I finished maybe 20 minutes ago.
And I think I'd like to say that I didn't like this book.
It was well-written, and utterly absorbing, with good characters and a good plot and everything...yet I didn't like it. And I don't know why. I enjoyed reading it. In that sense, I like it. But I don't.
It made me feel like a cold and heartless person. I didn't cry at the parts I thought I should. I would have forgiven Gale. I've never liked Peeta terribly much. I don't dislike him, but I don't really like him either. The thing with the parachutes...
I felt distant from this book. Still do. Maybe it's because I had some vague ideas about what it would contain just by the end of Catching Fire and from Kristina's blog post and I subconsciously made sure not to get to into it just to save myself from the...pain? I wish I hadn't. Because I can never have the original experience ever again. I know what happens.
Maybe I don't like Katniss. But I'm not sure. Maybe I just disagree with some of her actions. I do identify with her a lot at some points.
I think the best word with which to describe my feelings right now would be "confused."
I feel like there is another dimension of depth to the world. The dimension of crisis. The dimension of pain and suffering. And in that dimension, I feel incredibly shallow. And that sentence is repulsive to me. I don't mean that I want to have experienced such horrible things. I don't know what I mean. And that's why I say "confused."
So there's my review of Mockingjay: It will leave you numb and confused about yourself. 5 stars.
There's an English journal post that I typed up yesterday being made available in around half an hour, and one tomorrow. After that, I intend to have one posted every other day. Non-English journal posts will go up whenever I have something to say. Like now.
I think maybe I need to read Part 3 of the book over again.
And that book has to be the most emotionally draining thing I've ever read.