Originally posted on my long forgotten personal blog and imported to Goodreads in January 2011. Spoilers ahead.
Synopsis (for the first book):
Could you survive on your own, in the wild, with everyone out to make sure you don’t live to see the morning?
In the ruins of a place once known as North America lies the nation of Panem, a shining Capitol surrounded by twelve outlying districts. The Capitol is harsh and cruel and keeps the districts in line by forcing them all to send one boy and one girl between the ages of twelve and eighteen to participate in the annual Hunger Games, a fight to the death on live TV.
Sixteen-year-old Katniss Everdeen, who lives alone with her mother and younger sister, regards it as a death sentence when she steps forward to take her sister’s place in the Games. But Katniss has been close to dead before—and survival, for her, is second nature. Without really meaning to, she becomes a contender.
If she is to win, she will have to start making choices that will weigh survival against humanity and life against love.
I liked it. I didn’t hate Katniss which is always a big plus for me and I enjoyed the story as well.
I just wish this is where the story had ended.
Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins (My rating: 2 of 5 stars)
No character growth for Katniss what so ever. Okay, she was scarred by the events at the arena and yadda yadda yadda, but this was one of the times I was actually waiting for the triangle to kick off. I’ve heard people say that they couldn’t wait to read the third book after finishing this one, but I was not one of those people. I just wanted to forget I’d ever read it. I should have done just that.
My rating: 1 of 5 stars
The book that ended the trilogy and could have saved the story ended up destroying everything I liked about the first book. The preachy tone couldn’t be ignored any longer neither could the destruction of my favourite character, Gale. He should not have been equated with War and Peeta with Love. Katniss was a bitch that deserved to die a miserable death alone. That is if I could be bothered to care enough.
The worst, though, was that I could see it all coming and still I finished reading the book. Masochist that I am.
It’s pretty safe to say that I won’t be reading Suzanne Collins’ work any more.