I have two series from when I was a kid that is firmly stuck in my memories–and probably will continue to do so for the rest of my life. There’s something about those childhood series that make you wary of reading them as an adult in case they don’t stack up, and in the process you lose some of that special magic.
So it was with some trepidation that I re-read Harry Potter. I received my first Harry Potter book when I was a child, and I grew up anticipating each release. It was pure magic waiting for release day. I would get so excited, and I’ve never come across a book or series since then with that same excitement and anticipation. I won’t lie; if J.K Rowling decided to write another Harry Potter book, or a book set in the same world, that magic feeling would rush back like freaking woah and I would probably squee out loud which would be extremely embarrassing.
So at the beginning of this year I went on over to Pottermore and bought the entire series. Again, I was so wary of re-reading the books because I might see and
dislike interpret the story and writing so differently. Thankfully that never happened. In fact, I enjoyed re-reading the Harry Potter series and would definitely do so again. So that childlike magic feeling wasn’t there, but I admire J.K Rowling so much more. The sheer size and magnification of HP is awe-inspiring.
The only thing I disliked about re-reading the HP series was the book version of Ron. Holy moly was he a total arsehole. A completely different version to film Ron. He was only the character that I saw differently, though book Harry Potter definitely has more of a spiky attitude compared to film Harry Potter.
The other series that made a huge impact on me was His Dark Materials. I adored that series but I can’t make myself re-read it as an adult because I knew that the ending would absolutely knock me out and depress me. You would think as an adult I would be better prepared for bittersweet endings but nope. As a kid I managed to handle that ending like a damn pro without sobbing like a baby.
I was talking with Has and E_bookpusher a few years back when we did a post about Tamara Pierce. I told them I would have loved to have read that series as a teenager because I might have adored it even more so as an adult. There are only a few adult series that I can re-read time and time again and not ever get bored. The nostalgic feeling is not there…yet. But in ten years time, who knows?
So my question is, am I talking a lot of bull or do you feel that the memories of the books you read as a child/teenager are impossible to capture or recreate as adults? Are there any other readers out there who are wary of reading much loved books from your past?