The Harry Potter books really are magic.
According to J.K. Rowling’s website, the idea that would become Harry Potter just “fell into her head.” As anyone who has ever written knows, that’s usually how it happens. What fell into her head, though, was better than anything that’s ever fallen into anyone else’s head. Harry Potter is virtually flawless. The characters, universe, story, plot, and writing are all nearly perfect. Sure, there are a few places where it might, maybe, have been better, but if that’s the biggest complaint you can make in over four thousand pages, that’s amazing. Snobby literature types have taken issue with the writing, and some authors I really respect, such as Ursula K. Leguin, were less than impressed. What the critics fail to grasp is what Stephen King understood, which is that Harry Potter was storytelling at it’s finest.
I love Harry Potter, and I don’t mean the books, I mean the boy. I love Ron and Hermione, and I also loved being part of their lives, and the lives of everyone else in the Harry Potter series. Should I ever live to be a great grandparent, I am confident that I will be able to hand one of these books to one of my great grandchildren, and they will fall in love just as I did. The Harry Potter books aren’t about just about magic, they are magic, and that’s why I wish I’d written them.
Also, the money.