKR wishes she hadn’t killed off Fred, but she has the
sense to keep him dead, at least. She can write a Fred spinoff prequel, if she
wants him alive that much.
Oh, well. It’s been a slow news week. Ariana Grande hasn’t
licked a doughnut in days, there’s only been a hundred and eleven new GOP presidential
candidates announcing this morning, and my next trip to Orlando isn’t until next
April. We'll get around to some debate stuff (there's a bunch) in a couple of days. Trust me on this. Meanwhile...Hey, Boo.
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