The Revolution Will Not Be a Lot of Things

I finished Suzanne Collins' final installment of The Hunger Games the other day. I’m sure I’ll end up spinning a ridiculous epic about my thoughts and feelings, but from a bare bones perspective, my perceptions can be summed up thusly: I took notes while reading the book. That’s generally a bad sign. One, it means it took me way longer to read the book than any true page-turner ever would, and two, it means there things that were so irksome that I felt the need to write them down. For Mockingjay? You should see the ridiculous array of scraps of paper stuffed into the book-slot in my purse (a must-have for a girl with nowhere to go). Granted, it pales in comparison to the illuminated manuscript of angry scribblings associated with the Twilight series, but it’s still cause for concern.

I took my time with this book, but for all the wrong reasons. I had heard from people who plowed through it that it was disappointing and that the last 50 pages would surely elicit a furrowed brow and a disgruntled, “WHAT?” Boy oh boy, with recommendations like that, it’s no wonder I zipped through it in (!)… like a month. Ouch. After a slow, disconcerting start that turned into a confoundingly irksome middle, I found myself, at sadly frequent intervals, not…really…wanting to finish the book. I didn’t want to taint my enjoyment of the first two books with a disappointing denouement. Having now finished the novel, I’m torn as to whether or not I should have heeded these impulses.

I could go on and on about this book, but I suspect I’d just work myself into an annoyed dither. Again. Poor Annie has had to listen to my caterwauling stage by stage, all without spoiling the rest of the book (assuming it could really be spoiled). I’m going to try to keep this brief, so citing precedent, you should know that it’ll be a tome. It’s really hard to know where to begin or how to organize my thoughts on this one, but I’ll at least try to keep the stream of consciousness to a minimum.

I think my primary problem with this novel is that it just doesn’t do the trilogy justice. This is the final volume. It should be the thrilling culmination of all that’s been building over the last two books, but instead, it’s a lackluster let-down that is largely nonsensical and often boring. If this had been the third of five books, I don’t think I’d be as critical or as harsh. A middle book in a longer series doesn’t have to be all the things that a final volume does. It kind of felt like I was reading Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. The main character (whose point of view is the only one the reader is allowed) spends the majority of the book moping and isn’t allowed a major role in most of the action. As with Harry in book 5, I was often annoyed and disappointed with Katniss in book 3. Having to sift through all that teen crap and emotional baggage when there’s a war going on just annoyed the hell out of me and seemed completely ridiculous. It kind of reminded me of the pilot for V. Seriously, mother and son are arguing about the girls he dates and school and whatnot now? Uh, you guys do realize there’s a giant alien spaceship hovering over your city, right? I’ve never been in a truly horrific situation where life and death are on the line, but I have to assume that petty squabbles and social quibbles would fly out the window. In looking at HP5 and Mockingjay, I spend the better part of both books dumfounded that anyone could possibly care about who to sit next to at lunch when such horrific things have happened and are happening as they speak. How can all this juvenile crap be going on when the world is ending?! HP5 is a far superior book, don’t get me wrong, but I just kept getting the same vibe from it in that sense. Geez, the books are even the same color. The major difference is that with Harry, that was book 5 of 7. He had two more volumes to come out of his funk and redeem himself in my eyes. Poor Katniss was not afforded such a luxury. Too boot, it made some sense for Harry to be an angsty, brooding, ball-of-whining in book 5. For Katniss to spend all of book 3 trapped inside the Suzanne Collins House of Psychiatry was completely out of character, nonsensical, and deleterious to the storyline. For the big finish, the revolution, the knock-down drag-out war, I expected a lot more fanfare and adrenaline. Collins somehow made everything seem inconsequential at a time when everything should have ultimate import. It made it very difficult to care about the story or any of the people in it. She seems to have opted for as little style and panache as possible and I can’t wrap my head around why.

In Katniss’ defense (and Collins’ further indictment), it seems that nearly all the characters I knew and loved in the first two books casually decided not to show up for volume three. I realize this is a YA novel written in first person and that effusive descriptions are necessarily scant, but I really did feel like I knew some of these characters and had grown to adore them. Too bad none of them were invited to the party this time around. It was most notable with Katniss, of course, given that she is the narrator of the story, but she is by no means the only character who seemed to have been completely reconceived by Collins for the final book. I literally spent the better part of the first 250 pages thinking, “You have got to be kidding me!” It got to the point where I was actually relieved when I’d get through a scene that wasn’t annoying, ridiculous, eye-roll inducing, senseless, or cringe-worthy. It was honestly a little exhilarating when a scene played out in a satisfying way (which isn’t to say it played out how I would have written it, but that it made any sense at all). I kept thinking to myself, “Katniss wouldn’t do that! Haymitch wouldn’t say that! Gale wouldn’t allow that!” Maybe it’s that these truly aren’t the same people I met in the first two books. They’ve been through a hell of a lot and it’s impossible to tell just how that will affect people. Maybe once you’ve survived such devastating events, it really isn’t a matter of who you are anymore because that person no longer exists. At the end of the day though, I really felt like I knew these people and I can’t imagine that they’d emerge on the other side of all this in the way that they did. Let me count the ways…

Katniss
In the first two books, I felt like she was a character I could trust. She was logical and determined and smart. No matter how horrible things got, I could be assured she would rise to the occasion and do whatever was necessary to accomplish her objective. Having lost so much to the Capitol, I would have thought she’d start off the culmination of her story with an unstoppable passion. I would have thought she’d be battered and broken and emotionally scarred, but that she would find a way to soldier on and do whatever it takes to save the people she loves. The Katniss that showed up for book three is not that Katniss. For whatever reason, Collins seemed to think it would be more compelling to turn the reluctant heroine into a weak, vaguely psychotic sob story who can barely get out of bed. Um, yay? I realize that she’s been through a lot and that she’s in an impossible situation, but that’s what happened in the first two books and she found a way to overcome. Katniss has always been motivated by the safety of her friends and family. Now, in book three, when they are all at their most vulnerable, she spends half her time hiding in a closet or sitting in a hospital bed. Ugh. In her defense, the big wigs of the revolution were reluctant to let their little figurehead do much of anything, but, well, in that case, maybe Collins should have taken a different approach to this volume, because what she came up with didn’t work. Every excuse I can conjure for Katniss is a slam against Collins. It just strikes me as completely dumfounding that Collins made the choices she did. She could have done so much with these characters and taken them in completely badass directions, and she chose to do this?! I realize that this isn’t my story and that I’m not the one calling the shots, but I’m hard-pressed to find any reason that I would go out of my way to make my narrator unlikeable to the extent that readers hardly even care is she survives the story (I’ve asked around, it’s not just me). At the very least, you shouldn’t be forced to go from respecting and trusting a character to constantly thinking, “Oh for crying out loud, you can’t possibly think that’s a good idea!” I don’t expect characters to always do the right thing and make the best decisions, but once in a while is nice. It just seems like anyone who could have survived the first two books would have been better prepared for the third. That goes for most characters, not just Katniss. In the first two books, no one carried the idiot ball, no one went upstairs during the horror movie as the audience is screaming for them to stop, and everyone was necessarily logical and strong. So the question is, what the hell do they put in the water in 13 that brought us to this?!

