I haven’t reread Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone since middle school, probably. My little paperback is beaten up now, passed along to my siblings before being returned significantly more worn than the last I’d seen it. Pages are missing along with the back cover. The spine is split in two. Small, triangular holes line a few of the pages where my parrot sat and gnawed on the book as I read. A giant sticker, one of those large, badge-like ones they give out at doctor’s offices, is tucked between the pages, buried near the end of the book where it was once used as a bookmark.

I can’t help but smile as I look at the book, and I wondered how unbiased of a review I could truly make this. The nostalgia factor is alive and well with this one, after all. I read the first book when I was 11, and the last book was released the summer I graduated high school. Harry Potter bookended my childhood. But, I’ve tried my best to maintain an open, unbiased opinion. Here goes!