To read or not to read Harry Potter and the Cursed Child

When I was 14, Harry Potter was everything to me.

I grew up immersed in the lands of witches and flying unicorns and magic. When I first heard about Harry Potter, I scoffed at it. How could such a popular book about witches and wizards possibly be any good?

But when the first movie came out in 2001, I decided to try it…and immediately ran home and read the first four books in two weeks.

The Harry Potter series has been one of the greatest influences of my life. As soon as I picked up Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, I was obsessed. I read the first four books eight times, the majority of which were within the first year.

Harry Potter was in many ways my introduction to the internet. Since my high school friends were not as enthralled as I was, I would dig through forums, searching for rumors in a desperate attempt to stave off the longing I felt for the next book. When that wasn’t enough, I built my first website to collect as many rumors as I could find and provide what I considered to be the toughest trivia quiz on the internet…which would have been a lot tougher if I had been able to figure out how to keep the wrong answers from turning purple as soon as someone clicked a wrong one.

Harry Potter was there for me when I was sad. When my third year of cheerleading proved more intense than I was prepared for, Harry Potter took me far away. When my homework level became successively less manageable each year of high school, Harry Potter was my 15 minutes of fun before bed. Despite some of the normal teenage troubles of flighty friends and broken hearts, Harry Potter was there for me, a steadfast friend in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, always.

When I started college, I took a course on Harry Potter and then proceeded to teach it and other fantasy classes throughout my tenure at Berkeley. This endeavor brought me my husband, a bridesmaid, a group of close friends and the confidence to stand in front of a room of 50 and lecture for two hours. My college days gave me a lot to be thankful for, and I would never have had it all without Harry.

But after I graduated, things started to change. The seventh book was done, my friends were scattered and suddenly I had much more serious problems than how to squeeze seven hours of homework into a five-hour window.

It was 2009, and with practically no work experience, I was thrown into a world that didn’t care about my degree or my brains or my grades. This world cared about one thing only: a piece of paper that showed I was experienced and likely to stick around for a while.

I will leave the details of my first year out of college for another day, but suffice it to say I had seven jobs that year, it took me four months of searching to find anything and my longest job of the year had the most hideous working conditions I have ever experienced (let’s just say a lot of illegal sh*t went down there, and I feel guilty for not calling child services about the place).

The recession broke me a little, and this time Harry Potter couldn’t save me.

My adult life has not been easy, and though I am in a pretty good place now, my husband is not. My life hasn’t really turned out the way I thought it would, and Harry Potter couldn’t save me from that either.

Which brings us to today. Harry’s birthday. According to Rowling, his 36th birthday.

And more importantly, the release of Harry Potter and the Cursed Child.

I don’t think I can fully express how mixed my emotions are about this book.

Seven years ago I would have been elated to hear that there was another book, something, anything to keep it going!

But now…I think I’m just too jaded.

First, it’s not just Rowling’s book, and that scares me. It would scare me less if I hadn’t read her other books since Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. My feelings about The Casual Vacancy and The Cuckoo’s Calling are roughly equivalent to the majority’s. For years, J.K. Rowling was my favorite author, but I just don’t think I can say that when the only books of hers I’ve ever loved have “Harry Potter and the” in the title.

She’s changed. The fandom’s changed. But I’ve changed too.

The Harry Potter books have flaws, I have no problem admitting it, and I never did. The difference is that before I didn’t care, and now I do. Or rather, I’m afraid I will. What if this book is just as good as the old ones, but I can’t see it anymore?

But my biggest fear? I know I am not capable of loving anything now the way I loved Harry Potter when I was 14. I just don’t have the time anymore.

Except that’s not really it. I actually have more time now than I did in high school. I have more responsibilities, but that’s not really the problem.

I’m just not willing to make that kind of time for fiction anymore.

Harry Potter was an escape when I was young, but it was also a prison. As long as I lived in the Wizarding World, I could never really live. There is nothing worse than yearning with ever fiber of your being for something that doesn’t actually exist.

I have spent much of my adult life trying to transfer the love I felt for that world to something tangible. And I think I’ve finally found it in travel. It’s not easy or cheap, but at least I can go exciting and meaningful places that actually exist.

But now I have to face a very difficult choice: what do I do with the worlds I used to love?

More immediately, do I read this new book?

My childhood is already tainted by things that just aren’t the same anymore.

The only thing that rivaled my love for Harry Potter in high school was Disneyland. I had an annual pass for more than 10 years, and Disneyland was my other solace from the life-sucking abyss that was my schoolwork. But ever since passes hit $650 a year, I’ve known that I can never get back the easy, carefree trips I used to have even though I still love going.

Then there’s…a special place I used to go with my family which shall remain nameless. It was wild and free and the home of the very best memories of my childhood. Now my parents don’t want to go anymore, their boat is gone and, most distressing of all, the place has wi-fi.

Needless to say, though I still love going, it’s not the escape it used to be.

But Harry Potter for me has remained largely untainted. Sure, it’s been years since I feverishly read through the series, but I still love the story. I still look back on it with good memories. I still think it’s the best books I’ve ever read.

And I’m terrified that the Cursed Child will ruin that for me. Once I’ve read it, it will be cannon, and no explanations of “well, J.K. Rowling didn’t really write it, exactly” will be able to wipe away the stain that this book could have on my young life.

But at the same time…what if it’s great? What if it’s exactly what I would have wanted it to be? What if this is a chance to revisit some of the places that I’ve loved for so long and see them in a new way?

And what if Harry’s life has progressed just as mine has: a meandering upward path to inescapable adulthood?

My head says it’s not worth the risk. My head says, “Wait until someone else reads it and says it’s worth reading.”

But my heart? My heart can’t wait that long. My heart doesn’t care about anyone else’s opinion. My heart wants to take a leap of faith to prove that it still can.

My heart is on it’s way to Barnes & Noble.