After several weeks of returning to my room, rudely deserting my appalled roommates and shutting myself away until the wee hours of the morning, only to wake up exhausted the following morning, I have finally finished the Harry Potter book series. Yes, I know, I’m about oh, say, four or five years behind the rest of the world (generously speaking), but I kind of missed out on the whole craze while it was happening and thus never really felt the need to get involved. Only after Rachel checked the first two out of the library on her card, thrust them into my hand, and insisted that I read them, did I give the now-wealthy Rowling a try. The outcome of the experiment has already been made clear—I spent my precious free time over the next several weeks finishing the remaining books one after another like an experienced chain smoker. I’ll admit, they aren’t the most spectacular pieces of literature I’ve ever devoured, but they are pretty darn addictive.
Much to Rachel’s surprise, Harry Potter is not my favorite character of them all—for me Hermione takes that prize. Some of the things he does just strike too close to “little Michaela” for me. Plus, Hermione’s the intellectual and that’s certainly a position with which I can identify (darn people always wanting to copy your work…). Anyway, I held out for a long time, but in the end I think the reading was worth it. At the very least I can rejoin the world with a slightly better understanding of popular culture, and enjoy such things as Potter Puppet Pals.