“Fine,” I gruffed to one of my best friends before Brit Lit was about to start. She told me several times throughout the semester that I simply HAD to read a book series called The Hunger Games. English major that I was, I much preferred writing than reading. Literature did not impress me easily. In a sea of mediocrity, I’d zone in and out until I practically forgot the entire tale being told. Talk about a waste of time.

I kept my friend’s recommendation in the back of my mind until I was off for the summer. Soon, it was June, and I had already been on vacation for six weeks. I figured, what the hey. I could’ve used a project to kick-start my brain again. I went to the library and picked up a novel that featured a gold, foreign bird on a smooth, black cover. As I checked it out, I thought, “Hope this is decent.”

Lying in bed, holding the book, I reviewed the little I knew about The Hunger Games: 1) It involved a fight-to-the-death, 2) The older sister saved her younger sister—the infamous “I volunteer!” incident, 3) The movie that recently came out, starring a newcomer named Jennifer Lawrence, Josh Hutcherson, and Liam Hemsworth, and a handful of other actors I was familiar with. Jennifer was the main character. Katniss, maybe? There were two main male characters, but I did not know their names, nor who played whom. (When I was first reading Gale’s character, I was in constant conflict with myself: “I think this is Liam. Nope. Josh. No, no, it’s Liam. Maybe it IS Josh…”) and 4) Apparently, this series was a big deal.

With practically a blank slate, I opened to page one. Immediately, I was interested. Before the first chapter ended, I had already made it to the “volunteer” scene. How, I wondered, had I already hit this? It was to be a huge part of the series, and I JUST read it. I wasn’t even on page thirty yet! What more was to come? It was going to be a slow ride, wasn’t it?

 
Oh-ho-ho, was I wrong.

Suzanne Collins surprised me with every turn of the page. Her chapters slapped me in the face, blind-sighting me over and over again. A conflict would quickly arise, the resolution would be presented soon after, and we’d be on to a new problem. This novel was unlike anything I’d ever read. It held my attention, indefinitely. I couldnot predict events, like I’d managed to do in nearly every single piece of literature I’d ever read. 

I’d fallen in love (and not just with Peeta Mellark). I was in love with the way Suzanne wrote. I was in love with acknowledgement to real problems in our current world that most literature cannot even scrape the surface of because, “What if he doesn’t like me? Oh, my gosh, he LOOKED at me. Are we married yet? I have to kiss him. He’ll have my babies…!” ENOUGH! I was in love with the subtle humor. I was in love with how attached I felt to every character in one way or another.

For several nights, I read into the wee hours of the morning—until I was too exhausted to go on. I was hanging on every word my eyes flitted across. When I reached the last page, my heart hung heavily, not wanting to leave the world I had been entranced with. Katniss narrated, “I take [Peeta’s] hand, holding on tightly, preparing for the cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go.” I felt the same way when it came to the wondrous novel I was reading. I wanted to hang onto the glorious book hangover I was soaking in. The second I read “END OF BOOK ONE,” I was ready for book two.

The rest is history.

I’m still hooked, two years later. I’ve been accepted into the fandom—even though I was a little late. I’ve met some of the loveliest people through this series. I’ve experienced true joy in speaking with them, in following our cast, in watching the movies, and in reading the book series over and over.

Part 2 may be coming out this year, but my love for this series will burn on forever.

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