The Harry Potter bubble has burst for me. I got the new book yesterday and have read about five chapters and suddenly the mote has fallen from my eyes. ItÂ’s a kidsÂ’ book. Quite a good kidsÂ’ book. But not so good that it warrants being read by adults. I canÂ’t believe IÂ’ve gone along with it all this long. The first one was OK and I suppose I found it surprisingly sophisticated because it was a book for children. Similarly the twists were unexpected, because my expectations were so low.
Yet I should have been suspicious that before I began reading this one I tried to think what the last one had been about and couldnÂ’t remember a thing. It was good that JK has put in lots of reminders because I had even totally forgotten about Sirius.
I found myself getting irritated as I read, it was so childish. Then it dawned on me that this was not the fault of the book, which is after all for children, it was the fault of me for reading a childÂ’s book and expecting to find it mentally stimulating. Of course I was going to find it plodding and over descriptive and repetitious and frustrating, itÂ’s not meant to be read by me, a 35 year old man. Why was I wasting my time reading this when I could be reading something that would challenge and surprise me?
I think itÂ’s because itÂ’s easier not to stretch oneself and thereÂ’s nothing wrong with that occasionally, but there are plenty of other non-challenging books that I could read which I would enjoy more (and which wonÂ’t hurt your hands because they are too big to keep open comfortably).
There are some “children’s” books that are well worth reading as an adult, books that are more imaginative and original, certainly lots of books that are extremely funny, books that remind you about what is great about being a child and bring out those child-like qualities that we can suppress as adults, books that can make you think about serious issues in a new way.
I don't think Harry Potter qualifies on any of these levels.
Phillip Pulman’s “His Dark Materials” trilogy is a remarkable piece of writing and imagination and covers some extremely sophisticated philosophical territory. Whoever Rowling has chosen to kill in this new book (and I can’t bring myself to care), it can’t be as astonishing as who Pulman kills in the third book of this series.
So instead of reading the rest of Harry Potter, I fell asleep on the sofa in front of the Eastenders Omnibus. A much more constructive way to spend my time.
