Book 28: Titanic: The Long Night

Titanic: The Long Night

Diane Hoh

The story of the Titanic is one of historical fact that lends itself especially well to works of fiction. The grand contrast between the wealthy on the promenade deck and the nearly penniless immigrants on E Deck, the arrogance of the Gilded Age, and the well-known and lasting images of the ship's final hours all provide perfect story fodder, all without the necessity of adding anything original. This provides an interesting challenge for writers aspiring to set their stories on the liner, requiring enough originality to stimulate the imagination, but enough fealty to the well-known storylines to maintain credibility. Titanic: The Long Night errs on the side of familiarity both with regard to the ship's story and its characters, and though the book doesn't particularly suffer for it, what emerges is an oft-told tragic tale of young love. Hoh makes the usual rounds, visiting many of the usual sights around first class and a riotous party in the third class common room. The stories and characters are familiar, but compelling enough to maintain readers' attention throughout the novel, and there is a very real sense of suspense throughout, aided by the possibility that the main players might well die by the end of the novel. Though there are naturally some losses, none are particularly surprising, and the ultimate conclusion is a fitting, if expected. There are times when Hoh tries too hard to shoehorn modern politics into an earlier context, though this does make the novel more relatable for teens, who are its most appropriate, and likely its intended, audience. Despite the fact that the book treads a well-worn path, Hoh is skilled enough to create a compelling story, and the characters rise enough above stock level- though only just in many cases- to allow readers to care. In the end, the book is precisely what it aspires to be: Titanic: The Long Night is a satisfying, middle-of-the-line romantic story that efficiently utilizes the well-known facts of its setting to appeal to a modern audience.

Grade: B+

Book 27: The Unthinkable

The Unthinkable: Who Survives When Disaster Strikes- and Why

Amanda Ripley

For situations so aptly called "unthinkable," disasters of all varieties tend to occupy a large portion of our collective imagination. Hardly a week passes by when the 24-hour news cycle isn't hysterical about an earthquake, shooting, or accident, and yet this fascination is paired with a strange reluctance to really think about these incidents from a practical perspective, ignoring why they happen and focusing instead on how we react and how we might better train ourselves to survive. Amanda Ripley briefly lays out this scenario at the beginning of her fascinating book The Unthinkable, and brilliantly answers her own call for answers. Written for a general audience, Ripley is sharp and informative without being condescending or overly technical. The book is certainly for the thinking reader, but actively engages its audience. While this buddy-buddy feel can occasionally get annoying, the book maintains its focus on practicality, never straying far from the realm of actual historical incidents and their demonstrable effects. This makes the book an effective mix of history, psychology, and neurology, written with the assistance of those involved in all aspects of disastrous incidents, from survivors to neuroscientists.

The effort to locate and directly collect survivors' testimonies lends a great deal of credibility to an otherwise casual book, and allows Ripley to create both a framework and compelling individual stories. She tells her tales is a meaningful order, utilizing a specific incident or theme as the backbone of each particular chapter and tracing human reactions from the onset of trouble (or even before) through the heat of the moment. Aside form simply making sense, the organizational scheme lends the book that sense of narrative that is so often lacking from nonfiction and insists that human nature maintains its rightful place at the center of the work. The writing is as accessible as the content, and while Ripley's interest occasionally strays, the diversions are at least interesting and tangentially related to the matter at hand. Most importantly, the book follows through on its premise, offering integrated insights into historical events and providing a basic framework both for future study and, to a lesser extent, for practical action. She is persuasive without being preachy and offers practical solutions for the problems she presents. The Unthinkable: Who Survives When Disaster Strikes- and Why is among that rare class of nonfiction books capable of informing and entertaining a wide audience of receptive readers while retaining a sense of focus, mission, and perspective.

