Personal Musings: Returning to Middle Earth

A couple months back, I was browsing through my twitter feed when a retweet for someone’s blog post arrested my interest, one written by a Miz Sarah Harian and titled “Moral Ambiguity in New Adult: We’re Not in Middle Earth Anymore.”  I assume that, just based on that title, you might have pieced together the topic of this post: morality in fiction.

Okay, time for a disclaimer.  This is not a response post.  Truth be told, this essay arose merely by reading the title of the afore mentioned blog post.  By the time I actually read said post, I had already formulated what I wished to say here, and, in acknowledgement to the retweet that sparked it, I referenced it in the title.  That is the only intentional connection.  If you wish to know more about the post, I linked to it through its title for you.  Go read it.  While I definitely don’t agree with everything Miz Harian says in her post, I do think there’s some good material to chew on in there.  That said, please do not take my post as confronting Miz Harian’s post.  That is not my purpose, nor will I do a very good job.  Now, back to the regularly scheduled blog post.

Morality in fiction is… complicated, especially for the Judeo-Christian, who recognizes the existence of objective moral truth.  Such an understanding of morality in the morally relativistic world of today is often labeled as old, flat, less interesting, too easy, etc.  I have read such views many times.  In today’s books, the audience appears to desire “gray morals,” with the lines of morality, especially in “adult” fiction, blurred, sometimes even beyond recognition and remembrance, and/or villains are sympathetic, sometimes even more so than the heroes.  Attempts to make villains truly evil, like J. R. R. Tolkien’s Sauron or C. S. Lewis’s White Witch, rather than just mistaken or unfortunate can get written off as constructing a “mustache-twirling, cape-wearing, ‘muhahahah’ villain who’s only goal is to rule the world because EVIL!”  Nope!  Villains must be fully fleshed out characters, too, with hidden motivations and/or tragic pasts or else they are joke.

Or are they?

If this “old school” portrayal of morals, without much moral ambiguity (if any), is so inferior, why do people still gravitate to them?  Why do people still read, year after year, Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, traveling to Middle Earth, where there are clear goods and evils?  Why do people still write such stories?  Why does this perception of morality thrive?

For the Judeo-Christian worldview, the answer is simple.  People invest in stories portraying objective moral rights and wrongs because there are objective moral rights and wrongs.  The reason humans dive into stories where pure good battles, and eventually defeats, pure evil is because, every day, every minute, every second, every moment God (pure good), in the most awesome, most truly epic or all stories, battles, and defeats, Satan (pure evil).  That reality validates the traditional relationship of heroes and villains.  Now, these “binary” stories still need to be well written, and I think a lack of skill probably contributed to the rejection of the “pure evil villain” archetype.  However, such is required of the “complex villain.”  both simple villains and complex villains, both clear morals lines and “gray” morality, can tell excellent stories, and I think we need both types.

Sometimes it truly is not clear what is the correct moral choice.  Is killing ever permissible?  Is stealing ever right?  Is revenge just?  What is justice?  When given the choice between saving your friend and saving a stranger from death, what is the right thing to do?  These are all hard questions that involve at least a closer look at the lines of morality.  However, “hard” does not mean “disproving.”  Man is fallen, as is his reason and ability to discern right from wrong, but that does not change their existence.  Even “gray,” “sympathetic” villains can be shown to be objectively wrong.

Returning to Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, C. S. Lewis, in his review of the story, had this to say:

Motives, even in the right side, are mixed.  Those who are now traitors usually began with comparatively innocent intentions.  Heroic Rohan and imperial Gondor are partly diseased.  Even the wretched Smeagol, till quite late in the story, has good impulses; and... what finally pushes him over the brink is an unpremeditated speech by the most selfless character of all.¹ 

We, as the audience, can see that a character is acting in an objectively immoral way.  Morality is clear.  Good and evil are not mixed; it is true, though, that once good people and nations are “diseased” and fell into evil.  On the other hand, Tolkien also does not deny that evil might begin with mistaken intentions or thoughtless words.  Even “binary” can be complex (just as a computer programer).  However, even with this complexity, Tolkien does not succumb to the idea that all villains and their cohorts must be “gray” or sympathetic to be good villains; within his story are clearly evil characters rejecting every miligram of our sympathy.