Gale
I’ve been a big fan of Gale’s pretty much since day one. I think I decided I adored him at the reaping when he said, “Up you go, Catnip.” I don’t know why, but I found that unduly endearing. At the end of the second book, I was super-psyched to get to see more of him. I assumed this volume would be a showcase for his character, and to certain extent, it was, but the storyline itself was so unsatisfying that it tempered his presence. I thought he’d be given a chance to really shine, but instead he’s relegated to dealing with the new and not-improved Katniss, a war that’s being fought in fairly stupid ways, and Peeta "must... strangle... Katniss" Mellark. The interpersonal dynamics were so ridiculous, particularly between him and Katniss, that I was actively annoyed for the better part of the book. For the record, my annoyance has nothing to do with Katniss ending up with Peeta. By about a third of the way into Mockingjay, I not only saw that coming, but was largely relieved by that fact. The Gale that I know and love doesn’t work with the Katniss that showed up for this volume. He can do better. It became more and more apparent that they only really worked under certain circumstances in this book. In the book’s favor, some of the best aspects of the story featured Katniss and Gale in battle. All through the first two books, as Katniss and the other tributes were trying to survive and keep Peeta alive, I kept thinking, “Geez, if only Gale were here, things would be going a whole lot better.” I was right. Seeing Katniss and Gale working together to defeat the enemy was exhilarating. There’s something so satisfying about a pair of people who share an unspoken language, who know each other’s movements so well that they don’t need a plan, and who have spent so much time together that they know what the other is thinking instantly. There’s just something about that vibe that really appeals to me. When the Capitol planes were attacking the hospital, all Katniss had to say was “Geese!” and they both instantly knew what to do. They have a shorthand that’s as useful as it is awesome. Unfortunately, these kinds of moments between the pair were few and far between because the second anything interesting would start to happen, Katniss would end up back in the hospital or being chastised for her conduct. What’s worse, Katniss’ attitude toward Gale was irksome and hypocritical. It made the dynamic between them strained and ridiculous. Seriously, we’re in the middle of a bloody war with people dying left and right and you’re going to hold a grudge?! I just don’t think that the same people who risked everything to keep their families (and each other) alive would treat each other like that… especially under these circumstances. My fondness for the two of them as a pair (either romantic or not) just didn’t translate here because Katniss didn’t translate here. Gale’s practical approach to the war was consistent with his character, but Katniss’ complete and total meltdown was shockingly inconsistent. Essentially, the pair that I adored lost any chance of making it the second Prim’s name was called at the reaping (at least as far as Collins is concerned). Whatever Collins’ motivations, she made me like Katniss so little that I would have been irked to no end if Gale had ended up with her. That’s how screwed up Katniss is in this book. Because, you know, who wouldn’t want the protagonist to completely suck it up in the end? Geez, is that what Collins is trying to do? Is that what she’s trying to say? That war is so awful that it can turn a strong, smart, beloved character into a neurotic, petty, waste of space? If so, mission accomplished.

Peeta
I’ve never been a huge fan of Peeta (or as I affectionately call his groupies, “Peetaphiles”—oh, come on, that’s funny), and I think to love this book, that was an essential missing ingredient. In fact, to really appreciate Mockingjay, I think you’d have to absolutely love Peeta. I do not. I never have. In truth, I don’t hate him or anything, I just quite honestly have no emotional attachment to him whatsoever, neither good, nor bad. I think if I truly loved him as so many readers do, the fact that the Capitol had warped his brain would have had a lot more impact and would have seemed a lot less ridiculous. For me, I couldn’t help but think, “Oh good hell, what’s next? Seriously, amnesia?” It just didn’t carry the emotional punch that it should have. I try to think of how I would have reacted if it had been a character I truly loved, and while I think it would have been emotionally gripping than it was with Peeta, I still think it would have fallen far short of devastating. For something like that? I expect devastating. I went into the third book thinking that finally Peeta would be given a chance to show off his skills in a way that would make me love him. For two books, we heard all about how great Peeta was with words and what a great leader he’d be for the revolution. Then the revolution gets here, and, like Katniss, he spends the entire time in a mental hospital. It was disappointing and anticlimactic and didn’t make me love Peeta any more than I already did. In fact, if anything, being stuck with the Peeta Killbot 5000 made things even worse. The only aspect of this that was endearing was the sight of Peeta and Gale kinda, sorta becoming friends. Sigh. It just seems that all the awesome beyond awesome things that Collins’ foreshadowed never came to fruition. Again, is that the point she’s trying to make? That war isn’t some fairy tale where the good guys win and everyone rides off into the sunset? If that was her goal, maybe she shouldn’t have included an epilogue with Peeta and Katniss watching their children laugh and play in a field of flowers… I just don’t know. Even if that were Collins’ goal with this book, I think it could have been brought about in a more powerful, more exciting, and more emotionally jarring way. Whatever reasons I come up with for why Collins did what she did, I’m met with the disappointing realization that no matter what her goal, the end result was a letdown. I think the real difference between me not caring about him for the first two books and me not caring about him here was that for volumes 1 and 2, my indifference was offset by other things—like the games. Here, we spend hundreds of pages alternating between hospital stays, photoshoots, and filming commercials and it just isn’t enough to make up for Peeta.

In spite of everyone acting out of character 80% of the time, the story itself was still absolutely predictable. Indeed, it seems the only real surprises seemed to be when characters started acting like themselves again (however briefly). When I can see the writing process behind a story or a show, I say that I can “see the strings.” Yeah, well, with Mockingjay, I saw almost nothing but strings. I don’t need to be spoonfed, I don’t need to be told what to think, and I don’t need soapboxing, thanks. Good god, some of the aspects of this book were so painfully heavy-handed, it was like reading a different author entirely. Which isn’t s to say that the first two books were subtle or anything, but there was at least some style and panache involved. It just felt like Collins didn’t trust her readers to analyze or draw conclusions. I actually liked the lyrics of The Hanging Tree, and whilst reading it, started drawing parallels between it and the story. I love getting to do that. That love was short-lived, however, because Collins then went on to explain each stanza for the next three pages of the book. Ugh. I realize your target demographic is young readers, but seriously, given them a little credit. Same goes for the stupid flashlight game with the cat. Yeah, we get it. We don’t need you to explain it all to us. It was anvilicious enough that we couldn’t help but to see it. Even if readers didn’t catch it, that’s fine too. You have to trust that some of your readers will get what you’re saying and others won’t. If you boil everything down to the point where an inbred cocker spaniel is like, “Seriously lady, I hear you,” then you’re going to alienate everyone who knew what you were trying to say five pages ago. Part of the fun is figuring these things out for yourself and it’s unsatisfying and almost insulting to be spoonfed.

