This time, of Harry Potter scribe JK Rowling.

J.K. Rowling isn’t an obscure novelist looking for her first break. She’s the bestselling author of the bestselling book series in modern publishing history. Her stories have sold hundreds of millions of copies, been translated around the globe, inspired blockbuster films, and introduced an entire generation to the joy of reading.

If that resume isn’t enough to justify a serious biography, what exactly is? The answer has nothing to do with literature. It has everything to do with politics.

Somewhere along the way, Rowling stopped being judged primarily as one of the world’s most successful authors and became a political litmus test. For some people, her views on sex and gender now outweigh everything else she has ever written, accomplished, donated, or inspired.

You don’t have to agree with Rowling to recognize what’s happening here. You only have to ask a simple question. When did we stop being curious?

Come come, now, Mr Rice, sir. When have shitlibs EVER evinced the slightest willingness to tolerate curiosity of any kind, from intellectual to ideological to the kind that killed the cat? Onwards.

One of the things that struck me during my conversation with Solomon (Schimdt, author of a new Rowling bio) was how straightforward his motivation really was. He wasn’t looking to pick a fight. He looked around and realized something that should have been obvious. How could the woman behind Harry Potter, arguably the defining literary phenomenon of the last thirty years, not already have a definitive modern biography?

Charles Dickens has biographies. William Shakespeare has biographies. J.R.R. Tolkien has biographies. C.S. Lewis has biographies.

But the author who created the most successful publishing franchise of our lifetime had somehow become too radioactive for many people even to write about. That should bother anyone who claims to love books.

As Solomon explained, understanding Rowling’s life helps readers understand Harry Potter itself. Her struggles with poverty, depression, rejection, and single motherhood weren’t footnotes. They shaped the stories. They gave us Harry’s loneliness, the Dementors that captured depression so vividly, and the recurring lesson that courage usually comes at a personal cost.

Biography isn’t an endorsement. It’s an exploration. Somewhere, we’ve forgotten the difference.

Not precisely, no. We’ve allowed the Left to trample difference, uniqueness, iconoclasm, distinction, achievement, initiative, all of those—crushing their faces into the dirt until each in turn had stopped breathing.