In conclusion, despite the cry for “more complex villains,” I think we still need stories of objectively evil villains and objectively good heroes.  We need reminders that there is true evil, and there is true good.   We still need Sauron, an embodiment of evil that wishes for the destruction and enslavement of all that is good, in battle with Aragorn, Gandalf, Frodo, Sam, and their friends, beacons of goodness and hope in the midsts of darkness.  At the same time, we need Smeagol, the wicked but pitiable, the one who gave into temptation and so destroyed himself.  We need Victor Hugo’s Javert, driven by justice and a desire to do what is right but mistaken in his zeal for justice, reminding us of the complexity and motivations of human beings.  Meanwhile, we need C. S. Lewis’s witch, Jadis, beautiful but cold and proud, a wicked woman who freezes all that is jovial and good in her yearning for power and control, to show us the destructive nature of sin.  We need Darth Vader, a young man deceived into villainy, and Emperor Palpatine, the deceiver.  We need the Joker, pure chaos and anarchy, and we need Mr. Freeze, driven by a desire to save his beloved wife.

Whatever villain, whatever story, we write, though, we must never give up on morality.  As Aragorn says to Éomer, even facing such times and events as theirs, one must judge what to do “As he has ever judged… Good and ill have not changed.”²  We have been on vacation from that truth long enough.  It’s about time we return home to Middle Earth.

¹ Lewis, C. S.  "Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings."  C. S. Lewis: Essay Collection & Other 
       Short Pieces.  Ed. Lesley Walmsley.  London: Harper Collins Publishers, 2000.  519-525.  Print.

² Tolkien, J. R. R.  The Two Towers.  New York: Ballantine Books, 1978.  Print.

All mentioned titles (c) their respective owners

Reviews & Recommendations: The Redwall Series by Brian Jacques

My childhood from about 9-15 could be described with one name: Brian Jacques.  More specifically, I read and reread his Redwall series.  It was Brian Jacques and his abbey of Redwall that hooked me on reading, and it was his style that I first imitated when I developed an interest in writing.  Even today, when I pick up one book of this series, I end up in a tale of amusing characters, fun adventure, and mouthwatering food all wrapped up in nostalgia and skillful storytelling.  I love traveling to the western sea coast, to gaze upon the fire mountain of Salamandastron.  I love entering Redwall Abbey, to walk beneath the light streaming through stained glass windows as I cast my eyes upon the legendary tapestry.  I love exploring Mossflower Wood, seeing places that have changed from countless season prior, as well as the surprises hidden throughout.  I love journeying down the River Moss or the meadow streams in Gousim longboats, seeing the fish and dragonflies as paddlers belt out river songs.

But I’m probably getting ahead of myself.  First comes the mind behind the 25-volume Redwall series.

Brian Jacques was a British jack-of-all-trades and storyteller.  His author debut occurred after he wrote a book for a school for blind children.  The story found its way to the printing press, and then to the general public, beginning a long children’s series that would end up being named after this first book, Redwall.

So what is Redwall?  The Redwall Series unfolds in a fictional, medieval-style world occupied by anthropomorphic animals.  The protagonist of the first book is Matthias, a young mouse living in Redwall Abbey, who wants to be a warrior like his hero, Martin the Warrior.  When his home is attacked by the sea rat, Cluny the Scourge, Matthias sets out to find Martin’s legendary sword to combat Cluny’s horde and save his beloved home.

From that Abbey and its surrounding forest of Mossflower Wood, the world expanded.  Prequels were written, detailing the life of Martin, how he became a warrior and came to live in Redwall, and other characters influential in the formation of the world of Redwall.  In the tale of the founding of Redwall Abbey, we are introduced to the dormant volcano, Salamandastron, ancient fortress of the badger lords, fierce fighters and skilled weapon smiths, and their British Royal Air Force-inspired soldiers, the Long Patrol Hares.  Multiple times, characters travel across the sea, whether to distant lands or to escape from them.  From the North and the East come enemies and go heroes.  Slowly, over each volume, more of the world is formed, or what is known expands.

Of course as the heroes travel, whether to distant lands or just around their own homes, they encounter different creatures and what might be called cultures.  The sensible moles, whose earthy ways include lots of solid wisdom, the sailor otters, fun-loving in peace but fierce in war, the rambunctious hares, perilous on both the battle field and at the dinner table, the argumentative and short-tempered shrews, and many more, including the variations of each group depending on their location.  Sea otters and river otters aren’t quite the same, and never mistake a pygmy shrew for a Guosim shrew.

As you might have picked up from my descriptions so far, there are many ties throughout the stories, and not just geography or character type. In each story, there is always a riddle or puzzle to be solved, whether it be a map to the heroes’ goal or the location of a hidden item, for an example.  Understandably, some people might find some of the elements a bit too repetitive.  As might be expected of such a long series, sometimes these riddles overlap.  What’s more, at times plot elements get recycled, resulting in two books that, while definitely different, feel very similar to each other.  This could make the stories a bit tiresome to some readers.