I think ultimately, Collins lost sight of her strong suits. She’s at her best with action and suspense, both of which were in fairly short supply for Mockingjay. Sure, it had its moments, but it was nothing compared to the pulse-pounding edge-of-your-seatiness of the first two. I can think of only a few moments when I was chomping at the bit for the next scene, and even then, I could really take it or leave it. She seemed hell-bent on making this volume a cerebral experience, but that’s not where Collins or her characters are at their best. We checked into the Suzanne Collins’ House of Psychiatry early on, and the second we managed to escape, we’d return. Ugh. It seemed that every time things would start to get good, there’d be an explosion and we’d end up back in the hospital. Again. Poor Peeta finally gets recused, only to end up in a rubber room for the better part of the book. It was honestly 250 pages in before people finally seemed to realize that there was a war going on and that maybe, just maybe, they should be there to fight it. If Collins were more adept at writing ethical quandaries, moral dilemmas, heart-wrenching decisions, and love stories, I would have been fine with this decision, but really, it’s not what she’s best at.

Okay, I just came back to this review after several weeks of reviewing new TV pilots and I can’t really remember where I was or what else I still had to say… But, here goes…

I had heard from a number of people that the last 50 pages of the book were ridiculous so I was honestly a little hesitant to get that far. As it turns out, I was right to be wary. This is the final book of the series, the final scenes, and instead of a mind-bending crescendo of awesome, we get what I think just about every can agree was more of a, “Wait, what?” Not cool, Collins. Not cool at all. Seriously Katniss has finally (finally) made her way to Snow’s mansion, the story is finally steaming full speed ahead in the right direction, Katniss is hurtling toward her destiny and almost certain death and then, AND THEN! Huh? Seriously, what just happened? Oh holy hell, we’re in the hospital… again. Oh who am I kidding, of course we’re in the hospital again. I have a sneaking suspicion Collins simply didn’t know how the hell she was going to wrap things up from there (and even more of a suspicion that her publisher had a gun to her head in order to meet a deadline), so rather than letting the parts of the book that would actually be interesting and exciting play out, she just conveniently throws Katniss back in the hospital and gives readers the lame-ass Cliffs’ Notes version of the series climax. Disappointment squared. I was completely shocked that that’s what she chose to do. That she spent/wasted so much time following characters around as they moped their ways through the war was bad enough, but then to deny readers the thrilling conclusion that such a story warrants is just plain mean. To boot, her treatment of the final scenes eliminated all the emotional weight that should come with the deaths of Finnick and especially Prim. Seriously, some pages later, after the parachutes were dropped and Katniss finally woke up, she mentions that her sister is dead and I was seriously like, “Oh yeah, Prim died.” It should have been absolutely devastating, but instead, it just seemed like a total afterthought. The same goes for Finnick, although to a lesser extent. I realize that there really wasn’t much time to register Finnick’s death, but at least his ultimate demise could have been more interesting. He essentially dies off screen (er, off page). Too boot, I’m sorry did anyone out there NOT see that coming? Man alive, I had a feeling Finnick was a goner ages ago. Which is a real shame, because by the end of the series he and Gale were really the only people I cared about. Which should have meant that Finnick’s death would carry more weight, but Collins just didn’t seem to want to take the time. Sigh. Oh, and speaking of things that were totally obvious to everyone but the people in the book, did anyone out there really think for even a second that it was a Capitol plane that dropped the parachutes? I never had any doubt in my mind and was utterly perplexed that Katniss was in such turmoil. I’m sorry, but Katniss? Were you reading a different book this entire time? (Not that anyone could really blame you for that...)

Sigh. Having enjoyed volumes 1 and 2 so much, I really had to evaluate exactly what it was that made book 3 such a disappointment and why Collins would have made the decisions she made. I have a number of theories that help mitigate the poor choices, but ultimately, it just felt like Collins had a deadline to meet. I think with a few more drafts, this book really could have been excellent, but as is, it feels like she got cut off after the second rough draft and a blocky outline for the final chapters. My theories still do help, but most of them are difficult to support even when I tap my deepest of English major skills. One theory for her treatment of Mockingjay is that she was making a serious commentary about war and forcing readers to acknowledge that they really did delight in the horrors of the arena, just like the Capitol monsters. I’ll admit it, as horrible as the arena was, it was entertaining. By taking those characters and giving them horrendous emotional baggage to work through, perhaps Collins was trying to shine a light on what war really does to people. We see Katniss go from being a strong, confident person into an emotional mess and unstable narrator. In a way, it’s truly heart-breaking, but in another way, it’s just plain annoying. The character established in the first two books would have risen to the occasion, not imploded. Maybe that was Collins' point. We can’t really know how something so horrific will affect people and the horrors of war can destroy even the strongest of people. These are just a few of the many, many, many theories I’ve pondered when trying to figure out what the hell Collins was thinking, and they really do help, but in my estimation, no matter what Collins’ intent, she could have done so in a much more compelling way. Instead of leaving this series truly moved, I left it feeling annoyed and disappointed.

This post turned into an epic rant and I’m sorry. The book really did have its merits, it just didn’t live up to expectations or do justice to the story in a compelling way. It did its job. It ended things. And there were parts of the story that were quite strong. The final chapters leading up to the last 50 pages of “what the hell just happened?” were the best of the book. It’s the kind of writing Collins excels at. There were clever devices used, interesting character developments, and the story arc finally had some fire beneath it. Little things reminded me of what I enjoyed about the first two books. When they are looking at camera footage of themselves, one of the cameramen says that the Capitol really must not have any hovercraft because there were no aerial shots of the action—something only a cameraman would really notice. Collins looks for everyone to have value, even in unexpected ways, and I always enjoyed that. Too bad more of the book didn’t stir such positive emotions.

To sum things up, I have to mention a realization I had regarding the whole Peeta/Katniss/Gale situation. It’s exactly like the Chuck/Sarah/Bryce triangle from the first couple of seasons of Chuck. I always loved seeing Sarah and Bryce together because they are of comparable skill levels and work together so smoothly. With Chuck, it’s basically an hour of Sarah trying to keep his sorry ass alive. Don’t get me wrong, I adore Chuck (SO much more than Peeta), but at the end of the day, it’s still fairly annoying to watch him screw everything up while other people have to save him. I don’t think Chuck and Sarah complement each other in the same way that Peeta and Katniss don’t. I guess it just points to my own sensibilities though, because I'm seriously in the minority here.

