This is so accurate about my feelings, I can’t even. If I could even, I’m not sure I would even.
Okay, maybe it’s not being entirely fair; you can “love” Harry Potter and still “love” The Hunger Games. This Condescending Wonka isn’t talking to you, and you know it, so shut up.
This Condescending Wonka is talking to all those people who would swear that the story would never die, that they’d read it to their grandchildren and they’d say, “After all this time?” And they’d reply, “Always.” But now all they talk about is The Hunger Games, as if Harry Potter never existed. If you want to discard the story and move on to the next “thrilling saga”, that’s fine, you go ahead and do that. I won’t ever approve of you and your blithering consumer mentality, but you’re free to do it. Just don’t be a fucking hypocrite, that’s all I ask.
It’s not that I think about Harry Potter every day, or that I sometimes think about Snape and Lily and cry in the middle of a class. It’s that the Harry Potter books defined a large part of my life, and nothing will ever replace them. No matter how much I may enjoy other books, or admire them, they will never be a substitute. For me, the story really will never die. This would be true for me whether or not I liked The Hunger Games (for the record, I’m in the minority here: I don’t like them). In a big way, they have been my moral compass and how I’ve learned to deal with the prospect of death.
So to return to the point, you’re free to like whatever you like. Just be fucking honest with yourself if you’ve just “moved on”: you never “loved” the Harry Potter books; you merely enjoyed them. That’s not a crime, but it is kind of insulting when something that deeply affected you has superlatives about it idly thrown around, soon to be forgotten.