Books Thirteen, Fourteen and Fifteen: The Hunger Games, Catching Fire, and Mockingjay

Okay, whoa.

I picked up The Hunger Games because I kept hearing how fantastic it was, both from adults and (second-hand) from my spouse’s grade six students. And while I don’t normally go for young adult fiction anymore (and mostly didn’t even as a young adult) I found by about page five that I couldn’t put this book down.

So then I figured, well, if you’re going to read a book so compulsively, you’d better figure out what it is that’s making you do it.

It came as no surprise to me to read that Suzanne Collins wrote for television before she became a novelist. The Hunger Games is perfectly plotted – it follows the three-act format so often touted in how-tos for screenwriting (and now for novel-writing, too). There’s nothing extraneous here. We meet Katniss Everdeen and her family on the day of the reaping, we’re introduced to Gale Hawthorne and see how he and Katniss defy the laws of the Capitol – by hunting – to save their families. And then boom, we’re faced with Katniss’ first big choice, when she steps up to take her sister’s place in the Games.

After that, all bets are off. You just have to let the plot take you where it will, and where it takes you is a pretty wild ride (from YA standards, certainly).

Of course, once I finished the first book I had to run out and buy books two and three. I found them both at the supermarket, beside an empty space for the first instalment. I snapped them up and have promised to donate them to Wildwood Elementary’s grade six class, for whom apparently two copies of everything is not enough.

I devoured the second book just as quickly as the first. Same reason – great plotting, plenty of tense moments. Bloodshed. Good doses of Peeta and Haymitch, some nice tension with Gale. I finished the last page of Catching Fire definitely wanting to dig into Mockingjay and find out what had happened to Twelve.

And then – well. Mockingjay lost me a bit. I took a longer time finishing it. I can’t explain why, exactly. I desperately wanted to find out how the revolution unfolded, but where I’d shed tears (yes, I did) over Rue in the first novel, some significant characters were done away with rather perfunctorily (I am not going to say who, in case you haven’t read it). They were nicely crafted and then discarded in an instant. I know not everyone can have a lovely death scene with flowers and singing – nor should they, because this is war – but I sometimes felt cheated. Plus, I’m on Team Peeta, and he wasn’t quite the same (I mean, obviously) in this instalment.

That said, if I look at the entire trilogy, the story arc makes complete sense. The Hunger Games had that nice build-up of excitement, then what felt like a reasonable resolution before Catching Fire got you all worked up again and left you panting for the third book. So after those two, Mockingjay is a resolution of sorts. And while there are loose ends left hanging, none of them were game-changers for me. I still came away from the trilogy with a strong appreciation for Collins’s sense of story.

And I still have no trouble understanding why the eleven-year-olds fight over the copies in their class library.

A Book About Books

I want to take a break from my 100 novels thing for a moment and tell you about this great book I just read. Shelf Discovery: The Teen Classics We Never Stopped Reading, by Lizzie Skurnick.

Skurnick writes a column for Jezebel.com, and this book is a collection of some of her posts, as well as posts by several guests (including Jennifer Weiner). Basically, Shelf Discovery explores some of the popular young adult fiction from the 1970s and 1980s, and Skurnick’s impressions after having reread her favourites as an adult.

I dug this book for so many reasons, chief among them that whenever I turned to a new “installment,” I was catapulted back into my elementary-school library, where I’d pore over Beverly Cleary, Judy Blume, Paul Zindel, Norma Klein, and others, trying to extract the paperbacks (marked with a blue dot) from the shelves without getting a massive, mind-blowing shock should I accidentally touch the metal.

Lizzie Skurnick and I had the same reading habits, pretty much, but maybe that was par for the course for any voracious reader our age. The food porn in Farmer Boy? Remember it like yesterday. Davey’s angst in Tiger Eyes? Got it. The girl in the crystal globe in that creepy Jane-Emily? All over it. Sneaking a copy of Wifey home in grade eight? Come on. You know you did it, too.

A couple of my favourites are missing from this book – the S.E. Hinton, for one. But V.C. Andrews is there, rounding out the chapter on stuff we should never have been allowed to read. Paula Danziger gets a nod for The Cat Ate My Gymsuit, but my personal favourite was The Pistachio Prescription (especially because I had never eaten a pistachio when I read it!). Also missing, by Norma Klein: Mom, the Wolf Man & Me, and Sunshine, over which I bawled my eyes out repeatedly.

But then that’s the point of this book. The reading list belongs to Lizzie Skurnick, and even though it largely matches up with how I spent my reading hours between the age of, oh, eight and fourteen, the odds of it matching perfectly are pretty slim. It’s enough that throughout the book I laughed over how alike were our impressions of our favourites, how much I wanted to revisit the books that weren’t included and how much I regretted passing over some of the classics the first time around.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to see if the library has a free copy of A Wrinkle in Time.