I?ve always enjoyed reading the book after I see the movie. I?m never disappointed that way.
Like a flatiron applying heat, I smoothed over the inconsistencies between J.K. Rowling?s frizzy-haired, buck-toothed Hermione and the straight-haired, straight-smiling Emma Watson of the screen.
I saw The Fellowship of the Ring when I was seven; I read J.R.R. Tolkien?s trilogy in college. For me, Peter Jackson?s Middle-earth is canon. Tolkien?s stories are a fun alternative take.
And, while fans complained when he was cast, Josh Hutcherson will always be my mental image of Katniss Everdeen?s son-of-a-baker boyfriend. Same goes for R-Patz.
I feel differently, however, as I make my way through Andrzej Sapkowski?s The Witcher books, the saga from which CD Projekt RED?s massive RPGs draw their name, characters, and setting. Having played 60 hours of The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, in August I decided to jump into the books. Since thenI have since finished the two short story collections, The Last Wish and Sword of Destiny, that serve as an introduction to The Continent, and I am mostly done with Blood of Elves, the White Wolf?s first novel-length adventure.  
I?m frustrated and intrigued by the Witcher I?m meeting on the page. Geralt of Rivia, I thought I knew you.
Good Witcher, Bad Witcher
My Geralt is a nice guy; amicable unless he has good reason not to be. The Geralt of the page is pricklier. He frequently calls his buddy Dandelion a fool. When his adopted daughter Ciri acts up as ...