I’m sure there’s more to discuss, but I’m spent. I can’t imagine anyone made it to this point in this tome of a post anyway, so ending abruptly shouldn’t be too jarring. I loved the first two books, but the third kind of managed to taint the experience as a whole. I’m hoping to re-read these one day and maybe then I’ll be able to appreciate book 3 more… you know, kind of like Alias season 3. Sigh. I think I’ll hedge my bets and re-read Harry Potter first. Solid ending to a spectacular series. Now that's how it’s done, people. (Except for the epilogue... I still take issue with that. I think it would have been better to have left if off or made it a lot simpler... more like an impression. I would have loved it if the epilogue had simply had Harry seeing Malfoy in a crowd and making eye contact or something. Nice and simple. Anyway, that's beside the point.)

1, 2, 3 o'clock, 4 o'clock RABID MONKEYS!

***SPOILER ALERT*** (I'm not even going to try to keep this spoiler-free, so if you haven't read Catching Fire yet, proceed no further. Also, this is insanely long and rambling, so I don't actually expect anyone to finish it... I just needed to vent.)

For those of you who are as astute as my friend Stephanie, a quick reference to rabid monkeys is all it really takes to assume I'm referencing the second book in The Hunger Games series, Catching Fire. And for those of you who are wondering if the monkeys were in the 4 o'clock zone, they actually were (well, the 3-4 o'clock zone, but close enough).

Reading this volume of the series was a very different experience than reading the first book. In the first book, I, like Katniss, went into the Games not exactly knowing what to expect and not having a firm grasp on precisely what evils the Capitol was exacting on its citizens. In book two, everything is a lot more sinister, and while there's a whole lot going on that we know very little about, the swell of rebellion is known and clear, even if the particulars are kept tucked away by the powers that be. No one in the districts could be quite sure where the other districts stood in book one, but after Katniss staged a very public rebellion, essentially "sticking it to the man" on live TV, she became the unifying factor in a world where everything possible is done to keep people apart. While this whole concept is gripping and terrifying, I have to admit, I had a hard time reading it all. There were many times where I thought, "I want to know what happens, but at the same time, I absolutely don't want to know what happens..." I initially find that I'm as reluctant to reenter the arena as Katniss is and I find Peeta's response to the Quell annoying at best. While I understand that he was basically mandating what we all know needed to happen (as far as preparing for the Games is concerned), I'm a wallower at heart and I sympathized with Katniss and Haymitch. Hell, I'm just reading about all this, not living it, and I wanted to get completely shit-faced at the thought of going back to the arena. My reluctance to keep reading book two and the fact that I liked the first book more has nothing to do with the quality of the writing or the story, because in many ways, book two was far more accomplished and sophisticated than its predecessor. I think Collins wanted her readers to dread going back to the Games as much as the characters, and suffice it to say, she succeeded. It made it all the more clear in this reader's mind who the enemy really is and what needs to be done to take it down. In book one, I think Collins truly understood that readers would find the bloodshed and violence entertaining, just as the Capitol does. Even at the times when readers were afraid to see what would happen, it was still gripping to the bitter end. This is exactly the effect the Capitol hopes the Games will have on viewers, and as unfortunate as it is to admit, I was riveted against my better judgment. By the end of book one, however, the reader is as repulsed as Katniss is by the government's reach, in spite of the regrettable entertainment value.

What Collins does with the first half of book two is set up the Quell in such a way that even the thrill of competition is devastating to readers. The second book starts off with a slow burn. While the first book tosses Katniss and the reader into the games almost immediately, the second book allows enough time to go by that the suspense and foreboding are allowed to build. There's something even worse about waiting for the battle than actually facing it. Collins lets the reader stew in the sense of the unknown for chapter after chapter which in itself is unsettling. Nothing is scarier than the unknown and Collins uses this to maximum impact, peppering the relatively banal tour of the districts with an ever-growing sense of things to come (the banquets and parties interrupted by assassinations, and whatnot). I had a lot of theories about where the story was headed (and to a shocking extent, I was right on the money), but in terms of the Quarter Quell, I was way off. I thought perhaps the Quell would dictate that past winners had to choose the new tributes from their district (a fate worse than death for someone like Katniss), or that the Gamemakers might choose a family member of past victors. I honestly didn't want to even consider that Katniss would have to go back to the Games, but I was wrong. Oh, so wrong.

Although I can understand where the Capitol would want to throw Katniss back into the Games as a means of punishment and gory death, they had to know that she would fight and that in spite of their best of efforts, she might win again. To boot, what better way to unify the rebels once again than to have their icon fighting for her life and by extension, fighting against their common enemy? It was at this point that I started to think that Katniss might have some deep-seeded support within the Capitol. Enter Plutarch Heavensbee, stage left. The second he pulled out that pocketwatch with the disappearing mockingjay on it, I plotted out where I thought the story was headed. Unlike the first book where nearly all of my predictions were incorrect, I actually figured out the base story arc with surprising accuracy, even if I missed some of the finer points. After I heard about that watch, and noted how much time Collins spent on mentioning the watch, I assumed Plutarch was head of the resistance and that the Games were being designed in such a way that the rebels could unite against the Capitol. How that would play out, I still had no idea, and it didn't occur to me for a second that he was trying to give Katniss a clue about the arena, but the fundamental story trajectory was in the back of my mind from there on out. It colored my judgment of just about everything, including the other competitors and their motives.

The Quarter Quell was a very different kind of games than in the first book. One of the most powerful ways in which Collins changed the dynamics of the story in order to have the desired impact on Katniss and her readers was to make everyone familiar with the competitors. In the first book, the reader has a somewhat similar seat as the Capitol. We don't really know any of these tributes, and even though the things that happen are horrific, I can't say I wasn't entertained and chomping at the bit to see what would happen next. When you don't know the people involved, it's easy to seem them as characters and to ignore their humanity. Like anyone would, Katniss has an easier time dispatching of those she doesn't know very well. Even after the Games were all said and done, she didn't know the name of the tribute from District 1, in spite of the fact that she had killed him personally. It makes it easier to watch this kind of violence with anticipation and excitement. With book two, by stark and horrifying contrast, we know and love these people, and the only feeling I had in the arena was dread.

