Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins

******CRAZY SPOILERS BELOW******

I loved the first two Hunger Games books-- they were fun, smart and undeniably propulsive. Katniss provided a fabulous heroine that served as a pleasantly proactive alternative to many of the more passive female leads in YA lit. The world was fascinating. The action was crisp, and kept coming fast enough to keep even the most reluctant readers tuned in. The series has been a fabulous tool as a bookseller, as I have yet to find a kid who hasn't liked it-- from precocious 9 year olds who read like it's their job to tear through series, to the 15 year olds who treat English class like death camp. And since I'd read both of the previous installments as ARCs, I awaited the conclusion just as breathlessly as everyone else. So my response to this final installment probably isn't fair, due to my overwhelming anticipation.
Before I launch into the many things that gave me pause, I should clarify that I still read Mockingjay in about 4 hours. Collins' style and clear prose remain, and her sensibility as a landscape builder is as strong as ever. When the novel opens, Katniss is meandering around the smoldering remains of her decimated home in District 12. Peeta has been captured by the capitol, and Gale, Katniss's mother and sister and the remaining survivors of District 12 have taken refuge in the underground prison camp that is District 13. As the story progresses, Katniss steps into the role of revolutionary symbol (not leader, a distinction that troubles her), called the Mockingjay. As she struggles with her restrictive new role, she also wavers between Peeta (who has been brainwashed by the capitol) and Gale (whose new outlook on war is disturbingly bloodthirsty). The scenes in which Katniss visits District 8 are emotionally explosive (and literally explosive, those poor people) and the character work around Finnick was sound. In fact, he ended up being my favorite character in the book. Which leads me neatly into the things I liked less.
One of the things I loved about Katniss in the previous books was that, despite her strange and horrible circumstance, she was incredibly relatable. She struggled to understand her own motives in a way that felt truly teenaged; she loved her family fiercely and she yearned, very realistically, for a different life. But the Katniss in this book was so emotionally shut down it was nearly impossible to empathize with her. This was particularly troublesome in the scenes that follow Prim's death. The whole reason Katniss became involved in the Hunger Games in the first place was to protect Prim. When she is ultimately killed, rendering Katniss's efforts in vain, I expected a much bigger emotional hit than there was. Similarly, given the amount of time she spends going back and forth between the two, when Katniss ultimately decides upon Peeta (which seemed as much out of convenience as anything else) we get a rather truncated epilogue with little passion left in it. And of course, they have babies. Why do they always have to have babies?
In both the previous installments, I ignored the fact the structure was incredibly back-loaded, assuming that was done on purpose in order to set up the next book. Huge, climactic scenes that opened up lots of loose ends tended to pop in the last 50 pages or so-- and I didn't read this as a flaw. But in the final installment, the same structure holds, to a much less satisfying effect. There was also the issue of Katniss frequently being knocked unconscious during the climax of scenes, which is really irksome given the first person constraint of the novel. It's a ploy that I've also been noticing as I read JRR Tolkein's trilogy (for the first time... I know, worst nerd ever) so maybe it's something that really only irritates me.
So maybe this was my least favorite of the series. It's still a great series, and I still love recommending it almost ubiquitously to kids and adults alike. I also had the pleasure of meeting Suzanne at a lunch for booksellers, and listening to her talk about her intentions with the novel only solidified my confidence in handing it to new readers. Did you know, for instance, that Katniss is meant to be an allegory to Spartacus? Once she pointed it out, it seemed obvious, but I certainly didn't catch it.

Forthcoming Titles: ARC Reviews

One of the best parts about being a bookseller is getting to sift through all the ARCs that we get shipped to the store from various publishers. I've never grown out of the stage in my life in which free=awesome, and so the novelty of ARCs has not worn thin for me yet. Reviewed below are three ARCs I've read in the last couple of months that I got a kick out of:

