Let me start off by saying this: Harry Potter is my childhood. I've lost track of the number of times I've read the books, watched the movies, and listened to the soundtracks. I convinced my high school English teacher—who never liked fantasy novels—to read the entire series. I will believe until my dying day that Ron and Hermione belong together. I still cry when Dumbledore and Snape die. I think that Albus Severus Potter was probably less than thrilled with his name, but I still teared up when I read it. I dare you to question my loyalty.
So, tonight (July 30), I'm going to document my thoughts about Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, before and after I get a copy in my hands.
Before
Let's start by looking back at Pottermore. I was excited for the website at first, but I lost interest after discovering that it wasn't the personalized adventure through Hogwarts that I expected it to be. I like knowing where Harry and friends ended up, but I don't want to read about James and Sirius at Hogwarts or about Minerva McGonagall's childhood.
I worship JK Rowling with all my heart, but I wish she would stop. The more she writes about the magical world, the more I worry that she'll tarnish it. The magic comes from the imagination, from the not knowing. I don't want to have every little detail; I want to fill them in myself. We each have our own version of the Potter universe living inside our heads.
Nothing will ever compare to the original novels. We put them in a place of honor on our bookshelves. We open their tattered, well-loved pages after a particularly difficult day and receive some childhood comfort. This nostalgia is what makes the series so beautiful, but we can't miss the books if new material keeps getting published. Everything else seems second-rate compared to the original series, and it's disappointing when we get our hopes up for something that simply can't live up to them.
I wasn't planning on going to the Cursed Child release, or really even on reading the book. I'd almost forgotten that tonight was the night. But I'm sitting on the couch now, watching Goblet of Fire on Freeform's Harry Potter Weekend (because of course they have one), and once it's over I'm driving over to Barnes & Noble to join in the countdown and pick up a copy. Because no matter how much I don't want to read about Albus Severus Potter's angsty childhood, I can't help but get my hopes up just a little.
Well, Emma Watson (aka my idol) said she loved the play, so I guess there's hope. Here goes nothing...
(Sidenote: I can't wait for the release of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. I love Eddie Redmayne, and the story sounds amazing. I know with confidence that lots of careful work went into its development, and it's distant enough from the Potter storyline that it doesn't threaten it. I cried when I saw the preview and "Hedwig's Theme" started playing in the background.)
After
The midnight release party featured a skeleton crew of nostalgic young adults and children who didn't get to experience the magic of the original series' release parties. It definitely wasn't the same as it was the night of the Deathly Hallows release, when I stood in a packed Borders bookstore sporting Tonks' purple hair and a pig nose. Nevertheless, I got a little teary when I walked through the doors. I enjoyed answering an employee's trivia questions and winning a Fantastic Beasts decal for my water bottle. My heart fluttered when I first touched the book.
I'm almost through Act 1. I don't feel like I'm back at Hogwarts, but rather like the Hogwarts Express broke down on the way there. It's not bad so far, but it feels more like fanfiction than like something from Rowling's brilliant mind.
"Nineteen Years Later" gave me the closure that I needed. I felt a sense of finality when I closed Deathly Hallows, and aside from the movie adaptations (2 part finale—hooray!) I didn't feel like I needed anything more from the Potter world. Once I finish Cursed Child I'll decide whether I want to consider it another chapter in my version of the Potter universe. For me, the magic lives in the past, and I find it again when I reopen the original books or listen to the soundtracks or watch one of the movies.
After all...
