Grateful for The Book - HP

Books, Books, Books. I have loads of them, love loads of them, (trying to) make loads of them. And, I'm grateful for them.

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If even authors recognize that it’s clichéd to say that Harry Potter is the book they are most thankful of, then I don’t have a chance – I’ll be written off as uncreative. But I can’t lie, either. I mean, it’s the book (rather, series) of all young adult books, of all children’s literature – heck, of all the novels in the world, being actually able to incorporate the wide range of readers it has claimed. It not only introduced me to this wonderful world of literature, but it introduced me to myself, and the world. Ok, venturing into more than beyond clichéd territory, but allow me to explain:
Harry Potter and I, we have a history. I went to my first movie in theaters with him. Sure, it wasn’t exactly appropriate – I was barely two years old, and he eleven. We were nine years apart, but age cannot define love. I can’t say I remember it, let alone know if that was the moment from when I was hooked, but I can say that it was the start of a long journey of mine.
The second time I experienced the wizarding world was, again, watching the first movie, on DVD (CD?) this time, when I was around four, or five. Again, it’s not much that I can remember, which is what made this so significant (I’ll explain that later).
Yes, my first few encounters with the most beloved wizard of all time had been from a screen, not a book, which perhaps would aggravate many fans out there. Even I hate it when people watch the movie before the book – it’s a fact that most books are better than the movie. But, let me remind you, I was around five and younger. I barely knew how to read.
Which is why, about two or three more years later, when I was fast learning and improving at this treasured skill, I went to a library book sale – the ones where are the books are old and tattered, worn, loved. I wasn’t old enough to recognize many of the titles displayed, nor did I have the courage to ask for a recommendation. Only one book struck a chord in my mind – Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. (I live in America – so sue me.) And that’s when the love affair truly began.
I still have that copy in my room, on the shelf with the rest of the series. I got it with the plastic on its cover peeled and ripped, spine broken, pages fallen out. It’s still in that exact condition, not a page missing. And I won’t be buying a book to replace it anytime soon.
I said I would explain the significance of my first movie watching. Well, because I could barely comprehend the events that played out before my eyes in burst of glorious color, I came out of that experience believing that the man I’d seen in the end, the man going after the sorcerer’s stone, was Severus Snape. And as I read, my mind urged Harry to see the light – how obvious it was that Snape was evil (the irony)! I was right with Harry in his shock at discovering Quirrell, not because of him, but because I was wrong. I was wrong.
Somehow, it only made me love him more. I sought him out from friends’ houses, from not-really-friends’ houses, from libraries, and, I even convinced my family to buy (yep – with actual money) them for me. Page after page I devoured, each installment larger than the next. I remember looking at the fourth book and thinking, how am I going to read this? It’s HUGE! But I was growing with Harry – he learned more and more each year, maturing. And the more I read, the more I learned, too. Not only about all the wealth in the book itself – the value of family, friends, loyalty, trust, happiness, determination, courage, and the biggie: love. But besides that. By losing myself in the wizarding world, I found an opening into the Muggle world of mine.
Harry Potter brought me into common ground with everyone I knew, and didn’t know. It was a delightful surprise to speak to my family and learn many of them had discovered the joys of Hogwarts, that so many of my friends were in the process of meeting Harry as well. And people I didn’t know, all I had to ask to simply start a conversation, even now, especially now: “Have you read Harry Potter?” They’ll nod, their eyes will brighten, and before long we’re engaging in deep debates about the Priori Incantatem or the Pensieve. And, with those who have yet to encounter magic of any sort, that’s a debate in itself, putting my persuasive techniques to play.
It opened me up to people, taught me that making friends was easiest when you have something in common – my best friends and I today have our strongest ties from Harry Potter. It gives a sense of bondage, a love I can share with someone living across the world. It unites a diverse group that would never have been able to all relate without the Boy Who Lived. I am part of such a huge group – how can I ever feel alone?
And I learned about me – it’d not hard to see what. Harry brought me my first, my favorite, pastime. He brought me books. People are the essence of life – interaction and communication with others is one of the most important things for humans. But people aren’t always reliable – but books are. To this day, books are the only things that can satiate my fits of passion, my periodic depressions, my stress. They’re the only safe refuge – and they’re the only thing that has me addicted so hard I spend sleepless nights over them. Nothing could ever eclipse my love for books. And Harry Potter is the one that made me fall so hard.
These days, the children starting the series can just run through each book. I didn’t have that luxury – I was one of the eager fans awaiting the release of the seventh book – I followed the every update and teasers, I contemplated the possible happenings, I pondered over the mysterious “Deathly Hallows,” and I felt the need grow deeper and stronger. In that long wait, though, I learned patience, and I found that I didn’t have to just wait. I analyzed the other six books, and I understood what real depth was – I saw that authors write everything for a purpose, that every detail had been thought out. And, when I finally got my hands on the last, epic finale, I understood what pure genius was. And I found my role model.
I want to write. Not just write – I want to publish. And I want to publish good books – JK Rowling books. It’s a big dream – no, an almost impossible dream – but it gives me drive. Without that determination, without the gorgeous books that sucked me in and taught me everything, I wouldn’t know what to aim for. I wouldn’t know what feeling I want my future audience to have when they read my novels. I wouldn’t keep working to make my stories better, engaging, meaningful. Harry Potter showed me not only what it is to be a reader, but what it is to be a writer.