Also, I will not claim that every volume is excellent.  Some stories, such as Taggerung and Rackety Tam, I liked more than others, like Pearls of Lutra.  Some I have only read once.  Some I’ve reread multiple times.  That’s just how series are.

In addition, as Brian Jacques initially wrote his stories for blind children, he uses a lot of descriptions, particularly for food, often toughing on taste, smell, and texture.  Some people might find this tiring.  I never did, nor do I now.  To me, the food is part of the culture of Redwall, a symbol of prosperity, friendship, peace and goodness; where good food is absent or wasted, so they are as well.  Still, if you hate descriptions of food that will make your mouth water, I’m sorry; Redwall is full of them.

One final issue some readers might have with the story is the binary nature of good and evil.  Creatures such as mice, squirrels, moles, badgers, and the like are 99% good.  In contrast, animals like rats, weasels, ferrets, and foxes make up the bulk of the villains.  Sometimes you might end up with a vole that’s lured into helping the villains for his own gain, but these are rare.  This does not mean good characters are without flaws or villains lack strengths, but the lines are clearly drawn  Like with the food descriptions, I’m not bothered by this.  I think having basic good-versus-evil stories are, in fact, healthy.  However, this post is long enough already, so I won’t go into it here.

A final point I wish to bring up about Redwall is how, for a children’s book, it brings up tough topics.  Sure, it’s not the deepest series, but it’s certainly not completely shallow.  For example, in every book characters die.  Good characters, even main characters, die.  Sometimes it’s from courageous sacrifice, sometimes they are a casualty of war, sometimes they are killed only because they, harmless and kind though they are, happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Characters die, and it hurts, and this exposure to death within literature opens the door to thought on the universal experience of mortality.  

Besides death, the Redwall series also covers topics such as revenge and killing, which can lead to important conversations.  Is revenge okay?  Should we ever seek revenge?   What about killing?  When, if ever, is it permissible?  Brian Jacques gives his own answers to these questions, and I think his answers need to be examined and contemplated.  Good, evil, death, revenge, killing, these are important topics and ones I wish more children’s stories today engaged.

To finish up, I love Redwall.  I love the characters, the world, the food, and the stories.  Any chance I get, I recommend this series because, Brian Jacques, you made my childhood, and you made it an adventure.

Redwall (c) Brian Jacques

Personal Musings: Unlikable Characters

Flaws make a fictional character more realistic.  I don’t think anyone is debating that point.  Far be it from me to claim that making characters more human prevents them from being more human.  However, there is a recent trend with which I do contend: the unlikable main character.

Now, before I go on, I have something thing to clarify: I don’t think all instances of the “unlikable main character” is negative.  There are examples I can think of, such as Charles Dickens's Mr. Scrooge and Shakespeare's Macbeth, who either start out unlikable or become so.  However, such instances usually present one of two cases: either it is a story of redemption for the unlikable character or the character starts out likable but gives in to temptation and becomes a villain.  In one story, we realize we may need to change just as Mr. Scrooge did; the other is a tragedy, where we not only wish for the downfall of evil but also see how no one, not even a hero like Macbeth, is invulnerable to corruption.  Both are powerful storytelling formats and deserve telling and retelling.

These are not the formats of which I speak.  What I mean are the unlikable characters who start out unlikable and end unlikable.  They don’t grow.  They don’t fall.  But often they win.  “But who would read a story with characters like that?” you may ask.  Well, not only is this not new (see Phantom of the Opera), but it’s even the character type of a very popular book right now.  No.  I don’t mean Twilight, though that is along the same lines.  The character I’m thinking of is the main character of Suzane Collins’s The Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen.  By the way, there will be spoilers for a few novels, so please keep that in mind.

Now then, before I speak about Katniss, please recall to your mind the classic romance, Jane Austin’s Pride and Prejudice.  I like this story.  It’s got an engaging plot with great characters, including two main leads where one, Elizabeth, begins likable and the other, Darcey, grows to be so as you learn more about him and his character.  Now, imagine that, instead of Mr. Darcey, our main male lead was Mr. Collins, and not only that, imagine the story is also told from his perspective.  Those who have read or seen Pride and Prejudice know just how obnoxious this man to be.  From the start I disliked him, and then every time I thought I had reached the pinnacle of my hatred for him, he would say or do something that raised my bar to a higher level.  Ironically, this revelation of how much I could hate a character settled Mr. Collins as my third favorite character in the story.  Everyone with whom I have discussed this book has felt similar concerning Mr. Collins (excluding the “3rd favorite character” thing); I only wish I could show you some of the expressions I have seen just by mentioning his name.

