I’m not sure what encouraged me to pick up Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone a few days ago; maybe a sense of nostalgia; the recent showings of the films on TV or maybe just the realisation that I hadn’t read it three years. In fact when the last film came out I think I read all seven books in about two-three weeks and decided I had had Harry Potter overload and would wait awhile before reading them again. I think the time has come, although I am definitely not reading them all one after another in a matter of weeks this time.
You would have to have spend the past fifteen plus years under a rock if you had never heard of Harry Potter, but just in case. Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone is the first in the seven book series and it is the tells of Harry’s first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, because Harry is a wizard. Of course he didn’t know this until his eleventh birthday and then he is swept up in a world of magic wands, Quidditch, muggles and He Who Must Not Be Named… Or Voldemort to us mere humans.
There’s not really a lot I can say about Harry Potter. As with the vast majority of the world I LOVE it and of course I wish I went to Hogwarts, but what else is there to say. Rowling has created a magical world, one in whichever many people wish they lived, and her writing is simplistic and engaging. Even though I know exactly what is going to happen I still want to read on and find myself engrossed in the world of Harry, Ron and Hermione. I often wish I had been born in a different era, but a Harry Potter is one of the reasons I’m glad I was born when I was. To grow up in the hype of Harry Potter and to discover his new adventures first hand is a reading journey I have always treasured, but more of that when I get to the later books.