But before I can suggest what one might learn from reading a good novel, they pop the question about The Boy Who Lived: “How do you like ‘Harry Potter’?”
Of course, it’s not really a question anymore, is it? In the current state of Potter mania, it’s an invitation to recite the loyalty oath. And you’d better answer correctly. Start carrying on like Moaning Myrtle about the repetitive plots, the static characters, the pedestrian prose, the wit-free tone, the derivative themes, and you’ll wish you had your invisibility cloak handy. Besides, from anyone who hasn’t sold the 325 million copies that Rowling has, such complaints smack of Bertie Bott’s beans, sour-grapes flavor.
Shouldn’t we just enjoy the $4 billion party?
Through a marvel of modern publishing, advertising and distribution, millions of people will receive or buy “The Deathly Hallows” on a single day. There’s something thrilling about that sort of unity, except that it has almost nothing to do with the unique pleasures of reading a novel: that increasingly rare opportunity to step out of sync with the world, to experience something intimate and private, the sense that you and an author are conspiring for a few hours to experience a place by yourselves — without a movie version or a set of action figures. Through no fault of Rowling’s, Potter mania nonetheless trains children and adults to expect the roar of the coliseum, a mass-media experience that no other novel can possibly provide. —Ron Charles —Harry Potter and the Death of Reading (Washington Post (will expire))
I have sampled the books, but as much as I enjoy the setting and the characters, I find nothing on any given page that stands out to me as being good writing.
My nine-year-old is reading the books on his own.