Grade: A

Book 26: The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress

The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress

Robert A. Heinlein

As someone who thoroughly enjoys science fiction, it's somewhat embarrassing to admit that this is the first work I've read by one of the genre's giants. This book, often regarded as one of Heinlein's finest, came with a lot of heavy expectations, and it stands up fairly well, though with a few hiccups. Narrative duties fall upon a central character who speaks the lunar dialect, which is essentially a stripped-down English with some borrowed slang from other languages. The dialect seems reasonable enough as an extrapolation, but its tendency to drop articles and pronouns creates an instinctive negative reaction to the speakers, which may cause readers to doubt their intelligence. Though the problem is ameliorated with time, and particularly during long sessions with the text, the language occasionally undermines the political ideas that permeate the novel. While Heinlein absolutely excels at throwing readers directly into the setting, both temporal and physical, with remarkably efficient brevity, he is less adept at exploring the politics that form the backbone of this novel. The plot centers around the political relationships between the Moon and Earth, and much of the main characters' screen time is spent in deep discussions, which often seem reductive or naïve. On one occasion, a character strongly advises against trusting a cache of information to a computer, while both speaker and author completely fail to recognize that this kind of "mistake" is, in fact, central to the entire premise of the plot

Heinlein isn't particularly assisted by his characters, who tend toward stock molds despite some valiant efforts to differentiate them. The young gun drawn in over his head, the newly-awakened AI, the all-knowing gray-hair, and the token female are all present.  Despite these and other missteps, the plot moves along fairly briskly, especially considering its more ideological construction and focus. The politics behind the events may be introduced in a somewhat clunky manner, but the whole thing plays out believably enough, and the novel excels as a thought experiment. The utter completeness of Heinlein's vision of a future lunar colony is amazing, and he considers many subtle aspects of a prison colony finding its identity, such as the effects of a highly unbalanced gender ratio and the forms of justice available when murder by airlock is a viable solution. The societal aspects of Heinlein's future are just as interesting, if not more so, than the politics, and his handling of them displays his ability to foresee and explain without much overt prodding, an ability unseen in his handling of the politics. While modern readers will question the novel's gender politics, and rightly so, it all hangs together as a reasonable, if undesirable, possibility.  As a whole, the book is a worthy thought experiment that can spur intriguing discussions over 45 years after its initial publication. While The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress may not excel on all levels, it certainly contains enough interesting fodder to justify its place on a list of high-ranking, lasting science fiction stories, even if it doesn't warrant quite as much praise as it has garnered.

Grade: A-

Book 25: Robopocalypse

Robopocalypse: A Novel

Daniel H. Wilson

The possible- and, some say, inevitable, sentience of artificial intelligence certainly isn't the most original way for an author to begin an apocalyptic tale, yet each robot story seems to tell us something about ourselves and, perhaps, what makes life unique. One would expect Daniel H. Wilson, who has a Ph.D. in robotics, to have a particularly interesting perspective on the idea of a robot uprising. Though Robopocalypse does entertain some interesting notions about the technical possibilities of robotics, however, all that it really delivers is a thin skeleton, without any satisfying thematic or character-based elements to elevate the book beyond a mere piquing of the scientific interest. Wilson first errs in the book's form, a kind of segmented post-facto history assembled by (naturally) one of the main human players in the drama. Nothing is inherently wrong with this set-up, and it worked wonderfully in World War Z, but from the beginning it feels clumsy and forced, a bit too self-conscious on both the main narrator and author's parts. We begin not with a feeling of suspense or impending doom, but with the reassurance that everything turns out all right, thus robbing the main narrative of much of its power. Aware that everything turns out all right, readers are less inclined to truly invest in the psychological uncertainties that a proper apocalypse thrives upon. To make matters worse, each section is introduced and concluded with a note from our historian, and while they largely succeed to place events within their respective context, they are painfully reductive and, particularly pre-"Zero Hour", childishly leading. Wilson keeps earnestly promising that certain characters will be vital in the New War and talking up his own story selection, and while this may be something that an experienced soldier might say when retelling his recent history, it is unsatisfying in the hands of an author who should know better. Again, Wilson fails to build any kind of suspense or dramatic resonance, instead constantly reminding readers that he, the author, is in charge of the story at hand, and that he has oh-so-cleverly created (wait for it!) an intertwined, global-scale plot.

