Dear Joanne,
I hope you’re doing well. Congratulations on successfully squeezing out another sequel to the prequel to a side story for a series of books that supposedly ended before the Obama presidency. I’m writing to let you know that, after spending fifteen magical years in the wizarding world, I will not be coming back to the Wizarding World; or you.
Now, I’m not here to critique the Harry Potter hepatology. Time has welded onto me rose-tinted glasses for the quixotic jeu d’esprit of the books and movies. Your stories were kind to me when little else was. Eight-year-old me walked out of Half Blood Prince, my first Harry Potter movie, sobbing over the death of a character I’d just met. I was devastated and exhilarated, but most of all, I was hooked.
It’s impossible to explain Pottermania to someone who didn’t experience it. Not since Dickens, had an author so successfully captured the collective imagination of the world. Your stories have gone places Dickens didn’t know existed. You did not just enter the zeitgeist. You were the zeitgeist.
You created a pluralistic safe space where outcasts found misfits. When I didn’t know who I wanted to be, I looked at Harry and his friends. When social media told me that I needed to be perfectly formed at thirteen. You showed me that all I needed to be was myself. It was enough for Fred, George, and Luna, who wouldn’t want to be them.
More than them, though, I wanted to be you. I was obsessed with you and your story, how you overcame your mother’s death by creating a world where a chosen one could escape death. As a storyteller and as a person, you typified everything I strived to be. For a while, it felt like you had the Midas Touch.
Until you reminded us what the point of that tale was.
In hindsight, this mess is on me too. Your stories emblemized the safety of my youth, and I clung to them desperately. I ignored your lazy retconning and celebrated the queerbaiting. I watched the prequels and sequels, fully aware that they were preying on my nostalgia. I even justified the incessant cultural appropriation. All because it meant more Harry Potter for me.
But all isn’t well anymore.
Everything I could say about your transgender comments has been said better by transgender activists (lord knows listening to trans people is a skill you could practice.) It’s disheartening to see an institution instrumental in shaping your own value sets being burnt by its architect. Your intransigence for transgender people has been, at best, baffling and, at worst, soul-crushing.
I know that it’s unfair to you that I feel betrayed. You never asked to be put into the cultural goblet of fire. You didn’t want every thought of yours to be scrutinized by millions. You never chose to play the character I built in my head. You just wanted to be yourself; I’m sorry, I wanted you to be better.
After the final Deathly Hallows movie, I bought the entire collection on Blu-Ray. Before each movie, a short clip played where you introduced the world to Pottermore. To this day, I remember the relief I felt knowing that we weren’t done just yet.
But this paratextual situationship has gone on for too long. I struggle to recognize the world I fell in love with and the author I wanted to be. Just like you and I, the wizarding world has changed all I feel is apathy. You’re not ready to move on but my stop off the Hogwarts Express is here.
I’ll keep the blu-rays. You keep your world.
Forever grateful,
Aanvik
Words and Graphics by Aanvik Singh.