This arena is a very different animal than anything the reader or the characters has even encountered before. Holy hell, when she arrived in the arena and saw nothing but water in every direction, I literally said, out loud, on the bus one morning, "Well, that's colossally bad." The old guy sitting next to me looked like he wanted to ask, but thought better of it. Probably for the best seeing as my explanation wouldn't have made one iota of sense. For a fleeting moment I seriously had to consider the possibility that they'd be swimming the entire time. Mercifully, this wasn't the case, but it's a credit to Collins' ability to keep you on your toes that literally anything is possible. That's why, even though most of my predictions actually came true, I was still glued to the page because you can never be sure. Nothing is patent or obvious, and if you are right on the mark, it'll probably play out in a completely different way than you'd expect (once Katniss learned about the force field, I guessed that would be part of the rebels plan to get them out of there, but the whole thing with the rolls? And Finnick's obsession with counting them and inspecting them? I totally missed it). Okay, even though it's horrible and terrifying and all that, this arena is seriously badass. My theory is that the Capitol was afraid that the tributes might band together, so they decided to make the arena itself more of a threat to survival than all the other tributes combined. When push comes to shove, they wanted to make sure that certain berry-based shenanigans would be impossible this time around, and when you've got fog that turns people inside out (or whatever, I like to this of it as the Simpsons' wedge), even all the best intentions in the world might not save you. Of course, this runs the risk of killing both of them even more efficiently than the berries would have, but at this point, I think the Capitol would have been more than comfortable with that, and might even have planned on it. If you're trying to show the districts that even the mightiest among them cannot beat the Capitol, what better way to send a message than to have no one survive at all? Of course, I don't think the Capitol could have possibly foreseen everyone trying desperately to save Peeta. Oh, Peeta. Even with half the arena trying to keep you alive, you still managed to die for a few minutes.

Which brings me to a point where I must explore why it is that I can't love Peeta... I honestly have a hard time pinning it down. By all accounts, I should adore Peeta, but for various reasons, I just plain don't. I think first on the list is the fact that he's the damsel. He has good communication skills, and don't get me wrong, he comes in handy once in a while, but by and large, he's useless in the arena. When they're in the capitol, I find myself liking him considerably more, but the second they step off those silver disks into certain doom, Peeta is not the person I want by my side. Gale is. Or Rue. Or Finnick. Or Johanna. Or Wiress and Beetee. Or hell, even great grandma Mags. Every time Peeta is in the arena, I just keep pleading with him in my head, "Peeta, do you think you could you possibly go like 10 little minutes without getting hurt, or lost, or dehydrated, or ambushed, or killed, or whatever?! Please? Could you do that for me, buddy?!" Seriously, is there anyone in this second book who didn't save his sorry ass at least twice? I realize this isn't really his fault. He's the son of a baker. He never had to struggle to survive. He should never have survived the first games. Granted, he technically saved Katniss' life in the first book, but she saved his about 87 times in total, so I say they're more than even. I try to love Peeta, I really do, but at the end of the day, when we spend so much time in the arena, he's a burden. His skills lie elsewhere, in a less immediately threatening world. Throughout the entire first Games, I kept thinking, "Geez, if only Gale were here. Things would be going so much better." Indeed, that's basically what Katniss thinks throughout the first book. Although, to be honest, I don't know that Gale would have agreed to have played the game at all (which is another reason I love him). He refuses to indulge the Capitol, which is both awesome and dangerous. Peeta plays the game. Just not very well. At least not in the arena... Oh good god, I think my distaste for Peeta reached a fever pitch when they were trying to stealthily maneuver through the forest and Peeta didn't even realize he was essentially doing the Mexican Hat Dance of Come and Find Us! Being loud loud under those conditions is bad enough, but being too oblivious to realize it is just plain annoying. The only real way in which he helped them win the first Games was when he professed his love for Katniss in the interview. Again, when it comes to politics, he's someone I can respect and admire. If that declaration of love had really been a strategy, I think I would adore Peeta. But, he actually does love her. Which is irksome on a few levels...

First off, he loves Katniss without really even knowing her. At all. At the end of book two is when it really hit my why I prefer Gale so entirely. He's the only one who actually knows how Katniss operates, and he loves her for it. He complements her. Peeta doesn't. Peeta is slick with people, which is a tremendous skill to have, but he and Katniss are at odds. Opposites attract, whatever, blah, blah, blah. Peeta and Katniss just don't really work as a pair. Hell, they seem like unlikely friends to me, let alone lovers. The fact that Peeta went from basically never having spoken to her to professing his undying love was off-putting for me and for Katniss. Had it actually been a strategy for him, one that turned into something more, I think I would love him more. But as is, he's just this lovesick puppy who fell for a girl he hardly knew, and even after all they've been through, she's someone he still doesn't know. Some of the things he says to her and some of the things he does make me sure of this. The simple fact that he can't anticipate her reactions or read her very well confirms this in my mind. He just doesn't understand her and doesn't know how to make the two of them work as a pair... and yet, "You're all I have to live for! I can't live without you!" Blah, blah, blah. All his caterwauling just seems so thin and unrealistic. His level of devotion is the kind that needs time to build in order to be real and a boy's wayward fantasies about a girl he hardly knows just doesn't cut it for me.

Peeta seems entirely unaware of himself or those around him. Maybe it's that he grew up comfortably, but he just seems to sort of float through situations. Which isn't to say that he's inert, because he certainly isn't, but I guess what I'm trying to say is that he just goes along his merry way assuming he knows what's best for everyone else, even though he doesn't really know what he or anyone else actually needs. He has always had his own best interests (or what he believes to be Katniss' best interests--which all leads back to his own interests again) at heart. One of the primary reasons I don't love Peeta is that he has this almost macho sense of duty to protect Katniss. Uh, sweetie? I hate to break it to you, but she ain't the one in need of protecting. It makes it feel like he thinks she's weak, and for me, that points not only to a level of patronizing condescension that drives me absolutely batty, but also to the fact that he doesn't know her at all, and hasn't sized up his own situation in any sort of logical way. He has sized it up the way a protective boyfriend would size it up. Irrationally. At every turn in book two, as with book one, I think to myself, "God, if Gale were here, things would be better." He knows her. He trusts her. He knows that she can take care of herself and that he isn't a burden on her. That's where I find comfort. That's where I see love between two people. They trust each other. Entirely. And even though Gale is in love with her and she's in love with him (whether she can admit it to herself or not), they still have each other's backs in a professional way (for lack of a better term). If they were together, it wouldn't just be lovers, it would be a true partnership, and that is what I find endearing. While Katniss and Peeta are secretly scheming at almost every turn, Gale and Katniss are honest with each other. Neither Katniss nor Peeta believes he/she can trust the other, so they keep things secret and lie liberally. What a cute couple!

