I would gladly read this passage to J.K.Rowling personally:
“The Harry Potter series is a pale comparison to the works of other ‘great’ writers of the United Kingdom. Dickens brought the misery of 19th century industrialised Britain to life…Wilde explored the subconscious, Dahl the absurd, Welsh the insane…Roddy Doyle painted a picture of bleak Irish history, dominated by the English, and Douglas Adams…well!
J.K.Rowling took the least offensive, least imaginative and least interesting of all their ideas, combined them into one giant, seven course serving of drivel, and wore glasses to the bank when she picked up her cheque. Never before has such an uninteresting blob of vague ideas been awarded such attention, and passed off to the younger generations as material worth occupying your space of thought for a minute.
She should be retroactively banned from writing any such crap, forced to publicly peel potatoes, and hailed as the low point in literature for the next thousand years. At which point she should read a fucking book.”
I’m not sure who said those words, but I can’t disagree. I’ve tried to read the Harry Potter books, and made it halfway through the first. I tried to watch the movies, but they don’t make sense. (Well, the story doesn’t. The CG is amazing – and that makes a lot of sense, but more on that later.). I can’t help feeling like there’s something missing; something not quite right. And I think I know what it is…it’s the whole damn reason for the books being published in the first place.
That being – money.