The latest (final?) installment of the Harry Potter saga is a play, rather than a novel: J.K. Rowling‘s Harry Potter and the Cursed Child (2016) is in production in London and will be, well, potentially forever I suppose. Probably a decent last-longer bet between it and Hamilton in there somewhere.
The play involves both our familiar cast of characters and their offspring, most notably the sons of Draco Malfoy (Scorpius) and Harry Potter himself (Albus).
The stagecraft required to put on this play is stunning: scenes switch very quickly, and with full magical intent. At a minimum, that should be interesting to watch, assuming there is an inevitable broadcast of the production at some point. Dramatically, it’s fine: the lines between good and evil are, as in the books, simultaneously crystal clear and a little bit muddied for at least a key character or two, and the central tropes of the misery and challenges and intense triumphs of adolescence are all on show, with the stakes predictably higher than those at your local high school.
It really falls into one of two buckets for most folks: either, no matter what, you will read it and, if the opportunity presents itself, go see it in person; or, you will remain bewildered over what, exactly, all the fuss is about.
#WhatIWishICouldDo
Um … write a series of books that are arguably the most influential contemporary literature in at least a century? Become rich enough to write plays that contain insanely difficult stage directions with no fear of being edited? Yeah, of course. All of that.
Also, just write a play. I think playwriting is the most difficult literary form–even more so than poetry for me. So I would have to have a thriving artistic career to even try it “for real.”