I didn’t pick up a Harry Potter book until the summer of ’01. I couldn’t. I refused. I was very uppity about it. Oh pffft, what’s all this hoo-haa about some strange little kid with a scar on his for’head? I ignored colleagues and students when they talked about the books and how listening to the audio cassettes in the car kept the children occupied on long journeys. I laughed at the madness surrounding the whole shebangle.
And then I moved back to my childhood home, depressed and sad, lacking in confidence and absolutely useless. Mumsy had a book. Indeed, she had two. I was bored, listless. Picked one up. Read it. Became enthralled. Read the next. Beat some kids on Junior Mastermind …
Never really looked back.
I have issues though [ – cut me some slack, it’s in my nature to have issues].
I don’t like JK Rowling. I make no apologies for this. I’m also quick to notice the similarities with other books of a fantastical nature [Pratchett springs to mind] and get annoyed, even though I know that so many books have been written that there will always be similarities within books of the same genre.
I seem to have a love-hate relationship with Harry Potter. I will sit and read, and laugh and love, and cry and … moan. I’ll find fault with anything and everything. Maybe some little continuity oddity or a word that seems to be a favourite of Rowling’s [shortly was very popular in the Order of the Phoenix] will get inside my head and make me scream. But if anyone else ever dare to say a bad word I’ll kick up a fuss and stamp my foot like a toddler. If someone is raving about something HP related then I’m often found to be criticising it.
I am odd.
I do the same with EastEnders.
I had no intention of reading the book yet. I ordered it from Amazon. Decided somewhere deep in my cob-webbed, naive little mind that I would sit it snuggly somewhere and read it at my pleasure during the summer holidays. I was so excited that I woke up at five twenty-nine this morning. I had to get up early because the postlady [although today it was a man, hmmm] comes early and I’ve been caught out by her before. So I hoovered, polished, disinfected, washed the kitchen floor, watered the front garden, stuck a load of washing in the machine, opened all the downstairs windows letting the playful summer breeze cool me down … and then the postlady[-man] rattled my door at half-past eight and handed me an Amazon parcel.
Not open it?
What do you think?
I opened it immediately. I sat on the stairs and read the first chapter.
When I’ve finished this I’m going to go and read some more. I saved the last book and some student spoilt it for me [accidentally I might add] and I don’t want that to happen again. But it does mean the pleasure won’t last for so long.
This makes me sad.
Another thing making me sad is Tesco. We went there this morning. They were selling it for a pound and two pennies cheaper than Amazon. Damn them.
The Blokey bought himself the adult edition. This makes me laugh. It makes me think it must be full of tales of sex and naughty wizard adventures that involve lingerie and bondage, with a Harry who swears a lot and a Ginny who has a kinky wild side …
Yes, he reads Harry too. Isn’t it decidedly dreadful?
please God bless the Harry fanatics, that they may see the light at the end of the tunnel xxx Elsabeth
Currently Reading …