Last night I cast all pretence of composure and self-constraint into the winds and read Harry Potter cover to cover. It is quite a short book thankfully, only took me a couple of hours. Now my curiosity is stilled, I find that what is left is just a strange feeling of emptiness. Is it because of how Dumbledore died? No. Is it because the next Harry Potter will essentially be a showdown? Maybe. Is it because despite the constant reference to Voldemort the book failed to conjure up a certain sense of fear? Possible. Am I disappointed by the lack of adrenalin rush I anticipated? Of course.
On the whole the book was good (final verdict). JKR curbed her inclination to ramble on, thankfully, so the flow of the book was pretty good.
But still, somehow, I feel empty.