Even more disastrous than these cutesy asides are the individual narrative voices. While I can appreciate the attempt at soldierly lingo or a Southern drawl in each first-person chapter, the numerous voices are surprisingly, er, robotic. And for some unfathomable, bizarre reason, the stories are told in present tense. Each and every one. Whether a police interview about a recent crime or a robot's log, the authors are present and accounted for, even when recounting past events. The effect is horrific, especially when paired with a misguided insistence on first person narration for a book whose entire conceit is that its constituent stories are appearing to the framing narrator via a computer. While it's true that people may recount stories using a mixture of tenses ("So, I'm sitting there when x finally shows up"), the existence of the framing narrative as well as the constant asides continually remind readers that the events of the book are occurring in the past. Wherefore, then, the false urgency? All suspense has already been drained from the book anyway, with the continual assurances that this character is important and that event turned out correctly and the author knows what he's doing, okay. It's absolutely maddening, and makes what should be either a breezy or deeply philosophical novel an absolute slog at times. Instead of character development and world building, we get transparent, ineffective gimmicks.

That the book is written so poorly is a shame, because it is evident throughout that Wilson has, in fact, put a lot of thought into his particular robot apocalypse, and he is able to effortlessly drop readers straight into that world when he stops trying so hard to sell his story. He utilizes a good mixture of familiar technology, foreseeable developments, and slight exaggerations to create a near future that is utterly believable, one that would, in the hands of a more competent writer,  force us to re-think our current relationship with technology. Instead, what we get is a lot of intriguing technological developments wrapped up in an insufficient narrative full of cardboard characters. Worse yet, there is no discernible theme. Why, exactly, does the robotic arch-nemesis decide to destroy humanity? There are some hints as to his motives, but I fear that Wilson mistakes a lack of sufficient development for something akin to subtlety. While the slap-bang aspects of the narrative are good enough to keep readers engaged despite a host of flaws, the book's ultimate conclusions, or lack thereof, are ultimately disappointing, and a work that should have excelled is instead relegated to the back corners of the brain. Those things Wilson does best- create compelling near-future technology, weave an interconnected plot- are crowded out by the book's basic writing flaws, wherein the compelling becomes sadly mundane. Robopocalypse posits an interesting future in an uninteresting way, and is a bit too caught up in its potential strengths to actually draw upon them; it is a novel of ideas but not, sadly, of engagement with them.

Grade: C+

Book 24: Rosa

Rosa

Jonathan Rabb

What do you get when you take a  somewhat disgruntled, experienced police detective, a volatile Central European country teetering on the brink of political disaster, a brutal crime, and hints of corruption? Jonathan Rabb's novel Rosa indeed has the classic elements of a noir mystery, and successfully weaves them into the tapestry of pre-Weimar Germany. Detective Nikolai Hoffner is at once unique and standard, a no-nonsense policeman with his own deep character faults who can nonetheless be counted upon to do the right thing. Though he alternately comes across as a cardboard cutout and as a fully fleshed character, he is sufficiently interesting and complex to continually drive the story forward. So it is with the plot, divided into two main halves but placed within the scope of plausible- if slightly unlikely- historical fact. The story combines glimpses into Hoffner's personal life and past with a cascade of discoveries that reveal a much more complex case than either the main characters or the reader initially assumed. Though there is little that is surprising within Rosa, it boasts a strong cast of supporting characters and a nice mid-story plot twist that adds depth and historical interest along with a hint of originality that sets this book apart. Though Rabb easily falls into the historical cameo trap, involving unsavory characters from the future Nazi Germany as well as- somewhat less plausibly- Albert Einstein, he knows his stuff, and convincingly portrays postwar Berlin with the assistance of a strong supporting cast. While there is nothing to particularly recommend the prose, Rabb is efficient and effective at revealing details and maintaining suspense without wielding too much authorial dictatorship. Regardless, the book is tightly plotted, and Rabb should be commended for refusing to allow too many gotcha moments- everything fits together neatly, but appropriately, without undue editorial wrangling. Sure, the scope gets a bit out of hand at times, but can one really erase knowledge of Germany's near future? The book manages to posit an alternate history without vitally altering anything of paramount significance, and gains some thematic depth and historical resonance in the process.  Ultimately, Rosa hits all the right notes and creates a convincing scene and story, satisfactory to mystery fans and historians alike.

