Before I even started reading the book, I was reading more critical essays on the series, talking about how shallow of a series the books really are, how one dimensional all of the characters seem to be yet, despite writing that was seemingly sub-par, people flocked to it like it was their life blood (no pun intended).  After reading articles like these, I asked myself, ‘so what’s the appeal?’  If we can create more substantial fantasies in our heads why is Stephenie Meyer on her way to joining J.K. Rowling on the children’s literary throne?

The same thing sort of happened with Harry Potter.  I didn’t outright question its popularity, nor did I read indepth articles on its substance.  I just didn’t pay attention to it.  I watched my mom devour these very large books in very short amounts of time and didn’t really pay it any mind.  I didn’t even consider picking up a book until I was forced (or heavily persuaded, however you want to put it) by a former boyfriend to watch Prisoner of Azkaban because it was “such an awesome movie.”

So I watched it.  I’d seen the first once when it ran constantly on HBO (back before I stood close by to my bunny ears) and the second was playing in the background at a friend’s house that I watched most of.  I thought they were cute but didn’t give them much more thought.  I didn’t finish watching PoA and become phantasmagorically obsessed with the series but I decided since I’ve seen three of the movies, I might as well read the books to have a basis for comparison.  Little did I know I was a gambling addict playing “just one hand.”

Before I knew it I was more obsessed than my then boyfriend, conjuring theories on what’s going to happen in subsequent books, joining discussion forums, even going to midnight release parties.  I even named my now-dog Malfoy (which I now kind of grumble at).  With the release of the last book came by direct dip, leaving my obsession behind.  I still like the first six but my spirits were dampened by that last one. more…