If you follow me on Instagram or Twitter you may have caught on to my rereading the Harry Potter series for the last month. It started around Harry’s birthday (July 31st) and it’s been hard to slow me down since. In fact, I thought I was overdoing it when I posted that I wanted to read Chamber of Secrets and Prisoner of Azkaban by the end of September, but somehow I managed to squeeze in Goblet of Fire as well.

I don’t say that to brag at all. I say that to show how much I love this series, and how distracting it is– even when reading it for the umpteenth time.

But as I reread these books as an adult, I thought it would be incredibly different. I did this about three years ago as well, and that was when my oldest was near/around two. But now I have two boys, my youngest having just turned one, and I wondered if it would change the way I read these books somehow.

If anything, though, it’s only excited me more for when I can share this series with the two of them.

Not looking for booing or hisses, I will admit that this time I find them as an easier read. I’m not sure my reading skills have gotten better, or if it’s because I’ve read them before, but I find that the language is much simpler than I remember it being. There’s nothing wrong with that at all– it’s just a new observation.

My other observation, however, is one of astonishment. Rereading these books, I’m always amazed at the little slips of information that Rowling had in them at the very beginning. Mention of Sirius, Dumbledore’s fleeting looks of happiness or surprise, things that the narration or a character might mention that make my eyes want to pop out of my head.

She knew. Rowling knew the entire time.

I know she had to, writing a series like that, but I have to admit I’m amazed. My books don’t fall into place like that, and while I’m sure she hit her struggles and went through the feelings that every writer does at one point– I still bow down to her. She wrote seven amazing books, set in a completely different realm of sorts, and people are still enjoying and learning and exploring it today.

So, what am I learning from all of this?

I’m learning that great books don’t ever become “ungreat.” I’m learning that not every writer is created equal, and that’s OK. But most of all, I’m learning that even reading these books as an adult– I’m still learning from them.

Yes, I’m learning that I’m still learning.

These books offer hope, and courage, and adventure, and friendship, and love, and deceit, and hate, and fear– so much of our own world is wrapped into these books, even if it doesn’t seem blatantly recognizable. And I think that’s why we all love them so much. Not just for the magic and the idea of going to Hogwarts for a school year or learning magic or having Hagrid as a friend and Dumbledore as a mentor: but the reality that they’re not just a place to escape to when our “real world” is getting overwhelming or crazy, they’re ‘home.’

It’s been said before, I know. But I don’t mean it in the traditional sense.

I mean they’re home because Hermione could be my best friend. Or Harry could be the dorky cool kid I’d want to be friends with. Or Dumbledore could be the principal that goes the extra mile to keep his students up to par, and does’t treat them like children but the young adults they wish to be. The books are so close to our reality (besides that little part about the wizarding world).

This has to be one of the reasons we all love them so. Or, at least, it is for me.

 

 

Want the recipe for the Treacle Tarts pictured? Head over to The Newfangled Housewife!