Task 36

Excerpt 3 - "Harry Potter & the Order of The Phoenix" by J.K. Rowling
Personally, I find originality an essential part of literature and without it a novel would lack any means of interesting me as a reader. However, excerpt 3 did not only have the scarce and appreciated ability to grab my attention as I began reading, it also achieved something far more important that other romantic tales fail to interpret; the act of presenting love as a believable and natural emotion, instead of exerting it as a perfect, unbelievable scenario. I resent it when romance has a “fairy – tale” structure because as readers we are all lost in a world of saintliness, while we all mutter exasperatedly under our breaths that life isn’t always a happy fantasy. On the other hand, “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix” isn’t a romantic narrative, yet J.K. Rowling could have written the chapter as a clichéd epitome of “teenage love", but she used her imagination (not others!) to make this excerpt an enjoyable and pleasurable taster of what is to come next in the novel! Spellbindingly brilliant!

Flying With A Broken Wing
Francesca grasped the warm mug of cocoa in her hands, feeling the undulating water vapour embrace her tanned Italian skin. She placed the glass down onto the oak coffee table and picked up her best friend – her pocket mirror. She gazed at herself and saw a woman with an unblemished complexion: gracefully altering into her early forties. Sinuous lines of ageing spun their irreversible webs around her delicate under – eyes; a change not even her faithful Nivea Q10 Plus could amend. She rummaged into her Louis Vuitton handbag, thinking: So, this is what being an anatomical pathologist gives you; the finest handbags, the finest food - but not the one thing my life unconsciously skims over, not the one thing that gives a person a sense of living. Love. It’s being too close to the dead. It has murdered my primal instinct.
The thought reverberated in her mind, like the soul of a loved one echoing inside its bed for eternity. Its coffin.
A loved one. Death can be a lonely world, but a lonely existence can be far worse. A bit like walking a dead man’s road. No crossroads, no dead ends, just a tiring hike on the journey to a destination the living can’t answer. Heaven, hell – or just an unknown entity. Who knows?
Francesca looked up as Russell walked into the living room, precariously holding two plates of tortellini. He sported a grim expression whilst he carefully laid the dishes on the table.
“Thanks”.
Francesca smiled. She knew that there was nothing else that needed to be said. No idle chit – chat, no false laughter. Just silence. Nothing could be more honest than that. Francesca appreciatively allowed its reminiscent scent to float up her nostrils.
Is this the closest I am going to get to love? A famous Italian dish? It brings back so many childhood memories from Vercelli: Grandmother cordially smiling at me as I finished all my supper, me and Mia picking apricots and peaches in the blazing August heat; blood splattered over our kitchen wall, Mia’s lifeless body laying supine on the linoleum, her heartbeats losing their rhythmic pulse, while mine raced, beating a melody of disgust, anger and remorse –
“Francesca, are you eating that? Francesca?”
“Oh, sorry. I’m not really with it. I don’t feel too well.”
“I understand. Anybody would feel the same after what you have just gone through. Actually, I think you have coped with it pretty well.”
“You think so? I can’t help but feel pessimistic about her condition. I’ve lost too many people in my life. My sister, my mother, my father. Sandra is really close to me. If I lost her, I don’t think I could cope.
A disconsolate pause infused the atmosphere with an unbearable tension. She will survive, won’t she?” Russell looked straight into Francesca’s coffee coloured eyes and put his arm around her shoulder. She could feel his warmth radiating off him: his embrace was honest; comforting. It had felt like an eternity since someone had made her feel this way. She allowed his warm breath to brush against her skin – like a summer breeze gently swaying tulips in a deserted field. His skin was smooth, apart from the small shoots of stubble that had recently erupted from his skin.
“Of course she will. Sandra is in a stable condition. The medics said her survival chances are very high.”
“Thanks. I mean, everything you’ve done tonight. I am grateful.”
“Don’t worry about it. That’s what friends are for.”
Ah, friends. That’s all we’ll ever be.
Francesca tilted her head and moved closer. She couldn’t let this opportunity pass by. Her heart and stomach were fluttering simultaneously; nerves and excitement letting her inhibitions drip away. To Francesca’s surprise, Russell didn’t resist her first move. His pallid lips were so close, every second encapsulated an intensity Francesca had never felt before.
And the clock’s pendulum was the only thing that sang the truth . . .