Ten years ago today, on July 1, 1997, Bloomsbury published Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. It would be a year before the book would be published by Scholastic for U.S. readers, but a phenomenon was born.
I began reading the books in August or September of 2001. I had a small baby at home. I had had a very difficult year fraught with problems with my family, my career, and my finances. My oldest daughter was in second grade, and I had had to move. She went to three different schools that year, which is something that still bothers me to this day. As a child who moved a lot, all I wanted to give my children was a home in one place for their entire childhood. It was something I had craved myself as a child. I picked up the first Harry Potter book for my daughter, but discovered it was a little old for her at the time. I had been told I would enjoy the books. I can’t remember any longer what made me pick up the book myself, but I eventually did. I fell in love. I felt just like Harry felt the first time he stepped into Diagon Alley:
The brick wall he had touched quivered — it wriggled – in the middle, a small hole appeared — it grew wider and wider — a second later they were facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid, an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.
“Welcome,” said Hagrid, “to Diagon Alley.”
He grinned at Harry’s amazement. They stepped through the archway. Harry looked quickly over his shoulder and saw the archway shrink instantly back into solid wall.
The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. Caudrons — All Sizes — Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver — Self-Stirring — Collapsible, said a sign hanging over them.
“Yeah, you’ll be needin’ one,” said Hagrid, “but we gotta get yer money first.”
Harry wished he had about eight more eyes. He turned his head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things inside them, the people doing their shopping.
I fell in love with Rowling’s humor and gift for language. Her books brought me some happiness at a time in my life when I didn’t feel there was much to be happy about. I read the first four books in quick succession, having to run out to K-Mart fairly late to pick up GoF because I couldn’t stop reading. The last time I’d felt like that was after J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Fellowship of the Ring.
It was a long wait before the next book came out. We lived quite a long way away from our places of employment. Our commute was a bear. When Steve was singing in the opera chorus or working late, it was easier to have dinner and wait for him somewhere, and it was during those waiting times that Sarah and I read the Harry Potter series together. Sharing the books was even more magical than reading them myself, and frankly, I can’t wait until Maggie and Dylan are old enough to share them, too. Sarah is big enough now that she probably won’t want me to read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows to her.
I am sad that the series is coming to an end, and the thrill that comes with the release of a new book will not happen anymore, but I am glad to have been invited into this other world, and I know it will be there waiting for me again each time I pick up the books.
Thank you, Jo, and Happy Anniversary.
