Resuming my quest to re-read and re-watch each of the Harry Potter books and movies, years later as a full-grown adult, I have come to the fifth book, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.
Now my copy of the fifth book is the Bloombury edition, which was printed and sold in the U.K. At the time of the book’s release, I was in London as part of the Radio/TV/Film overseas summer course in British Broadcasting co-hosted by my school, the University of North Texas, and the University of London. My classmates and I stayed with host families for two months in the Muswell Hill area. I had spied the local bookstore, Muswell Hill Bookshop, and on the night of the fifth book’s release went to stand in line to buy a copy.
Went I got to the bookshop I couldn’t help but grin in amazement. I stood behind a long line of young local kids standing with their parents, chatting excitedly in British accents and dressed in long black robes and pointed witch hats. I SWEAR to God, it was like being dropped off at the 9¾ platform in person. It was like stepping into the books themselves, and I’ll never forget that treasured memory.
The book itself, on the other hand, is my least favorite book, so far. I say so far, because maybe in re-reading the last two, I may turn out not to like them as much as I previously thought but I highly, highly doubt it. It starts sad and slow, remains at a somewhat sluggish pace and then ends in an incredibly sad manner but I’ll get to that more below.
Spoilers to follow.