Grade: A-

Book 23: Fables: 1001 Nights of Snowfall

Fables: 1001 Nights of Snowfall

Bill Willingham, et al.

After reading the first volume of collected Fables comics, I dove into this anthology, which rewinds the general narrative a bit and takes a look at some main players before the events in the main story began. Though it was published between two later volumes from the main plot line, and though I had only read one major story arc, I found myself immediately engrossed in the stories and, more importantly, in the characters. This, of course, is no accident, as the whole premise of the Fables series is that, well, we know the characters already, or are at least familiar with their oft-told stories. What is remarkable, however, is how coherently these tales hang together and how seamlessly they play off of the familiar histories. As Bill Willingham writes in his introduction, there is very little internal Fables backstory necessary to enjoy these stories and to understand their greater implications. And for those familiar with Willingham's re-tellings, these short stories not only continue the tradition of re-thinking fairy tales and legends, but also play off of future events and characterizations readers will already know. Just about anyone could pick this book up without having any idea that Fables actually existed, and still enjoy the storytelling, artwork, and overall narrative effect. The idea of re-hashing well-known stories certainly isn't new, and the trope's recent popularity has forced would-be re-inventors to reach sufficient levels of depth and originality; 1001 Nights of Snowfall does this, and does it in spades, all while remaining accessible and providing an entry point for new readers.

One reason why Fables is so intriguing is its use of a greater narrative framework both within this collection and around the individual stories that take place within the universe. This clever development allows characters from a thousand different fantasy realms and human cultures to interact and, indeed, to cooperate. It is this rich background that allows the Fables mythology to exist, and it is this catastrophic turn of events that provides the narrative impetus for each of the stories within this collection. The collection itself is bound by its own narrative arc that benefits a bit from knowledge of the modern-day Fables setting, but this knowledge only adds a bit of a knowing nod rather than being essential to the stories. Each story focuses on a character or characters from our well-known folk tales, and most offer a Fables-specific rethinking of the classic tale, though the opener is a straightforward, modern-day reevaluation of the typical Snow White story, a bit tedious perhaps given the current inundation of Snow White reboots, but refreshing and modern nonetheless. The other stories are just familiar enough to make readers comfortable, yet original enough to present something new and, often, emotionally riveting.

What is most remarkable, however, is that a collection with such strong plotting, if not particularly riveting dialogue, has another strength completely: its art. Graphic novel skeptics should be immediately convinced by the stunning array of artistic talent on display within. The short story format allows a number of artists to lend their eyes and sensibilities to Willingham's innovations, and it is delightful to see how different artists envision these classic characters and how their styles affect the storytelling- and reading- experience. And skeptics take heart: only one story is illustrated in what one might call a typical superhero style, and each story's visual experience is entirely different, making for refreshing changes of pace as well as thoughtful re-calibrations for each story. The differences serve to highlight the ways in which these are at once familiar and entirely new approaches to traditional characters. While each illustrator adds a distinctive flair to their particular tale, James Jean's art for "A Frog's-Eye View," the Frog Prince's tale, is truly transcendent. The muted palette and thick black borders combine with the characters' sheer desperation to create a formidable argument for the power of graphic narrative. The story, so unapologetically tragic, reaches a new depth of meaning through Jean's art, and while the other art is far from merely serviceable, it is this story that stands above the rest. Though none of the other stories quite reach this formidable level of synchronicity between narration, dialogue, and art, 1001 Nights of Snowfall offers nicely varied re-thinkings of well-known tales, one that simultaneously enhances the established Fables universe and offers entertainment for newcomers.

