The Hunger Games by
Suzanne Collins… everyone was talking about it, my girlfriend devoured the
trilogy, and – despite my biggest deterrent: hype – I was intrigued enough to
dive into the series.
I liked reading
the first installment (The Hunger Games)
because it was easy and quick to read, the chapters were short (which can be a
really nice thing), and because it was a literary idea like I’d never read
before. It was imaginative, original,
creative, and fascinating; these are great elements in a novel.
I started reading Catching
Fire (the second book of the three) because I had to know what happened
next. I read this novel even more
quickly than the first. I loved this one
in particular because it went in a direction that I had never predicted. It was surprising and even more engaging than
its predecessor. I was hooked!
Then I moved on to Mockingjay
and I faltered. I pushed through the
first bit and then couldn’t get hooked again.
It lay gathering dust on my kitchen table for weeks… I think it took me
nearly 2.5 months, if not more, to get through it in the end. It just didn’t deliver like the others
did. Sure, it was a new story, but it
wasn’t that same action-packed, page-turning excitement that had me racing
through the first two.
Then – worst of all – the ending fell flat. I liked what I gathered some of the
overarching themes were, bleak as some of them may be, but it was just so…
unsatisfying. It wrapped up too quickly
without enough loose end-tying. It just
kind of went splat – there you go, it’s over.
The definition of anticlimactic.
Was it worth the read?
Absolutely. But as my friend
Waleed said, “It’s not a good sign when you’re really happy you’re done.”
[This whole unsatisfying experience was heightened by
the sigh of relief and overwhelming sense of sustenance I felt when I dove into
my current read: In One Person by
John Irving.]
Posts to come... a full update on Reading Challenge #4 + anniversary dinner at Yours Truly & a beer beforehand