Autumn holidays, finally! Today, I’ve been simply drained, and was almost resigned to skip today after two Legolases ended up ripped in the wastepaper basket. Remus really deserves better than this, but it’s all I can give him today. I’m sure he’ll understand.
The Harry Potter books, for me, are a strange phenomenon: One of the few books I've ever loved not for any single character, but for the incredible energy they have. I can reread them every year without ever tiring of them. Not having any fixed favourite character also means that I don't feel tempted to skip bits where they don't appear.
I got on the Harry Potter train fairly late, in 1999, just after the third book had come out. I'd seen them on the bestseller lists (I could have sworn that was not an English word) and never felt any urge to read one, until an anglophile friend of mine lent me the first. I started reading it, mildly interested, enjoying the writing style, but internally passing it off as kids' stuff. I mean, little kids might be deceived and not realise that Snape was the villain, but I'm an adult and have of course seen through it all aLONG BLOODY HELL.
After finishing it, I actually went back and read it again, totally exhilarated by all the clues I had missed. J K Rowling had a new fan.
The third book, the last one I was able to read before waiting a year for the next to come out, completely hooked me. I loved the depth and layers of the story, and I just loved Lupin. When the movies came out two years later, I managed very successfully to hang on to my own visions of the characters.
Size: 550 × 790
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