I threw up my dinner a few nights ago. I’m not sure if I had a virus or if something I ate didn’t agree with me, but regardless I decided to stay home from work the next day to be safe. That morning, my boyfriend woke me up and asked me if I was still sick and I replied, “Yes.” Then he said, “There’s going an 8th Harry Potter book.” “Great, now I’m even sicker,” I said.
When I found out that it’s just going to be the script of the play Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, my stomach settled again. At least now I don’t have to worry about not getting a chance to ever see the play, which I’ve been excited for ever since it was announced. But at the same time, I know this is a slippery slope. It very well may lead to a second and third and fourth sequel, and I’ve always been very comfortable with the 7-book canon. I remember my high school guidance counselor saying that he’d be shocked if JK Rowling never wrote an 8th book. I told him that there was no way she’d go back on her promise that this was the end …at least not until she was like, 70. Well, guess I was wrong.
But yah… I’m cautiously optimistic about this. All I want is for it to be well-written and to feel more like Harry Potter than freakin’ No-Majs and Illvermorny.