Hunger Games

It never ceases to amaze me how books can effect one's psyche and well being. They can drive you into a frenzy as you attempt to finish them, make you cry, scream, yell, have nightmares, sob, snot, laugh, throw across the room and so many other reactions. My latest explorations into the literary world have had so many of the above reactions. The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins is an incredible series. Mom, if you're reading this I take back my recommendation; upon further inspection, you would not enjoy them. I did, however. Strangely, I did. I would recommend them to the strong stomached and non-crying inclined (if that is even a way to describe someone). But I would recommend them. I can't say more for fear of ruining them to anyone that may read them or is in the process of reading the series. But I can say, they shocked me. Hunger Games and Catching Fire I devoured. Mockingjay I did not. I just couldn't do it. It had to be read in parts for fear of the nightmares that plagued me during the read. Ironic, when you know the stories, that I would be plagued with nightmares, but none-the-less, no one wants to sleep and fear that they have slipped into Panem. I really want to rant about them, but I will just say that I am so so intriged by the authoress. A woman who was taught by her father and later researched the effects of war on children writes a series of novels that explore that topic in a way that is so honest it literally tears you apart. I didn't cry in either of the first two, but I sobbed for the last 40 pages of Mockingjay. I want to say more, but I know my sister-in-law will read this and it would just be cruel to ruin it for her. Suffice it to say, it hit me. Hard. Not because I think I understand it in any way. It is just real, and I am not one to brush aside reality when it hits. So now I am just babbling because I want to say more, so I will just say goodnight.