I'm rereading the Harry Potter books, much to the chagrin of my husband, "They are kids books, you know" ... "Haven't you read them each a dozen times already?"
Well, no. In the beginning I read them to Fern at bedtime, it was our thing. I'd put on my best UK accent and read a chapter or two a night, it was a cozy time. When a new book would come out, we would read it together, then I couldn't stand the slow pace anymore and plowed ahead on my own after her lights went out, only to reread those sections again the next night.
Fern was too old for a snuggly reading bedtime reading routine when Goblet came out, so I ended up reading it only once, same with the subsequent volumes. Then there were the movies. When the book is fresh in your mind, you pick out all the things they left out of the film, and rightfully so, there is just too much detail to cram into a reasonably lengthed production. But as the years go by, the visual memories created by each movie replace the memories created by reading the story in the first place.
So now, I've been reading all seven books again, back-to-back-to-back (forsaking other leisure activites, quilting) and have really grown attached to Potter and his friends. I'm also amazed, reliving the whole story, about the amount of details and clues JK Rowling left for us along the way. [I could also point out inconsistencies over these seven years, (the thestrals, for example) but I'm not going to.] If you've read the series yourself, you know the importance of the horcruxes in the final book, yet she mentions two of them in passing several books before the last one. The major hinging point of the final showdown at the end of book seven is given in book six, the clue to how Harry can face He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named with a shred of hope.
Yes, to Dan's other point, they are not deep pieces of literature, they are not kept in the adult section of the bookstore, but I enjoy them just the same. I've tried to figure out exactly why I love these stories so much. And I can't, exactly. Yes, there's the feeling of parental hope that the children grow up smart, strong, and loved, and yes, they are fun tales of good versus evil. I guess maybe, it's like getting sucked into Lost for all those years, living vicariously through others.
Currently, as I write this, I'm about a hundred pages from the end of the last book and I expect to finish it tonight, the last big battle between Harry and Vol-, you know who. I better have some tissues with me, I hate the death scenes.
And now, I've got about a hundred pages in which to prepare myself for the end. I'll need to get back to my quilting to keep my mind off the loss of these fictitious