Gale and Katniss seem to be on the same page of the same book. They found each other because of shared priorities and circumstances. I think this is the foundation of where I find them so much more compelling as a pair than Katniss and Peeta. Even before the terror of the Games were inflicted on these people, Katniss and Gale found common ground and forged a relationship that is infinitely more dear and more intimate than anything she's ever had with Peeta. I have heard that people who share trauma often experience a sense of attraction afterward. And to be honest, there's certainly something to be said for shared pain. No one can really know what Katniss went through besides another tribute and I think this is the basis for Katniss' equivocacy. She and Peeta do share something that she and Gale never could. But as far as I'm concerned, the trauma sustained before the Games is at least as terrible, even if not so immediately deadly. Katniss and Gale had to keep their families alive in the face of starvation, disease, and death. I can't help but to think of them risking severe punishment and capture in an attempt to feed their little brothers and sisters while Peeta frosted cookies and baked bread. It's not Peeta's fault he never had to struggle to survive, and the fact that he gave Katniss bread is the most endearing thing he ever did, but until the Games, he never knew what life in the Seam really was. Katniss and Gale looked into the gaunt faces of starving people every day and did something about it. They risked everything to provide for their families, even going so far as to add their names to the reaping dozens of times so their siblings wouldn't have to. They didn't just save their families, they helped support an entire community. That's a bond I can truly respect and that is why I love Gale so much. I wish I could love Peeta (given how many more pages he gets to grace than Gale), but when stacking the two up against one another, I have my winner.

When I first started reading the book, and the sense of dread started to creep in, I didn't flip to the back of the book to make sure Peeta survives, I had to make sure Gale survived. Only after glancing at a few pages near the end and seeing Gale's name (in a speaking capacity) could I bring myself to keep reading. By sharp contrast, when Peeta went tromping headlong into the force field (in spite of Katniss' warning) and died, there was no panic in my mind. I don't know if part of that was the assumption that the author wouldn't really kill him off (because I think we all know, with these books, no such assumption can be made), but I was completely unconcerned. My reaction was more along the lines of, "Huh. Peeta's dead. Well that was... anticlimactic... Anyway, movin' on!" But of course Finnick knows CPR, because he's not useless. It's weird, because I genuinely don't hate Peeta, and quite frankly, in many ways, I respect him, but I simply feel very little emotional connection to him. Again, when we're not in the Games, I like him infinitely better. Telling everyone he loved Katniss helped save them in book one, and telling them she was pregnant was beyond awesome in book two. I literally laughed out loud on the bus where a different old guy looked at my funnily. But in the Games? Well, him getting offed by a force field just seems like a quick and clean way to get a horrendous burden off everyone's backs. It would have been fitting, in a way, that he would be killed in such a pedestrian fashion. Katniss, and here, everyone else on the planet, has spent so much time and energy keeping him alive that it would absolutely apropos for something like an invisible force field to take him down. Something that's practically intangible and, until the bitter end, seemingly unbeatable. The fact that Peeta didn't notice it is the other reason this would have been an appropriate demise. Peeta never should have survived the first Games and but for the extraordinary efforts of the entire population, wouldn't have survived the second Games. He isn't a fighter. He isn't a survivor. At least not in terms of the arena. He doesn't notice things. He isn't stealthy or silent. He isn't a killer. The fact that he knew exactly as much about the force field as Katniss did, but wasn't paying enough attention to see what he was walking into is vintage Peeta. He isn't aware of his surroundings enough to make a match with Katniss. Gale would have seen the force field. Gale wouldn't need saving. Gale isn't a damsel. I hate damsels. Especially damsels who don't know they're damsels. It's one of the major reasons I was so annoyed with the Twilight series. Bella was useless and needed constant saving. How annoying is that? Don't get me wrong, I love Peeta more than Bella (uh, by a long shot), but their basic constitutions are the same. Damsels. At least Peeta has worth. He does have skills. He has things to offer. Just not in the arena. I'm hoping that in the book to come, Peeta's real talents can shine and he can establish an identity that doesn't revolve around a girl he hardly knows.

I loved that Katniss thought the others were saving him because he'd be a good leader but instead they were forced to save him in order to keep they're real leader alive. Of course, if they had told Katniss about the grand plan here, things probably would have gone a bit smoother, even if it would have been an entirely different book. Seriously, not telling Katniss anything was a huge risk. At various points, she was poised and ready to kill Finnick, Johanna, Beetee, and even Peeta, her allies and the big lug she's been trying to protect all this time. God, imagine if she had killed one of them. She would have done so with good reason (I couldn't fault her logic at any turn), but the fallout would have been devastating. I put myself in her shoes and it makes me sick. The powers that be keeping her in the dark could have been devastating. She would have had to live with killing someone who was trying to help her. Killing a friend and ally. For someone like Katniss especially, for whom debt to others is a deep-rooted concern, that would have completely destroyed her. The fact that she had been lied to was enough of a blow.

That they didn't tell her the plan is galling at best. I understand why the characters didn't think they could tell her, and they're right, but at the end of the day, Katniss couldn't know because Collins didn't want the reader to know. And with good reason. She wanted us to question everyone's motives just as much as Katniss did. For lesser books and lesser authors, I'd be upset that the writer had to come up with some lame reason Katniss couldn't know so that the reader would be surprised, but Collins' reason is actually spot on, so I can't really argue. If things went pear-shaped, and there was every probability that they would, Katniss would be the first to be interrogated. If she knew anything at all, the capitol would find ways to get it out of her. No matter how strong someone is, there are always ways. While I can understand their motives in not telling her the truth, I think a little would have gone a long way. Few things suck quite as much as being duped. It's a unique combination of feeling stupid, humiliated, and pissed off beyond belief. Even though I don't think anyone is laughing, being conned always makes it feel like everyone is laughing at you or just simply thinks you can't handle the truth (which is patronizing on a global scale here). I can see where Katniss is absolutely face-clawingly furious. Being told, "This is why we don't let you make the plans," repeatedly doesn't help either. Even when it's for the best, being kept in the dark and put through something harrowing elicits the same response. Disgust. In other media, it's often presented as a test, and it always pisses me off. It's like that episode of Buffy where the council takes her powers away and tests her against Zachary Craylick. Or on MI-5 when they test the operatives with a fake biological attack. Or hell, even that episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation where Deanna Troi is testing to become an officer and they come up with some unwinnable situation for her to face. Finding out it wasn't real is devastating. That they didn't think they could trust Katniss was infuriating, even if I have to admit that I couldn't always trust her myself.

