So, I Read This Book Today . . .

Before I begin this review, I should first make it clear that I have been a huge fan of Harry Potter since my favorite librarian introduced me to Harry and the gang back when hardly anyone had heard of them. I was hooked from the first chapter, and happily spread the word of this incredible new author and her wonderful characters and story lines. A children's book, which grabbed the attention and held it fast? Marvelous!

And so my Potter era began. Like hundreds of thousands of others I waited happily for each new installment, buying not only the book, but also the cd's, so that I could listen while I did other things. Every listen brought me closer to certain characters, and of course, made me despise others just as deeply. Feeling a little down, want something that you can listen to and enjoy without having to pay a whole lot of attention to the story line, as you have heard it all before? Pop in a Harry and go about your day.

The year that Goblet came out, I was so ill I should have by rights been in hospital. Instead, I was sitting in the drive through lane of the coffee shop of my local bookstore, behind a van full of what must have been every single child in this woman's neighborhood, shouting, cheering, and screaming. Well hey; just think how quiet it would be on the return trip!

Then comes Hallows. Like everyone else, I wait with baited breath, both excited and depressed. After all, Rowling has promised and sworn that she will never write another Potter, so by rights this should be her best work ever, right? Exciting, intense, everything that a Potter has ever delivered and more!

The first chapters are pure Rowling, exciting and well written as usual. And then... nothing. Flat. Harry, Ron and Hermione, flicking around England in a tent, arguing, being depressed, and meeting no one, basically being as boring as humanly (wizardly?) possible. Even when they run across other wizards, they cower in the dark, refusing to lend aid, or gather intelligence. At this point, for anyone other than Rowling, I would have taken great pleasure in pulling the book apart and layering it with other stinkers into the compost pile I keep for my irises. But since it is Rowling, I switch chairs adjust my knickers, pour another cup of tea, and settle down to another bout of reading. It has to get better, right?

There are moments. The trip to Godric's Hollow almost seems to be vintage Rowling. Then, the story goes flat again. Finally, in the last few pages, we get to `The Battle'. Finally! Maybe it will start moving again! We make it through the fight, losing some of our favorite characters. And suddenly, it's over. We get "50 people died". Who? What happened to Luna? Neville's grandmother? All the other wonderful characters we have come to know and love? Did they live? Die? Suffer loss of limb?

And what happened after? Suddenly it is 14 years later and we are at the train station, seeing the next generation off on the train, with no idea of what has gone between times. What do the characters do for a living? What have their lives been like? We get a glimpse of the children, but who are the other children that are mentioned but then dropped? One name we think is probably that of Fleur and Bill's child, just because of the French name. So we get a quick couple of pages, the word "scar" as promised, and finis. It's over. Or is it?

Apparently not. After years of hearing "I won't write another Potter, don't ask me!" the next morning we get Rowling on international television, with a simpering little smile, announcing that she is going to write another book, a sort of "encyclopedia" of what happened to everyone else.

Hold the phone!!!

So, she wrote this doorstop, this testament to bad high school level writing, as simply a stepping-stone to the new Potter she swore she would never write? So book seven was written to gather a few more hundreds of thousands of pounds to add to her already overflowing purse? The richest writer in the country, writing a total clunker of a book, just so she fills pages and can write another? I'm sorry, that is just disgusting. It took me this long before writing this review just to be able to get over my disappointment and anger. Believe me, I won't buy the next book, no matter how fond I was of the characters we `lost' and how much I would like to know what happened to them. I just made up my own outcome for them all!

Yes, I know, millions more will buy it, and my puny loss will not matter one bit. But maybe, if we all start thinking about it, many more will realize what a rip-off this book actually was, and how our favorite author has actually treated us all with an incredible level of disrespect. How many parents scraped and scrimped and did without to buy these books, thrilled that their children were reading, that these books were a path to a better life for their children? They read, they study, they learn and they have a chance to make it out of the lives they grew up in. It isn't just disrespectful, it's insulting.

I fully expect to be disagreed with by many. After all, we all have loved Harry and his family of characters. But just possibly some others will begin to think about what I have said, and Ms. Rowling will consider just how far she has come from her humble beginnings, when she too scraped and did without to provide. She had the opportunity to write an incredible book. Instead, she filled pages with pabulum, leaving huge gaps that she can fill in later in the other book she was `never going to write'. Sigh. After ten years of admiring you deeply, Ms. Rowling, my respect for you has been replaced by contempt. How sad.