Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban Review

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban  - J.K. Rowling

Note: This review is full of snark and foul language. I downed a full bottle of Hater-Ade before writing this, so Potter Fans beware. I really didn't like this one. 


I've been doing a bit of counting. Let's talk numbers, shall we?


30 Potter fans have said, "It gets better." As if this series is the literary equivalent of a bullied teenager and the first three books are high school. I haven't given up, though, so all's good, folks. I will finish this series. I just hope that one of the future doorstops in the collection blows my hair back like a Trojan Condoms' commercial. Shit, I'll even settle for one of them being above a three-star read at this point.


13 Potter fans told me to skip the first three books, to start with GOBLET OF FIRE, and read on from there. I should have listened. Other than the Deathday Party and the Evil Garden Gnomes, there's not much difference between the films and the books. Nothing of import, anyway. The third book is especially boring if you've seen the movie because it's exactly the same. The only difference (and this might be my memory failing me) is that we're actually told in the book why Harry's patronus is a stag. I don't believe the movie went into that. 


(Prongs... *snickers*)


5 different Potter fans told me that, by this book, things got "darker" or "more adult". I feel ya, I do, but this one is still tamer than Mormon sex. Yeah, Harry has some dark thoughts concerning Sirius, but, overall, I was very meh about the whole situation. I will say that the book's plot delivery is shit when compared to the film. The film is succinct and not confusing in the least. The book meanders, drifts back on course, meanders a bit more, takes a lunch break, scratches itself in public, and then resumes the plot. There are pages and pages of nothing. This fucker takes a test. That fucker aces a test. This motherfucker screws up. That motherfucker does some shit right. And on... and on... and on... If I chopped off my penis and became a catholic priest in a priory whose parish consisted of nothing but lesbian nuns, I'd STILL have more of a fuck to give than I do for this book. 


In summation: 1 person named J. K. Rowling managed to create an entire generation of readers because of this series alone. I give her credit where credit is due, but this book bored my balls off. I haven't any testicles now. Thanks, Rowling. Thanks a lot.


Final Judgment: Castrated and off to the priesthood.