However, even though he is hated, I don’t think I’ve met anyone who said he should have been removed from the tale.  Yes, he is horrid, but he has a place in the story precisely as an unlikable character.  Each page containing Mr. Collins is like trudging through sludge, but he plays an important role as a man who is clearly not worthy of admiration but is, overall, harmless, a sharp contrast to the wicked Wickham, who is more charming but much more dangerous, and Mr. Darcey, whose outward appears irritating but beneath possesses the true nobility and character Wickham pretends.  In this relationship of contrasts, Mr. Collins is, in fact, important.  But what if he was the main character?  What is this man, who is so annoying and idiotic, were our “protagonist” and remained his same self the entire story?  I wish I could also show you the faces I’ve seen by suggesting such a concept.

And yet, this is the type of hero in many popular, and even some supposed classic, stories.  Coming back to The Hunger Games, Mr. Collins resembles the character of another Collins, Katniss.  Consider the parallels.  Both are inconsiderate, both are supposedly intelligent but act in very stupid manners (Really, Katniss?  You seriously think you’re the one special person who can get out from the cornucopia what you want without a scratch despite your mentor, who has prior experience, clearly telling you to stay away?), both are totally, unbelievably blind about another person’s romantic interest (or lack thereof), and both are disliked by just about everyone around them.  A main difference between the two is that Mr. Collins has so much pride that he can’t see that everyone dislikes him while Katniss has too little pride and just says right from the start that everyone dislikes her without really knowing why.

There are a few other flaws with Katniss I could mention, but I think it’s obvious my impression of her is negative.  I can’t even describe what her personality is, just that she has a lot of flaws.  Then, among all these flaws, she has pretty much no redeeming qualities, at least none of which I was persuaded.  Supposedly she’s smart and resourceful, but, as I addressed in the previous paragraph, Katniss seems determined to convince me otherwise.  She also supposedly cares for her family, but the lack of any substance in the opening chapters makes that hard for me to believe.

In my previous post, I mentioned how Beauty and the Beast depicts how it doesn’t take much to establish a believable familial connection, one which makes Beauty’s sacrifice for her father believable.  Katniss, on the other hand, complains about her mother, who is really only there to make Katniss seem more resourceful than she really is, and talks about how everyone loves her sister, of whom we know too little to care.  Actually, we learn more about her dead father than either of her living relatives, but he felt almost superfluous to the plot, and definitely to Katniss’s decision to act for her sister’s safety.  Between Beauty and her father, there is love.  With the Everdeens, there is nothing.  Katniss’s familial love, the quality that was supposed to be her motivation, rings hollow.

With Katniss, she began unlikable, consisting only of flaws and unconvincing strengths, and the list of flaws only grew as the story went on. So as I read, I only grew in my dislike for her (though not enough to make her paradoxically endearing like Mr. Collins).  I even wished that either Peeta or Rue win the Games, which would mean Katniss’s death.  When the reader wishes for the main character, for whom you are supposed to be rooting, to die so that another can live, I think there is something wrong.  Yet this is the character so commonly found in literature today.

Take as a contrast another popular character in recent fiction: Harry Potter.  In some of the later books, Potter because near unbearable.  I seriously wanted to slam the corner of The Goblet of Fire on his head.  I was so mad, but one reason I felt so angered was because I knew Harry was better that his actions.  I knew him to be above such treatment of other people and such foolish behavior.  He had been established as a courageous, kind, caring boy, yet here he was treating his friends so poorly.  I understood why he treated them as he did, but it was frustrating. I knew he was wrong, and he knew he was wrong, and his friends knew he was wrong, but we also knew Harry was more than the present person.  They and I knew Harry better than to throw him away because of his flawed reactions, that there was a good person and a good friend who really does care about others beneath all that frustration and panic and hormones.  Before Harry was unlikable, we saw his good qualities.  I knew I could cheer for him, wish and call for him to repent and be redeemed, to turn around and reclaim what he knew was right and act like I’d seen him do before, with courage and kindness.

