London Times: RIP Harry Potter, John Rebus. And no sequels, please

This is the year of the departed. On July 21, fateful day, we learn whether Harry Potter lives or dies. Two deaths are predicted by his creator, J.K.Rowling, but will one of them be Harry’s? Even as we wait, breathless with anticipation, Inspector Rebus is shuffling off into an uncertain future; Ian Rankin is writing his world-weary detective out of the script. To die, to sleep? Only the author knows. But Rebus, it seems, has solved his last case. From now on, we will have to be content with Precious Ramotswe, Botswana’s indefatigable lady detective, still ticking over at the end of Alexander McCall Smith’s latest volume, like the engines her husband repairs at the Tlokweng Road Speedy Motors. The well-oiled storyline runs smoothly on — “like life”, she remarks contentedly. But for how long?

There is nothing to match the tyranny of a long-running hero — except perhaps for the tyranny of the insatiable reader. There comes a time when, like the guests who have overstayed their welcome, principal characters have to be asked to leave. By that point, however, they have taken on a life of their own, and the decision about whether the exit should be terminal or not may well be decided by others. Conan Doyle became exasperated by the success of Sherlock Holmes — he was keeping the author from more serious historical work; he had become a bore. “I weary of his name,” said Conan Doyle. And so, in The Adventure of the Final Problem, Holmes found himself on the Reichenbach Falls, locked in combat with his age-old enemy, Professor Moriarty, and there, at the stroke of a pen, they both tumbled into the foaming torrent far below.

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