My threshhold for paranormal romance is very, very low, but I was invited to a dinner with Andrea Cremer, the author of Nightshade, by the awesome Penguin sales rep so I read it despite the subtitle: She can control her pack but not her heart, which gave me serious pause (as did the cover, which has more sparkles than I can reasonably tolerate). And even though I didn't end up making it to the dinner it was worth the read. Cremer utilizes the now familiar trope of one girl/two-different-but-both-attractive guys to nice, tense effect, and despite the fact that I am not interested in the subject matter, and did not even particularly care for the sentence level writing style, I was still sucked into the story, in which romance and twists are plenty. The protagonist, Calla, is an alpha female set to mate with the alpha of a rival pack (Ren) in order to create an alliance, and her strength and comfort with her own power made her an appealing lead. But, of course, there's a new boy at school, who's smart (as his pedantic in and out of class eruptions are meant to illustrate) kind and handsome, and Calla finds herself struggling to give herself over to Ren, the cocky, lady-killer, babe-wolf with whom she's been matched. Lust, suspense and monsters aplenty ensue, Calla makes her choice, and a sequel looms on the horizon. A fun, light read with the page-turning propulsion of romance, I would totally recommend this book to lovers of Twilight, Shiver and other vamp/wolf/angel/fairy/zombie/ghost/whatever romances.

Also from Penguin (Dutton, specifically) is Matched, a new romance/dystopia from Ally Condie, which I picked up due to the promise that: "This is a perfect dystopian novel, sure to be a hit with fans of The Giver and The Hunger Games" from Colleen Conway, field sales. While I in no way agree that this book has the same appeal of The Hunger Games, I do see Colleen's point about the Giver; and indeed, Matched reads something like The Giver, if The Giver was wrought with all the teenaged romantic angst that I could handle. Like Nightshade, Condie utilizes the one girl/two guys trope, and again, to pleasantly tense effect. Set in the future, people in Matched are, just as the title promises, matched with the person they will marry by a system of people and computers, and the protagonist in Matched is pleased to find that she has been matched with her handsome best friend. But, just like Nightshade, another boy pops up in her life, and she has trouble giving herself over to the boy with whom she's been matched. However familiar the story, the writing style of this book is lovely, with elegant descriptions and passages of dialog that kept me tuned in, even as the critic in me whined about the overuse of the love triangle in YA. The future Condie imagined is one of cold plastic, tightly controlled art (only 100 poems, 100 songs, 100 paintings remain) and lives that was compelling, and, I imagine, particularly resonant for teens who may feel as though too much of their lives are controlled by outside forces. Come November, I will be pleased to recommend this book as a gift who kids who love dystopian novels.

Lastly was the new graphic novel from Scholastic, Ghostopolis by Doug TenNapel. Set in a fuzzily defined Underworld, Ghostopolis is the story of fatally sick boy Garth, and Frank Gallows, the ghost hunter who accidentally sends Garth to the land of the dead. As Garth goes on an adventure, learning his full potential and getting to know the soul of his prodigal grandfather, Frank and his ghostly ex girlfriend Claire Voyant go on the search to bring Garth home to his poor, terrified mother. Though the story and the setting often make little to no sense, I kept reading because the humor and the drawing style were to appealing that I couldn't make myself put it down. I was particularly fond of Frank's face, which ranges in emotion from weary to irreverent, to deeply in love. The limited palatte of colors suits the Underworld nicely, and utilizes more warm hues than one might have imagined would work for the land of the dead. I'm not exactly sure who I should recommend this book to, other than aspiring illustrators, but I'm pleased to see it on our shelf just the same.

The Chosen One by Carole Lynch Williams

There's so much hype around this new YA novel that I was afraid to read it. But it's about a facet of American culture I have a particularly hard time understanding (an isolated polygamist, separatist, male dominated theocracy) and so I felt like I had to, if for no other reason then simply so that I would maybe start to understand a culture like that just a little bit more.
The back of the book promises a compelling coming of age story, and that it is. But it did not quite live up to my hopes for it, for a couple major reasons.

While the voice was incredibly engaging, it did not provide the depth that I was hoping for when addressing the topic at hand, and while the voice suited the character well it did not help the story (if that makes sense). More importantly, however, I was troubled by the characterization of the "bad" characters; they were so two-dimensional that it was impossible to empathize with them in any way. They were one step short of stroking long-haired cats while cackling. And I was really hoping to get more insight about a part of society I blatantly do not understand.

I say this having read it in its entirety in 2 hours, so it's not that it was uninteresting or unreadable... I just was hoping for something much stronger from a book with so much support. I felt like it was a much more superficial effort than what I was expecting.