Why I Can't Read Mockingjay

Last night I was attempting to explain to my roommate why I cannot read the last installment in Suzanne Collins' Hunger Games Trilogy, Mockingjay.  Of course, I'll eventually get around to reading it (it's currently sitting on my bookshelf, gathering dust and staring at me accusingly). 

The problem is the ending.  I couldn't bear it if the characters that I have come to invest in so deeply died.  Or changed in a way that made me sad and unhappy for them.  I couldn't handle it if they DIED.  That would be the worst, but also ending up alone at the end of the book would be equally bad (like the ending of Libba Bray's The Sweet Far Thing--Gemma embarking on a journy to America, strong and independent but ultimately alone).

A second problem is that I loved the first two books, finished them in one sitting, and waited impatiently for the last.  Though I admit The Hunger Games was better than Catching Fire, they were both excellent, addictive reads.  I don't want the final book in the trilogy to disappoint, but I also don't want it to end.

And herein lies another problem.  It's the LAST book.  The end.  The finale.  The conclusion that we have all been waiting for.  That puts a lot of pressure on the author to deliver an ending as good, if not better, than its beginning.  But that also fills the reader with a great deal of anxiety, because we want the ending of Katniss' story to be as good as the beginning of it.  We want it so much that in some cases (like mine) we're afraid to even pick up the book lest it disappoint us at some point.

At the end of Catching Fire, Katniss is rescued but Peeta is captured.  Sweet, sensitive Peeta is taken prisoner by the Capitol while Katniss, who may not have understood the extent of her love for Peeta, has to endure the thought of him being tortured and possibly killed.  I'm with Katniss.  It's too hard.  The idea that Peeta could come out of this story a changed man--no longer the quietly confident, strong, supportive Peeta that we have known and grown to love along with Katniss--fills me with dread.  What if all the light, happy things are tortured out of him, and he becomes as haunted and hard as Katniss?

I repeat: I couldn't handle it.

I would put the book down and not return for a very long time,  if at all.

There's also the possiblity that my reluctance to read the book stems not from fear of its outcome but from a waning interest in the series.  When The Hunger Games first appeared on the scene, it was huge.  A surprise seller that had everyone talking.  Then came Catching Fire, and by then the fire had not only caught with millions of readers, it had spread and consumed them.  The second book became one of the most hotly anticipated YA novels of that year, and though it wasn't nearly as good or ground-breaking as its predecessor, it was still amazing.  Many people are still riding that wave of excitment and anticipation, but for some the tide has gone down.  Don't misunderstand me, we're still excited, very much so.  But we're no longer frantic to finish the series.  The fervor has died down, at least among my set, and now we're simply pleased the book is out.

Maybe I haven't opened the book yet because I'm not as frantic to read it as I was for the last two installments.  Maybe this is not particular to the The Hunger Games Trilogy, but symptomatic of a larger, more general decline in the YA market.  Great books are still being produced, but that initial excitement and enthusiasm have quieted somewhat. 

I myself have made a tentative foray into the adult romance genre, though I still partake of adult urban fantasy and paranormal fiction.  This may also have to do with age.  A lot of YA readers were, at first, young adults.  They were satisfied with the PG-13 descriptions of sex and romance, the sweet kindlings of first love and all that nonsense.  Now they're older and they want more.  More explicit details, more maturity, more R-rated content.  It's a good thing a lot of YA writers started out in the adult market and can provide that more mature fare.

But I sincerely hope the boon in urban fantasy and paranormal romance continues, because it's begun to bleed over into the historical romance genre, which I love (regency werewolves and victorian vampires anyone?).  I think some YA novels, as a result, have become or will become a little more racy.  Or that may have to do with the fact that, as the market continues to boom, many authors are crossing over into YA, bringing with them their racier sensibilities.  Whatever the cause, I'm glad.  I was getting a little frustrated with the lack of sexy times in the works of some of my favorite authors.   

Back to Mockingjay.  I know that I will eventually read it, and I'll probably love is just as much as its siblings.  But that fear that comes with the emotional investment in characters of fiction is not something that I have experienced much.  There are some authors who you know would NEVER kill off their main characters, because those authors are just like you.  They want the happy ending and all its fanfare.  They want the big fireworks show to celebrate the fact that everyone important survived (City of Glass, I'm looking at you).

And then there are those maverick authors, the ones whose stories you can't predict.  There's something slightly more serious about these writers, because you know deep down that they're not afraid to kill off their characters if the story demands it.  THEY'RE NOT AFRAID, and that makes them dangerous.  No one is safe, not even the protagonist.  Not even her soul mate, the love of her life, the man she cannot live without though she doesn't quite know it yet.  (Yeah, I'm thinking of Peeta, though Katniss would never describe him is such sticky-sweet, cloying terms, and I'm pretty sure that if he did die she'd survive and go on.) 

I think what I'm trying to say is, I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN.  And that scares me, because it gives the writer power over my emotions.  If Peeta dies, I'll probably cry.  And rage.  And throw the book out the window, cursing Suzanne Collins from the depths of my soul.  Or maybe he'll live and I'll cry, falling to my knees and fervently kissing the ground that Suzanne walks on.  "Such a good, kind woman," I'll murmur to myself, tears of joy welling in my eyes, the book pressed lovingly to my heart.  "So good."

Either scenario is possible.  Scary, right?  That's why I can't read Mockingjay.  Not yet.