Grade: A

Book 22: Fables: Legends in Exile

Fables: Legends in Exile

Bill Willingham and Lan Medina

Fairy tale re-tellings have been a popular genre recently, but Bill Willingham's Fables graphic novel series appeared slightly ahead of the curve, both in time and in skill. It is obvious from the beginning that Willingham has constructed a fictional universe that extends far beyond this story, a functional detective narrative whose novelty lies far more in character than in plot. Though the plot, such as it is, is fairly straightforward, it is a brilliant way to introduce a wide cast of characters who will presumably take center stage in following installments. As a typical detective story, it is well constructed with plenty of twists to hold readers' interests, a functional and firmly defined narrative in which to place and develop unusual elements. Also wise is Willingham's choice to put familiar characters Snow White and the Big Bad Wolf on center stage, allowing readers to glide into this parallel reality with relative ease, while allowing the authors to highlight their chosen deviations from the traditional stories. Character development is key in Fables, and it is truly delightful to tag along with Willingham's modern, realistic re-imagining of these familiar faces, of whom Prince Charming, it must be said, is the pinnacle. Recasting the prince as a vapid and self-serving frat-boy type is fitting and insightful and inserts an element of humor into an otherwise fairly grim (ha) murder story. What is remarkable about Fables is not any of its singular elements- the dialogue, plotting, and art are all on the functional side- but the way in which they combine to create an enticing and believable world, populated with characters that are at once familiar, exotic, and new. The art is sufficient, done in a more traditional comic book style that suits the narrative well enough to stay out of the way and allow for efficient storytelling. The collected volume is also accompanied by a short story from Willingham, and though his prose leaves much to be desired, the story fleshes out some of the backstory without clogging the main narrative line, which contains just enough history to entice and explain but not enough to overwhelm the current plot. Fables: Legends in Exile is a great debut, a comic that presupposes only a basic introduction to western culture and fairy tales and one that shows remarkable restraint in creating a novel narrative fabric that will entice readers to read subsequent volumes.

Grade: A

Book 21: Marking Time

Marking Time: The Epic Quest to Invent the Perfect Calendar

Duncan Steel

Calendars and timekeeping systems may seem at first an odd choice of subject for a book, but upon further reflection, few things impact our daily lives more strongly than time. After all, each workday begins with the tolling of a bell and the hands of the clock govern much more than we would probably like to admit. Thus is Duncan Steel's attempt at an accessible history of calendars and, to a lesser extent, time itself most welcome. Unfortunately, Steel, while apparently being an expert in his field, is also one of the most pompous, peacocks it has ever been my misfortune to read. There is good information buried deep within his purple prose, but the authorial presence is so strong within this book that I defy anyone to put up with more than a few pages before wishing to throw it and begin screaming. A harsh assessment, perhaps, but one that I think is more than justified for many reasons. First, I don't think Mr. Steel is intentionally off-putting, and I'm inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt. However, his attempts to strike up a conversational tone with readers fall flat at best and encourage, well, unseemly thoughts at worst. Where he attempts to be conversational, he comes across only as condescending, time and again reminding his readers that it is he, indeed, who is the expert and, by the way, did you do your homework?

