I have been putting this post off, as you might have guessed, and as I mentioned in my last post. However, I said it was to be my next post and so it is – even if it did take me months to pluck up the drive to write it. I have wanted to blog. I have wanted to post things but I haven’t wanted to write this particular post. So I avoided it. No more – three of my resolutions are linked to this blog (my next post will be about these – hooray for planning) and I would like to try my hardest not to fail them.
So here goes.
You might be asking yourself why I avoided this post even though I finished my re-readathon around this time last year, well, to answer that question we have to travel back in time. We have to go back to the year of Goblet of Fire‘s release, then the next, and the next, and the next…
My experience with the Goblet of Fire was a trying one for one simple reason: every time I reached page 362 of the original hardback, my brother would steal the book to read. Every. Single. Time. It was always that page. Eventually it got to the point where I couldn’t face reading those 362 pages again to get to page 363 and beyond. But I didn’t want to randomly begin reading on page 363 just in case I forgot any of the details. It was a horrible cycle, one which I never want to repeat with any other book. Luckily mine and my brother’s reading habits are no longer the same, and even if they were we live in different places so his access to my current read is pretty much nonexistent.
So that’s my confession. This is the last actual re-read, though I will still call the others re-reads for consistency. When I was a child, I never got past the fourth book and pretended I wasn’t that into the series as a cover. I lied. I love it wholeheartedly (especially now that I have a Ravenclaw jumper and hoodie to show off my pride, and a subscription to The Wizarding World crate from LootCrate, which I recommend). It’s a good thing that I have never really been bothered about spoilers.
The Goblet of Fire is my least favourite (tied, perhaps, with Chamber of Secrets), probably through no fault of its own. Part of me is glad I waited until I was an adult (and over the trauma of having to read the first 362 pages on a loop) to finish it. I feel like, even though it is my least favourite, I enjoy it a lot more now than I would have before. It is a book of change, and the book where everything gets a little more real. To re-purpose a line from later, the story opens at Goblet of Fire‘s close. From here on out, the novels are less stand-alone and it becomes clear that there really is a longer, deeper plot developing.
It also takes us somewhere a lot darker than the previous books, with the death of a loved character and the horrific manner of the spell which restores He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to his former glory (well, sort of).
In comparison to the first three books, my nostalgia is less joyful but the real joy now comes from my appreciation of the series as an adult and for that, I am thankful.