I know loads of people (including more than one 'rufty-tufty' ARRSE blerk! ) who've pre-ordered this. I've not ordered it, but want to pick up a copy as soon as I can. I'm also really looking forward to the next film!
The BBC's Robert Winder explains what he hates about Harry Potter, but accepts the challenge to read Half-Blood Prince when it is published to see if the boy wizard can work his charm.
Personally, I've never understood the hype about Harry Potter.
I've seen one of the films (I was stuck on a long-haul flight and didn't have much choice) and tried to read one of the books and was left distinctly unimpressed.
But whether you like books or not is a matter of personal opinion.
The irritating thing is that, like the Star Wars series, the constant barrage of Potter books, films and associated merchandise reeks of crass commercialism.
Harry Potter has now become a brand that has been used to sell the products of multinational corporations like Coca-Cola.
A huge promotional campaign is under way - mainly aimed at children - to market the latest book, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.
I have heard parents often complain that their children harass them to buy the book - but that it is left unread on the shelves while the kids get back to their computer games.
But that's not the only thing that annoys me about the Potter 'phenomenon'.
The series paints an unrealistic picture of Britain in 2005.
In fact Harry Potter often reminds me of John Major.
There might not be much to connect the young wizard and the former Conservative prime minister at first glance - apart from a passing resemblance - but it seems to me that their vision of Britain could be the same.
John Major believed the UK to be a country of "long shadows on cricket grounds, warm beer, invincible green suburbs and old maids bicycling to Holy Communion through the morning mist".
Harry Potter, I think, also represents this long-forgotten Britain of the 1950s in many ways.
Living at a boarding school, he inhabits a world of duelling practice, of house-masters, of pet rats and harmless games.
It is a world where good and evil are clearly defined and not one with the many grey areas and dangers familiar to children and young adults today.
My Harry Potter would certainly not be a part of this world. He'd be more of an urban Harry for 2005.
He might hang round bus-stops late at night wearing a baseball cap and drinking cider.
He might harass the neighbours with his magic powers and end up with an Asbo.
My Harry Potter would probably sell about three copies, though.
And you might argue that Harry Potter is fantasy for kids and is not supposed to reflect the realities of modern-day life in Britain.
And you'd be right - except that Harry Potter is also read by thousands of adults. Why?
You will probably see nearly as many Half-Blood Princes as you see Da Vinci Codes on public transport for a while.
But what is it that appeals to adults about what is essentially diet-Lord of the Rings?
I myself have seen normally intelligent people reduced to gibbering wrecks, babbling incoherently about Gryffindors and Slytherins.
Author AS Byatt said that adult Potter fans are actually "reverting to their inner child" when they read Potter, and that they were "for people whose interests are confined to the worlds of soaps, reality TV and celebrity gossip".
One of the BBC News website's very own readers has the perfect response to that one, though - "I've never heard of AS Byatt," he said in a recent Have Your Say on the issue.
Despite all this criticism I embark on this challenge with an open mind - hoping to discover the magic that has enchanted millions and find out whether the book is really any good - but I'm still not expecting to find my urban Harry.
Someone lent me a Harry Potter DVD recently, and assured me that it was the greatest cinematic experience since Citizen Kane. I sat down to watch it, but after ten minutes I could feel the will to live seeping out of my body. Luckily, I managed to switch it off before succumbing to the desire to asphixiate myself by jamming the remote down my throat.
Conclusion: Duller than a a dull day in Dullsville.