The following is my immediate visceral reaction to the Hunger Games trilogy after having read all three books in nine hours over three days, three hours per book, one book per day.
They wrecked me. The Hunger Games wrecked me.
I’ve either been crying or on the verge of it ever since I finished them an hour ago. I can’t handle it. I feel exhausted. I’m not sure what to do to get it out of my head. The story engulfed me, consumed me. I am unable to deal with the intensity of the emotions that were contained in that story, those books.
I must send others down the same path, let them be consumed as I was. Maybe then I’ll be able to find what’s left of me, what didn’t get destroyed or devoured by the voracity of the story that is The Hunger Games. But if I never find myself again, if the words have wrought some change in me, is that so bad?
All I can do now is sleep.
I read the trilogy for the first time in February 2012, before The Hunger Games movie was released in theaters.