So I forced myself to stay up until 2 am this morning finishing the last Harry Potter book. I forced myself not to read at my usual speed so I could prolong the ending (re-read book 6 in two days) and so I could enjoy every moment.
It was definitely sad. I enjoy books. I love losing myself in them. And I found myself on edge and loving it throughout this one.
Of course, when the book first came out, I would have NOTHING to do with it. I refused to read a children’s book until Sara told me I was missing out. I devoured the four released books in about a month and became part of the manic fold. I even went the midnight release parties for books 5 and 6. I did not go to the one for this book preferring to avoid the insanity of a NY book party.
So….yeah…I admit it. I am a fan and I love the books. They may not be the highest form of literature, but they do what literature is supposed to do: Tell a story and move us.
Now…how they turn this final book into a movie should be interesting. It is a bloodbath and by far darker than any of the other books.