Harry Potter bewitched me on my morning walk last week, on a narrow bridge over our little stream.

I have been a fan of J. K. Rowling since the first time I got my hands on the Finnish translation of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. That was over twenty-five years ago. Jaana Kapari’s translation was so brilliant that I had to buy the original book as well – and I was mesmerised by both.

Since that first encounter with the wizarding world, I have returned to those books time and again.

Rowling is one of the very few authors who can blend genres within a single paragraph and make it sound both strangely familiar and uncannily unique. You can read her work simply as stories – or, if you are like me, you can use them as literary scuba-diving gear, plunging into the art of multilayered plotlines, characters and themes that whisper rather than shout.

The Harry Potter books are a goldmine for literary ruffians like me who steal everything of true value. T. S. Eliot said it best: ‘Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal.’ And at my ripe age (soon seventy), I give myself permission to be mature enough to steal whatever I need.

But back on the bridge.

Usually, I listen to audiobooks while walking – or, if I am writing a scene in my head for my book, I simply wear my AirPods to isolate myself from the outside world. Funnily enough, those technical marvels can block cars and other annoying noises, but they always seem to let birdsong through.

This time, I had bought the very expensive Audible–Pottermore version of The Philosopher’s Stone. As an old radio theatre director, I was genuinely interested in hearing how they had done this new version. I also own the clever Stephen Fry recordings, but they always felt as though someone was skilfully reading a book aloud rather than truly letting the listener be inside it.

So there I was, approaching the bridge and pressing play on my iPhone. It was about 6.30 a.m. It was too early even for the wind to stir – and then the spell hit me like the first ray of the rising sun spilling over the eastern hills through their lush green brush.

After just a few sentences of the narration, I found myself standing still on the bridge, unable to walk, leaning against the rail and listening. And then came the tears.

The Mirror of Erised

What I had not expected was the sheer power of the female narrator’s voice. Standing on that bridge, no longer noticing the merry bubbles on the water below, I was transported straight back to my childhood. Her voice was exactly like my mother’s when she read to me for countless hours.

It felt as though I were leaning against her again, sensing the comforting scent of her hand cream, eyes closed, letting her voice carry me to another place, another time, another world. Sometimes it was the Kalevala, our national epic; sometimes it was something else – from the Moomins to Agatha Christie – and everything in between.

I had to listen to the first chapter right there on the bridge, because it felt too bittersweet to turn away from that memory of my mother. Needless to say, after that morning my walks grew longer day by day until, on Thursday, I had finished the entire book. It had a rather beneficial effect on my physical fitness, too.

Voice does the Buddha’s work

In Nichiren Buddhism, we often cite Daishonin’s famous statement that the voice does the Buddha’s work. I would add to that the rather edgy observation of the late Jussi Kylätasku (my Finnish playwright hero), who said during his Studia Generalia lecture at the University of Tampere in 1980 something along these lines: ‘Voice is the only tool that can penetrate a human being so deeply – except, perhaps, a penis.’

We often forget how important the human voice truly is. We grow up guided by our parents’ voices; we carry those auditory imprints in our memories. And sometimes, as it did for me on that bridge, a voice evokes something so deep that we almost forget we ever had that experience.

Why am I telling you all this?

Because I want to remind you that if you wish to get closer to someone, use your voice to touch them more deeply than skin ever can. Read stories to your children. Invite friends to book readings – and, more importantly, do it with my books.

I have written them so that I can hear you narrating.

And below are two videos to watch when you plan to invite your friends to the book readings. One about me to unbox The Triumvirate Murders and then a nicve doucmentary about the production of the Audible’s Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. Enjoy.

Janus Lucky
www.januslucky.com

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