On July 31, 2016, many things happened. J.K. Rowling turned 51 years old, Harry Potter turned 36, and The Curse Child was released into the wild. The publication of The Cursed Child was one of the only things many bookworms and Harry Potter fans could think about that Sunday. Everyone was talking about. Everyone was tweeting about it. Everyone was posting pictures of it.
And then there’s me in my own little corner.
Unlike some people, I have decided not to jump on the bandwagon of The Cursed Child. Not that there’s anything wrong with being on that wagon. I’ve just come to realize that it’s not for me.
Unlike a lot of people, I was okay with the epilogue of The Deathly Hallows. I didn’t need anything beyond that. Did I wish it was longer? Was I sad to see it end? Did I want stories about life after Voldemort? Yes. Yes. And yes. I wanted all of those things. And more. But I wanted them when I was still into reading Harry Potter. When I just finished reading the books. The timing of the release some nine years later is a little too late for me.
Especially because since then, I’ve discovered the beauty of fanfiction. Fanfiction was my answer to all those questions. It’s how I satisfied my cravings for more stories about Harry Potter. And sadly, according to many of my friends (and people I follow and respect), some of those fanfics are better than The Cursed Child. Please don’t shoot the messenger.
I kind have to agree. Some of the events in The Cursed Child seem a bit… far fetched. And how do I know that without reading the book itself? Spoilers. Spoilers, spoilers, spoilers. I guess that’s what I get for lurking around on Twitter the day The Cursed Child was published, but I unintentionally already know pretty much everything that happens. Which kind of ruins that magic of having a new HP book.
Can I even call it a book? It’s technically not a novel. At least, not in the traditional sense. It’s a rehearsal script for the play. It’s meant to be seen, to be heard on stage. It’s not exactly meant to be read. I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of reading play scripts. There’s just so many different interuptations. So many meanings that could be conveyed depending on how the actor and director reads the text. That’s something I learned in high school. Thank you very much Shakespeare.
I don’t think I’ll ever read The Cursed Child unless I can see it first. And let’s be real here. I’m a soon to be, broke college student. Seeing the play anytime soon isn’t going to happen unless it gets released on DVD or something.
I guess, what I’ve really been trying to say this whole post is that I’m trying to let the past stay in the past. For me, Harry Potter was a large part of my childhood. Its story, its message, its characters, and its magic follow me every day. Like many of book nerds, Harry Potter was one of the books that influenced my love for reading. My love of stories that live in pages.
It’s a story that gave me morals. That taught me important lessons. That gave me idols that I will forever look up to.
I’m not saying that I’m no longer a fan of Harry Potter. Hell, I’m a proud member of Pottermore and reading all the content on that site is one of my procrastination priorities. I just wouldn’t feel right reading The Cursed Child without rereading all of the other books. And if I’m being honest, rereading them isn’t exactly something I enjoy.
I want those golden memories to stay golden. I’m not very willing to take a trip down memory lane. At this point in my life, I’m already filled with enough nostalgia. Within the next month, I’ll be saying goodbye to my childhood friends and my family and embarking on the adventure known as college.
Harry Potter will always have a special place in my heart. But it’s locked in a room (or should I say chamber?) that I’m not quite willing to reopen. A room I want to keep closed.
At least for now.
Will you be reading The Cursed Child?
If you did, what did you think of it?