When I was nine
years old, Harry Potter was a growing phenomenon. Kids were going crazy for
these books. I can still remember sitting with my friends at lunch time and
laughing about how stupid it all was. I mean, c’mon. Who wants to read a book
about a boy wizard? It seemed ridiculous.
Now it is almost
15 years later and I have just finished reading the first book for the seventh
time. To some that may seem like a real accomplishment. To others it may seem
like a small number compared to the number of times they have read it. And to
the select few buzz kills, they think it is a waste of time. You know who you
are.
Yes, I have read
Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone seven times (I now refuse to call it
“Sorcerer’s” for reasons I will explain further along in this post). I began
rereading the Harry Potter books in my sophomore year of high school, 2006. I
reread them because I found I hardly remembered the books and was only
accustomed to the movies. I reread the first three and didn’t return to them
until the summer of 2009, two years after I read the seventh book, and the
summer the sixth film released. Ever since that second reread, I have become
acquainted to a specific feeling that only resonates when I read Harry Potter.
If you are a reader than I am sure you know what I mean. It is a weird and
specific feeling you get when you read a book that sometimes haunts you until
you read the book again. For me, the urge to reread Harry Potter and relive
that marvelous feeling comes about every summer. I kid you not. Sometimes the
feeling is so strong that I crave the books like an ex-smoker craves a
cigarette. I can’t really explain the feelings even to myself. Perhaps it is
returning to my childhood that keeps me coming back, remembering the touch of
the pages in my small hands and the smell of pumpkin space candles burning in
autumn while the smell of burning leaves drifted through the open window.
Sometimes I am brought back to the summer when the final book came out. My
friends brought their copy to church camp in secret and when I finally ended up
reading it, I was at my grandfather’s 100+ year old house in upstate New York.
Books have a way
of staying with us. My mom asked me why I like to reread books when I already
know what is going to happen. I explained to her that rereading is just as
magical. I am able to spot clues that foreshadow to the book’s ending or even
foreshadow future book events. I can look at character development and see how
Rowling set up the trio to become the adults at the end of book seven.
Rereading allows me to reread brilliant one liners from Dumbledore (and this
book contains a lot of those) and
relive the trio’s friendship in bloom. It is like reuniting with a friend who
has moved away and now returned for a few weeks.
I contemplated
writing another review for this book (which seemed appropriate since my views
have changed on certain things) but felt it would be counterproductive. I’ve
read the book seven times after all…it is no secret I love it. So instead of
reviewing the book, I am going to talk about the memories I associate with
reading the first book for the first time. This will be an ongoing series. The
number seven is a prominent number in the Harry Potter series so it seems
fitting to reminisce on this reread. This time around I won’t be rereading the
books all at once. There are so many books that I haven’t read yet that I want
to give a chance so I will reread at my own pace. Let the magic begin!
I want to first
discuss the title. It really bothers me that Scholastic felt the need to change
Philosopher’s Stone to Sorcerer’s Stone. Not only are these two things very
different, but the American name no longer carries as much intellect and
weight. To some this may seem like a minuscule detail but in terms of Nicholas
Flammel and what his title was, he was a philosopher and there was said to be a
Philosopher’s Stone. The title change can be compared to Victor Hugo’s Notre Dame de Paris, more commonly known
as The Hunchback of Notre Dame. The
later title was dubbed for the English translation of the book but carries no
weight for what the story is really about which is Notre Dame, not specifically
the Hunchback, Quasimodo.
Two of my
favorite chapters exist in this book as well as one of my least favorite
chapters. My least favorite chapter is Chapter 14, Norbert the Norwegian
Ridgeback. This chapter contains a humorous line from Hermione (“Hagrid, you
live in a wooden house” she exclaims after Hagrid says his dragon Norbert is
going to live with him) but apart from that
Now let us
travel back to the year 2000 when I first began reading about young Harry’s
adventures. I will not go into why I changed my mind about the books. That will
be for another time. My mom ordered me the first book through the Scholastic
book order (remember those?), a paperback cover. When the book arrived, I
remember gawking at how thick the book seemed and how small the font was. I
felt very grown up reading this book. I carried it with me everywhere
throughout the house. One night as my brother, who was 7, took a bath he called
me into the bathroom for company. I laid down on the bathroom rug and continued
reading Chapter 4, The Keeper of the Keys. My brother was splashing bath water
and I kept telling him to stop. It was an accident waiting to happen. His
splashes grew bigger and bigger until finally, SMACK! Water cascaded through
the air and drenched my book. I can remember crying and my mom sitting me on
her lap for comfort. That was only the beginning of my book’s ruin. Once I
finished reading, which felt like a huge accomplishment, I lent the book to my
brother who was desperate to read it. I didn’t see the book for a few months
and when school ends and my brother emptied his backpack, the pages were
covered with melted butterscotch candies. This was yet again another blow. I
was very wary to lend my brother anything from this moment forward. I’m not
sure what became of that copy. I think we donated it.
This ends my
Philosopher’s Stone reflection blog. Join me next time when I remember the
Chamber of Secrets!