Redemption is the key of the unlikable character.  Mr. Scrooge is redeemed.  Harry is redeemed multiple times.  Macbeth rejects all opportunity for redemption and eventually is destroyed by his own evil.  Even Mr. Collins is redeemed a bit, though only through the exposure of Wickham as the truly despicable of the two men.  Katniss receives chances to show character and to show reasons we should support her, attempted redemption if you will, but ends up, in her cluelessness, tripping over them and kicking them away without thinking.  She acts like Mr. Collins but gets Harry’s results.  That is the recipe for an unlikable disaster.

The Goblet of Fire (c) J. K. Rowling

The Hunger Games (c) Suzanne Collins

Macbeth (c) Shakespeare

Pride and Prejudice (c) Jane Austen

Reviews and Recommendations: The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

You know those times when you take a whole bunch of notes about something, then promptly lose those notes, and then after searching for weeks you resign yourself the the reality that you must choose one of two options: go back through the material or just work with what you can remember?  Well, this is one of these times, and I’m choosing option 2, because I really don’t want to go through Suzanne Collins’s The Hunger Games again.

Let me clarify.  I don’t think the book is bad.  There are elements I like that drew me in, but that doesn’t mean I want to read it again.  And why might that be?  Well, please allow me to tell you.

That which I like can be summed up in two words: concept and pacing.  I really like the concept of The Hunger Games, which, in case there are any who don’t know, goes as such.  The story follows a young teenaged girl, Katniss Everdeen, as she takes her younger sister’s place in her dystopia country’s annual battle royal, the titular Hunger Games.  The Games were instituted by the government after a certain rebellion as a method of deterring further uprisings.  Every year, two children, aged anywhere between 12-18, must be sent from each district of the country to participate, and there is only one winner.  If she ever wants to see her friends and family again, Katniss must be prepared to win the games, no matter the cost.

As I said, I like the concept.  It’s grave, intriguing, and there is immediate emotional investment by the fact that children are being pitted against each other in a life-or-death “game” treated like reality tv by the dystopian capital.  With the concept, there is also some potential social commentary and some possible conversations that could come up right from get go, and Collins delivers pretty well.  After a rocky start, the pacing carries the concept, making a high-tension narrative that keeps you turning pages right up until the end, especially due to her excellent use of cliff-hanger chapter ends.  I found myself reading almost the whole book in about two days.  However, that was after leaving the book for about six months due to a clunky beginning.

I’m going to say this now, there will be some spoiler-ish things in what follows.  I’ll try to avoid particulars, but I’m not sure slight spoilers can be avoided if I wish to give my honest thoughts on the story.  You’ve been warned.

So, yes, I began The Hunger Games and then put it down for half-a-year before picking it back up again.  As for why, well, basically everything pre-departure for the Games is why.  In the first couple chapters, the pacing is actually pretty horrendous, trying to clumsily cram waaaay too much into the first 2-3 chapters.  Also, while I understand the logic in Katniss’s willingness to sacrifice herself for her younger sister, Prim, I did not feel anything for it, despite the emotional weight it’s all supposed to have in the story.  I’m even an older sister myself who knows about the love of an older sister to her younger sisters.  However, I am not Katniss.  I am not Prim’s older sister, and I just didn’t know, still don’t know, enough about Prim to care about her, and when that familial connection is supposed to be a driving force in a character’s decision, having that emotional pull is pretty significant.  It doesn’t even take much to establish an emotional connection between characters.

Take as an example the fairytale “Beauty and the Beast.”  At the start of the story, Beauty’s father, a formerly wealthy merchant who recently met with tragedy in a business venture, hears that some of his merchandise might have survived and prepares to depart to confirm his hopes.  He asks his three daughters what gifts they desire upon his return.  The first two ask for expensive dresses and jewelry while Beauty only desires a single rose.  Well, as you probably know, the father’s trip proves unprofitable.  On his way back home, he stumbles upon an enchanted castle, where he is given hospitality from an unknown host.  When the father walks through the garden the next day, he spots a wonderful rose bush and, remembering Beauty and desiring to fulfill at least one of his child’s requests, he plucks a rose.  This angers the host, who we learn is the Beast, and the Beast only releases the father on the promise that one of his daughters will take his place.  When the father returns home, Beauty, out of love for her father, decides to go, and so begins the tale.

My summary here does not do the story justice, but I hope you can see how, through very simple ways, like character’s actions and interactions, the love between the father and Beauty gains substance.  Much like The Hunger Games, “Beauty and the Beast” begins with one family member taking the place of another, but unlike with “Beauty and the Beast,” I felt no connection between the family members, and that’s not even counting the mother, who really just exists to make Katniss seem resourceful.  All we know is that everyone loves Prim and that (apparently) she’s a wonderful person while not many people like Katniss.  And I’m supposed to care about this family?  In fewer pages than even one scene of The Hunger Games, “Beauty and the Beast” establishes a stronger and more endearing family dynamic.