With this book, I was presented with the first instances where I couldn't totally trust Katniss' judgment. It's really not her fault at all though. Her thought processes were still clear and logical and she was given no evidence or reason to think otherwise. The difference with this book is that I figured out the grand plan way faster than Katniss did and in a way, that was kind of frustrating for me. As mentioned, the second I saw Plutarch's watch, I immediately thought to myself, "Oh my god, he's a rebel! He's going to help take down the Capitol!" Based on little more than a watch, there's no logical reason Katniss should have jumped to the same conclusion. People in the capitol used the mockingjay as nothing more than a fashion accessory, and wasn't Plutarch the be all and end all of what the capitol stood for? Quite frankly, had Katniss jumped to the same (albeit correct) conclusion that I had, I probably would have been upset that she was so trusting. She didn't trust Plutarch (or any of her fellow tributes), and there was really no evidence she should. She was given absolutely no good reason to trust anyone. Who am I to question Katniss for distrusting certain people? Just because I spent the better part of the book assuming I had sized people up correctly doesn't mean that I actually had. I trusted Johanna and didn't believe she had attacked Katniss, but Katniss couldn't see it. Again, it's hard to condemn Katniss' assumptions, even if they were wrong. I wasn't the one lying on the jungle floor bleeding. Indeed, as I was reading that section and thinking to myself, "Katniss, she's trying to help you!", my assumptions were more on mark than Katniss', but not by much. I thought Johanna was making it look like Katniss was nearly dead in order to draw out Brutus and Enobaria so that she could take them both out with axes. I thought she was using Katniss as bait. Turns out, she was simply removing the tracker. So, while my base assumption was right on the money, it turns out I was just about as confused at Katniss as to what was actually going on.

The same goes for Finnick. My darling Finnick. I had a good feeling about Finnick from pretty early on, but I couldn't have just as easily been wrong as right. Annie and I even discussed at length what Finnick's motives might be and who he really was. I had a feeling that he was one of the rebels and that his playboy ways were all for show. I somehow got the sense that he had a very deeply rooted allegiance to his people and that with District 4 if full rebellion, I trusted he was on Katniss' side for real. But, after hearing Annie's evidence to the contrary, it would have been easy to have gone either way. Quite frankly, after the first book, Annie and I were both right about the same issue, even though our assumptions were opposing. With these books, you can just never be too sure. I was so relieved to be right about Finnick though. I love Finnick. Yes, even more than Peeta. I love that Finnick adores Mags and does everything to save her. I love that he's this gorgeous playboy, but that his heart really lies with the poster child for PTSD back home. As the book wore on, my real concern was that Finnick wouldn't make it out alive. That's where a lot of my wrath over Katniss being lied to comes from. She very nearly killed Finnick because Haymitch and company saw fit to keep her in the dark. That would have been a tragedy on a number of levels. Good lord, why can't I love Peeta?! I know I've spent the better part of this rambling, ridiculous post explaining why, but somehow Finnick, who just showed up and might be trying to kill our heroine, is immediately more endearing than Peeta is. Seriously, what is wrong with me?

I'm summing this up, I promise, but I just need to discuss one more major point. If the rebels' plan was to take out the force field (I was right!), then why weren't they a lot more concerned with keeping Beetee alive? I realize that they needed to keep Katniss, the very symbol of the rebellion, and Peeta alive (by burdensome extension), but Beetee seems to have been the true key to all of this and he very nearly died! The rebels had to know that the wire would be there for Beetee because Plutarch made sure of it. With this in mind, wouldn't it have made more sense to have risked everyone's lives to save him? And Wiress, too. She's the one who figured out the mechanics of the force field in the first place. Was that Johanna's job? To keep them alive? Was she just lying when she said that she kept them alive for Katniss? I just don't know what to think...

Collins does a hell of a job keeping you on your toes. Even when I'm pretty sure of something, I'm just as sure that I might be totally wrong. She does a wonderful job of keeping things in the first person and only giving us Katniss' experiences and perceptions. Having to wonder at people's motives just as much as your heroine is exhilarating and frustrating and a wonderful way to read a book. I'm excited and terrified for book three to come out in a few weeks. I really hope I find a way to love Peeta because I really believe Collins fully intends for her readers to love him. I honestly think that outside the arena, I'll be able to appreciate him a lot more. Collins has been alluding to him being the voice of the rebellion for a good long while, so I trust he'll really come through for us. I always like him best when he's playing the role of politician and master manipulator, so maybe a love for Peeta is in my future, even if I can't say that's a real prediction yet. My first actual prediction for Mockingjay? I think Effie is going to be the key figure in the grand finale. To have someone who is so seemingly shallow and devoted to the Games and Capitol come through in the clutch would be completely awesome. I can't wait! Second prediction? That I won't be able to stop myself from glancing at the last few pages to make sure Gale survives. I'm pathetic. I know it.

Nasty, Brutish, and Short

For those of you who've read even the first 50 pages of Suzanne Collins' gripping trilogy, The Hunger Games, you know just how telling and immediate the title of this post truly is. After completing the first volume this weekend, I had a hard time deciding between the title from Hobbes above and one from Mr. Willy Wonka, a quote which zipped through my mind almost constantly as I read. "The suspense is terrible... I hope it'll last."

Ultimately, Hobbes' win was a matter of length, not more or less veracity.

Annie and I polished off the first book of the series this weekend and let me tell you, the fact that she doesn't already have the second book (and thus, we can get started on it immediately) is more than a little irksome. ("Ugh. Good one, Annie..." in disgusted-with-the-world Gwyneth Paltrow voice.) :) I'd throw our friendship to the wind and just start without her, but believe you me, it's the kind of book that's best to read along with someone because invariably, you'll need to feverishly discuss every minute detail... as Annie and I have done, when we're not... you know... working...

I'm going to try to keep this spoiler-free as possible, but it won't be easy. Collins pretty much keeps you on your toes at every turn...

The Hunger Games is set in a brutal future where a pair of adolescents (one boy and one girl) from each of 12 districts is compelled to compete in a bloody battle royale that only ends when one sole competitor survives. For me, it kind of felt like Ender's Game meets the savage gladiatorial games of the Colossuem. It's bloody and uncompromising pretty much from the very first page. I don't know exactly how she did it, but Collins managed to set up a universe for her stories, called Panem, in such an effective and immediate way that I felt completely immersed within minutes. The setting she paints is enough like our current world that it's relatable, but far enough removed that the horrific things that happen aren't so galling. In several ways, the sociopolitical make-up of Panem reminded me of Firefly, with wealthier central cities prospering at the expense of other territories. The capitol is an oppressive regime that compels the Hunger Games and entangles Collins' characters in its web, essentially exploiting its people for sport.

