While I'm enjoying getting caught up on the literary phenomenon that is Harry Potter, I continue to be just a little underwhelmed by the books themselves. I had usually put down the dismissive manner in which the Potter books are often referred to by other writers as simple jealousy, but now that I've read the first three books, I can no longer do so. While I reject the notion that popularity and quality are necessarily exclusive, it is likewise false to assume that they are synonymous. Certainly Stephen King is hugely popular despite his tendency to ramble, and the continued success of Tom Clancy is somewhat mystifying considering that, in my opinion, he has not written anything of interest since the excellent Red Storm Rising.

Much of the appeal of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban strikes me primarily as the pleasure of the familiar. A new instructor for Defense Against the Dark Arts, more silly, but entertaining occurrences in the amusingly named magic classes, and, of course, the omnipresent threat of Voldemort lurking about somewhere outside Hogwarts, slavering to take revenge on his young vanquisher. To a certain extent, I think this book suffered from two things: first, middle book syndrome, where certain things happen because they need to happen to set up for the climax and conclusion of the series. Second, the fact that more of the text is devoted to quidditch than before only serves to demonstrate that the author is largely ignorant of sports, how they are played and what makes them interesting. The third Harry Potter novel is entertaining and amusing, to be sure, but not much more than that.

Style: JK Rowlings is a writer who will be much imitated, no doubt, but she is not a writer from whom to learn style. Her style is competent, at best, and at times not even that. I can't remember who first uttered the contemptuous quote relating to writers who use the word "had" twice in a sentence when once would do - (for example, "I had learned that he caught the ball" is preferred to "I had learned that he had caught the ball") - but she uses it to such an extent that it began to get on my nerves, and I am no grammar cop. I think her overdependence on Latin for names is fine and suitable for her primary audience of schoolkids, but if you expect to surprise your older or more educated readers with the fact that a character is a werewolf, for the love of all that's furry at the full Moon, don't call him Lupin!

Story: This was almost redeemed by some nice twists at the end, but the author allowed the plot to travel too far down the path of the expected to maintain any degree of suspense. Suspense does not linger for an infinite period of time; had the book been shorter by a third, the story would have been far more powerful. An intriguing thing about the Harry Potter series is that the manner in which small details from the earlier books are explained more fully indicates that Ms. Rowlings devotes more effort to the great arc of the series plot than most writers, (including me), and yet her ability to manage a plot within a single book is really problematic. She is also annoyingly willing to sacrifice plausibility at the drop of a hat in order to further her plot. Animagi are supposed to be incredibly rare, and registered, and yet not one, but four, students can manage it in a semester? A student is given the ability to travel freely through time simply in order to attend more classes? Someone who has been previously attacked and whose life is very plausibly in danger doesn't mention it to anyone, because he doesn't wish to sound alarmist. As someone writing in the SFWA Bulletin has said: a plot that depends on someone being profoundly stupid is not a plot, it is barely a story.

Characters: Again, Ms Rowlings uncanny skill for writing characters and creating interesting settings makes the need for a story almost superflous. It is enchanting to read about Harry's continued integration into the Weasley family and to glimpse the very true-to-life rivalries and petty likes and dislikes that exist in even the closest, most loving families. One finds it easy to empathize with the younger children's disgust with prim, proper and pompous Percy, or to sympathize with poor Mrs. Weasley as she's tempted to strangle the irrepressible twins. The tripartite relationship between Harry, Ron and Hermione is maturing, too, as they begin to occasionally rub each other raw and have blow-ups that eventually dissipate, just as real friends do. Snape's dislike of Harry does occasionally become overbearing to the point that one wonders if he is struggling with an improper attraction to the young hero and the evil characters often come across as more psychopathic than credible, but even in this less-than-entirely convincing volume, Rowlings again demonstrates her rare skill for writing people.

Creativity: I strongly suspect that the dementors are one invention which the author might like to retract, as they are simultaneously overly powerful and boring. Okay, the notion of something dreadfully scary that requires chocolate to aid the recuperation is kind of funny, but really struck me as uncharacteristically clumsy pandering to children. It's interesting, too, to note how the author's incredible detail with regards to school completely disappears when it comes to the notion of prisons. I was expecting a great deal more from Azkaban than we were provided in this story.

Text Sample: Harry, Ron, and Hermione descended Professor Trelawney's ladder and the winding stair in silence, then set off for Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration lesson. It took them so long to find her classroom that, early as they had left Divination, they were only just in time.

Harry chose a seat right at the back of the room, feeling as though he were sitting in a very bright spotlight; the rest of the class kept shooting furtive glances at him, as though he were about to drop dead at any moment. He hardly heard what Professor McGonagall was telling them about Animagi (wizards who could transform at will into animals), and wasn't even watching when she transformed herself in front of their eyes into a tabby cat with spectacle markings around her eyes.

“Really, what has got into you all today?” said Professor McGonagall, turning back into herself with a faint pop, and staring around at them all. “Not that it matters, but that's the first time my transformation's not got applause from a class.”

Everybody's heads turned toward Harry again, but nobody spoke. Then Hermione raised her hand.

“Please, Professor, we've just had our first Divination class, and we were reading the tea leaves, and -”

“Ah, of course,” said Professor McGonagall, suddenly frowning. “There is no need to say any more, Miss Granger. Tell me, which of you will be dying this year?”

Everyone stared at her.

“Me,” said Harry, finally.

“I see,” said Professor McGonagall, fixing Harry with her beady eyes. “Then you should know, Potter, that Sibyll Trelawney has predicted the death of one student a year since she arrived at this school. None of them has died yet. Seeing death omens is her favorite way of greeting a new class. If it were not for the fact that I never speak ill of my colleagues -”

Professor McGonagall broke off, and they saw that her nostrils had gone white. She went on, more calmly, “Divination is one of the most imprecise branches of magic. I shall not conceal from you that I have very little patience with it. True Seers are very rare, and Professor Trelawney -”

She stopped again, and then said, in a very matter-of-fact tone, “You look in excellent health to me, Potter, so you will excuse me if I don't let you off homework today. I assure you that if you die, you need not hand it in.”