And so, with no emotional tension, all the poorly done info/backstory dumping, and failed character building squeezed into the first couple chapters, I just about had enough.  Even though the first chapters are supposed to pull the audience in, I was so offset by them I didn’t want to read the rest.  The only reason I picked the book back up again was because my sister really enjoyed the series.

Well, after I picked it back up, I did find myself pleasantly surprised when the pacing righted itself soon after.  My issues do no stop with the first few chapters, though.  Another issue I had was with writing style.  Collins’s writing style in The Hunger Games was mixed with me.  On the one hand, she wrote in a way that feels pretty similar to how a person might speak.  This kept the storytelling simple and fast paced, a necessity for this type of story.  A downside, though, is that I felt the style made the book seem too much like a movie without my imagination having to do any work.  I didn’t have to think about it, and I like thinking substance in my reading.  Also, big surprise, I did not like the present tense.  “But doesn’t that make it less clear whether or not she’ll live?” you ask.  I’m going to call this out and say, “No.  Not necessarily.”  Guess what?  I’ve actually read books written in 1st-person past tense where the narrator dies at the end.  Yep.  They exist, and by playing with the expectation of “past tense=he lives” my mind was blown.  Since then, I can’t accept the whole “ambiguity” argument for present-tense, and I’ve tried to keep in mind that past-tense does not equal safety for the narrator.

Ironically, I actually ended up subconsciously reading the story in past-tense most of the time.  I would read “was” where it said “is” and substitute all indications of present-tense with past-tense conjugation.  Then every now-and-again I would come across some present-tense verb and my mind would suddenly remember “Oh!  Right, present-tense!” taking me out of the story every time.  I will admit this to be more my fault, but it still remains that, at least for me, Collins ended up writing interruptions right into her story.  Not a fan.

The last thing I’ll cover here has to do with the main character herself.  I’m going to state this plainly: I do not like Katniss.  I really don’t.  I’m not going into any details here for spoiler reasons, but Katniss is actually the last reason I was so turned off by the first few chapters and a main reason I don’t want to read the book again.  Even though I was supposed to be cheering for her, I found it hard to.  I don’t blame characters in the book for disliking Katniss; in fact, I sympathize with them.  Katniss in The Hunger Games is, in my opinion, pretty unlikable.

Going back to “Beauty and the Beast,” it again does not take much to establish characters you root for.  Beauty, with asking only for a single rose, establishes herself as a character who cares more for beauty than riches, and her father, by wanting to still bring a rose back to her, and even by his asking his daughters what gifts they desire, shows himself to be a caring and thoughtful father.  Really, it doesn’t take much.  Just a little hint of positive character traits here or there goes a long way.  However, what I remember of Katniss is “People don’t like me, I’m not an especially likable person, and I’m not charismatic.  Oh, but everyone loves Prim!”  Yeah.

My dislike for Katniss is so strong that it even delayed my picking up the second book in the series, Catching Fire.  After finishing the first book, I actually wanted to start on the sequel right away, but I didn’t have the second book with me, so I couldn’t.  About fifteen minutes later, however, all that desire had evaporated, in large part because I didn’t want to read about Katniss.  I can only hope that everyone I’ve spoken with is right and that she gets more bearable in later books.

Yes, you read right; I’m going to read the rest of the trilogy.  I’m not sure I’ll post blogs about them, though.  So many people have already reviewed this current hit trilogy that I am hesitant to join them.  My reasons for doing this review were really two fold: after finishing the first book, I realized I had enough notes to write a full review, and I wish to discuss a certain topic in my next post, which I formulated due to reading The Hunger Games, so it only seemed fitting to discuss the book as well.

So now that I’ve reviewed the book, do I recommend it?  Well… not really.  There are good things in it.  I think there’s stuff that can be dissected and discussed based on the concept, and the pacing and chapter endings edged me on in the reading.  However, all the issues that make me not want to read the story again also make me hesitant to recommend the novel.  It’s not a bad book, but it’s not a good book either.  I guess if you want to read a story that’s like a popcorn action movie with a few extra layers, this is your ticket, but that’s probably the best I can say about it.

Edit 12/6/2014: Corrected my spelling in a couple places

Collins, Suzanne.  The Hunger Games.  New York: Scholastic Press.  Print.  2008