Along with an engrossing universe to explore, Collins sets up an equally engaging cast of characters that are diverse and individual. The story is told by Katniss, a strong, cunning 16-year-old girl from the poorest of districts, who's had to grow up in an environment where starvation is rampant and a premature death is a crushing near-inevitability. Unlike so many other novels told in the first person (particularly when that person is a teenager), Collins manages to keep the voice consistent throughout and gives the reader her perspective solely without sacrificing description or exposition. I'm not generally a huge fan of first person narration, but for this particular story, it's not only gripping, it's essential. So many elements of the story are predicated on the reader not having all the information that to have had it any other way would have been disastrous. It quite frankly would have been an entirely different reading experience. Another brilliant narrative move is that the story is told in the present tense. These aren't the musings of someone looking back on her life and telling stories. It's that that something horrible "happened." Something horrible "is happening." Like, right now. Run! It gives the novel a terrifying sense of immediacy whereby you don't know what's going to happen in the next paragraph, let along a hundred pages down the line. You don't even know if the narrator herself will make it to the next page. Indeed, this is the kind of book where if you happen to stumble across a part where nothing of an edge-of-your-seat or nail-biting nature is occurring, you better stop reading, even if it's mid-chapter, mid-page, or even mid paragraph, because you might not get another chance. You never know what kind of peril the next sentence will bring. For this book, "stopping point" can generally be defined as any brief moment where imminent death isn't staring a character directly in the face. Collins doesn't pull any punches here (nor does she pull any eviscerations, neck-snappings, impalements, etc.) and you can't afford to get stuck in the middle of it.

Although many of the book's strongest elements are based in life-and-death suspense, the novel does much more than that. The characters are all well-developed and particular. Collins does an excellent job of building characters that you genuinely care about and who each have specific strengths and weaknesses, a fact which is embraced fully in the arena battles. She has taken the time and care to look at each character's background and make a logical argument for where his/her skills and hindrances would lie. She makes a point that considerable size and brute force are not enough to win the games and showcases characters who are cunning and sharp as well. Katniss is a heroine I connected with almost instantly. She's not a moody teenager who thinks the world revolves around her. She grew up in hard times and stepped up to the plate. She's smart. Genuinely smart. A lot of novels will tell you that a character is smart, but Collins shows you that Katniss is smart, which is a lot more convincing. She's clever and patient, attributes which more than make-up for her small size. She's one of the few characters I've come across in a long time that didn't make me want to throw the book across the room. So often a writer will have a character do something incredibly stupid in order to further the plot or add some drama and excitement. Giving someone the idiot ball is a sign of lazy writing and it drives me absolutely crazy. In The Hunger Games, such tactics aren't employed, and quite frankly, aren't necessary. There's more than enough excitement going around without silly plot devices. Katniss thinks things through before she makes a move. She's a character whose actions I don't have to worry about. All the things that we readers are thinking when reading a situation ("Don't go upstairs!") are the same things she thinks. For once, I was presented with a character who sees a situation the same way that the reader would, tries to determine if there's any possible way her actions could affect her adversely, and proceeds accordingly. Her caution and patience only add to the suspense, but are also kind of comforting in a way. Horrible things will probably happen, but not because she did something unbelievably stupid. It was a truly lovely change of pace to have a heroine I could really count on, which reminds me of something else Collins does that I love. The fact that Katniss is female is incidental. This isn't a book harping about the genders being equal. It isn't necessary, because here, the genders quite simply... are. Which actually makes this book all the more about equality. The fact that she's female hardly gets a mention, and that says more than the most blustering prose ever could in my opinion.

It's the immediate love for Katniss and the rest of the characters in the book that may lead to some tears for readers. When Annie told me she had started the book and that she was in tears by page twenty-four, I hardly believed her. I didn't think an author could set-up a situation so quickly and completely as to elicit tears so soon and simply chalked it up to Annie, well, being Annie. Well, I showed her. Annie was a goner by page twenty-four, but I'm made of sterner stuff than she. [Insert shot of me breathing on knuckles a couple of times, then rubbing knuckles against shirt collar.] Oh yeah, I made it all the way to page twenty-five before I teared up like a little kid whose ice cream just rolled off the cone. Bad to the bone, baby. That's me. Seriously, the simple blush of rebellion on the face of the oppressed hit me to the core. A silent show of solidarity was all it took. The sociopolitical aspects of Panem will likely be explored more so in coming volumes, but so far, even the most seemingly minor acts of sedition cause tension and unease among the ranks. I can only imagine where we're headed in the next two books. Even when you start to think that things might be actually work out, the underpinnings of the society in which she lives uproots any calm that manages to sneak in.

This series looks at a lot of social constructs and absurdities and points them out with blood-soaked conspicuousness. That the people of Panem relish watching the gory deaths of teenage combatants harkens back to Roman times, but puts it in a more modern, more disturbingly familiar context. I know TV and I know that the tactics employed by the state in the interest of entertainment are absolutely accurate and terrifying. As repulsed as I was by the audience's reaction to kids slaughtering each other, I couldn't help but feel complicit. I was as rapt and enthralled as they were at times. It's a sad and disturbing commentary that you can't escape, even in your own mind. I can't wait for the next volume, and yet I'm a bit terrified to see what Collins has in store.

To say that every single aspect of this book was perfect would be inaccurate, but as a whole, I was riveted from cover to cover. Even the aspects of the book that didn't totally resonate with me served a very specific purpose. There is strategy in everything, even basic emotion. There were certain aspects that at first glance seemed convenient, but upon further inspection, just make sense in terms of this universe, in terms of human nature, and the audience mentality. Even the aspects that didn't entirely gel for me or seemed a little convenient never rose to the level of true annoyance. It wasn't like the end of The Lord of the Rings when the eagles finally show up and all I could think was, "Good god, where were you 1100 pages ago?!" And it was never like Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince when suddenly Felix Felicis ("liquid luck") arrives on the scene and saves everyone's lives. Geez, I spent the better part of that book thinking, "Well, that sure would have come in handy five books ago! And four, three, and two books ago for that matter!" That was really the only time in the Harry Potter series that felt way too convenient and even a little lazy. Don't get me wrong, Tolkein and Rowling did their damnedest to justify why the eagles and the elixir didn't show up till then, but the justifications fell a little flat. Even the most seemingly convenient elements of The Hunger Games ultimately worked for me and never felt forced or simplistic.

At the end of the day, The Hunger Games keeps you on your toes and challenges your assumptions. Indeed, when rabidly theorizing about where the novel would lead, Annie and I came up with opposing assumptions, and in a way, we were both right. You just don't know what to expect most of the time and even the elements that I saw coming played out in unexpected ways. I was almost afraid to keep reading at times, but mostly, it boiled down to, "Can't... read... fast enough!" Annie and I both loved it and haven't come across a book that held our attention so unwaveringly in a very long time. She and I don't always agree on books (I loved the Ender's Game series, but she certainly didn't), but we definitely found common ground here. I would recommend it to just about anyone.

Oh, and don't let Stephanie Meyers' endorsement on the jacket of the second book turn you away as so many Oprah endorsements might. I have to assume that after writing the drivel that is the Twilight series, Meyers read The Hunger Games and kept thinking to herself, "Oooooh, this must be what real writing looks like!" She's also a huge Joss Whedon fan, so it seems her tastes far exceed her talents.

In summation, and to appropriate Mr. Wonka's general sentiment, when it comes to The Hunger Games, the suspense is terrible... and I simply can't wait for more.