Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by J.K. Rowling

I have a confession to make: I have read only one Harry Potter book: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. Really, I read one and didn't feel like reading more. But that's not the point of this story.

When Harry Potter first made his appearance in the world, I was working in a children’s bookstore called The Linden Tree, one of the premier children’s bookshops in the nation. Besides the employee discount, the best thing about The Linden Tree was that employees were encouraged to borrow the books from the store so that we could actually be familiar with the books we were selling (novel concept, no?).

One of the other employees borrowed Harry as soon as it arrived, and her 10-year-old son devoured it. She reported back to us with a thumbs up: not only did he like it, but he had read it in one day and hadn’t stopped talking about it since. I decided to give it a try.

I didn’t love the book, though I could see why a 10-year-old boy would. It didn’t strike me as anything particularly special. I intended to return it to the store when I was finished, so I removed the paper jacket and kept it in a safe place. That way, I felt more comfortable about handling the book and carrying it in my backpack.

One evening after work, I put Harry in my backpack and met some friends at Candlestick Park for a Giants game (ah, the days when it was still called Candlestick Park!). The backpack came into the ballpark with me and I set it on the cement floor by my feet. For the next hour, I ate hot dogs, drank beer, and cheered along with everyone else for reasons I did not necessarily follow. No matter—when you’ve got a bag of peanuts, you’re sitting under the stars, and surrounded by your friends, baseball is the best game on earth.

Suddenly, I realized that I was stepping in something sticky. And wet. I looked down, and saw a puddle of liquid under my seat, soaking into the bottom of my backpack. Someone had spilled a cup of soda on the floor. Oh no! Harry!

It did not surprise me to find Harry at the very bottom of the bag, shielding everything else from getting wet. I pulled it out and inspected the damage: not too bad, considering. Most of the wetness was on the spine, and I could see the gold lettering sort of melting off. All I thought was, well, I guess I’m buying this one. And it’s a hardcover, too. Damn.

Not long afterward, it was clear that Harry Potter was going to be the biggest thing in children’s books since the Gutenberg press. I still maintained that the book was nothing special, but I must admit, it does please me that sitting on my bookshelf is a hardcover first edition of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone with a pristine dust jacket.

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by J.K. Rowling

tags: books book reviews harry potter rowling