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.
Book
