I remember picking up the first volume of the Harry Potter Series, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. (I was living in Toronto at the time and they sold the British versions in Canada, the U.S. title refers to the “Sorcerer’s Stone.”) Admittedly, I was reluctant to read a young adult novel, but I thought it would be a good, fun escape from the heady literature I was reading in grad school. Well, of course, I was sucked right in. J. K. Rowling’s story was more than just a children’s tale and if you’ve read any of the Harry Potter books, you understand.
I proceeded to read the rest of the series, reserving our copy on the day of release and eagerly reading them, usually in one sitting. I remember coercing my then-fiance’ into giving the first volume a chance. He begrudgingly agreed…and then proceeded to read it in one sitting on a rainy August day. He then read books two and three immediately after so that he could be caught up with me to read book four together.
So the last book in the series came out two summers ago and I picked up my copy at the bookstore, as usual, on the day it was released. I took it home, and I didn’t read it. I wanted to, but I didn’t want the story to end. When I was finished reading book seven, that would be it–no more Harry, Hermione, and Ron; no more Weasley twins; no more eternal struggle between good and evil. No more Hagrid. So book seven remained, unopened, on my night table.
I didn’t read it. I still haven’t. And now that the movie is out I’m a little under the gun to read it. But still, I don’t want to rush it. Maybe I’ll just read a chapter a day and catch the movie on DVD–that I can way keep Hogwarts alive a little while longer.