For Steel is not merely content to cram his narrative as chock-full of alienating math as possible (after an infuriating attempt at sarcasm denouncing the very notion of arithmetic-laden popular works!), but he has included three appendices that go into far greater depth about concepts which are, in fact, crucial to an understanding of the book. This causes several problems. First is his irritating assertion in an introductory chapter that the following concepts will be beyond the poor, pitiable reader's feeble mind unless we refer to his appendices. This, however, is usurped entirely by later passages that accuse readers of skipping the so-called "supplementary" information. If this additional information, which is indeed difficult to grasp for the mathematical layperson, is so necessary, why didn't the author or, perish the thought, the editor plunk it down in the middle of the narrative? Or why not craft a book that is actually accessible to the uninformed public, as is the stated assertion? This hints at a greater problem: the book is woefully organized, with non-sequitur pieces of unrelated trivia becoming sadly expected- though no less groan-worthy- because of their constant infiltration. The idea of introducing a complex concept by outlining the following theses and main points, which Steel maddeningly finds necessary to explain in and of itself, is admirable but highly unnecessary in a book with well-labeled chapters and named subsections. All it serves is to bore readers with a kind of repetition that is rampant throughout the book, wherein examples are flogged to death in multiple chapters and ideas are dropped simply because they might- but usually don't- fit better in another chapter. This makes the book extremely disjointed, and readers have to stop and reset almost every time a new idea is approached; this, despite the fact that hardly any of the ideas are new by the time Steel deigns to actually explain them in any depth.

All of this, plus the inexcusable condescension in nearly every sentence and abundance of insulting exclamation points, makes the book nearly unreadable. Should one venture beyond the language, there is some valuable historical and scientific information to be had, though woe betide the poor scholar tempted to wrangle with Steel's idea of a historical argument. He may be, and apparently is, a brilliant scientist, but a historian capable of convincing argumentation he is not, a problem that directly impacts many of his frankly bizarre historical assertions. There may be a hint of truth to the idea that the date of Easter was a major sticking point between the Catholic, Protestant, and Orthodox churches, and I am inclined to trust his retro-calculation of the possible date of Jesus's birth, but the assertion that the English wished to colonize Virginia because it lies on some sort of magical latitude line is so patently absurd and poorly supported that I actually laughed out loud, even after hearing him out. Coincidences may provide fodder for interesting and even heretical thoughts, but Steel seems so focused on his novel hypothesis that he ignores, oh, pretty much every other hint of historical context. Mix this with his obvious contempt for religion, and it's difficult to take him quite so seriously, bringing us back to a preening narrative with very little actual substance. I wanted to like this book. Oh, how I wanted to enjoy the book and, perhaps, learn something. I hate to be so harsh but, unfortunately, Making Time is so heavily clogged with the author's unfriendly self-awareness that it is nearly useless in a practical sense, with every possible redeeming quality mercilessly squeezed out by needless pompousness and unrelated trivia.

Grade: D+

Book 20: Doomsday Book

Doomsday Book

Connie Willis

Connie Willis pulled out all the stops for this dynamo of a novel, utilizing such ordinarily disparate elements as a post-quasi-apocalypse near future, a deadly contagion, and time travel. Yet though its narrative action is divided between two fairly disparate temporal settings, Doomsday Book maintains a fairly urgent sense of suspense, a remarkable feat to accomplish in any 550-page book. Though there are times when the pace slows considerably, Willis is careful to pull back and switch settings, always seeming to change just when the current story becomes the slightest bit tiresome or when the reader begins to get curious about the concurrent story. Willis also does a good job of handling narrative synchronicity, vital when juggling stories that take place in a future present and in the Middle Ages, where an intrepid time traveler has managed to go while on winter holiday at Oxford. Though any time travel system has its peculiar quirks, the one in this particular book has its rules fairly clearly outlined early enough that readers are inclined to believe it, and to accept a strange intertwining of past and present events, which crucially move along at a similar rate. And though the thematic link between the historical destination and the future is more obvious than insightful, it packs a dramatic wallop. Willis also explores the potential difficulties faced by a time traveler and- not so subtly, mind- highlights some of the necessary impossibilities faced by any historians, allowing her temporal voyage to highlight both the differences and similarities between our times and those past. That she manages to do this without becoming preachy is a testament to the author's restraint and, in another way, to the strength of her characters. Not everyone is likeable, but these seem to be living humans, not caricatures, and they all serve their respective purposes superbly. Even more remarkable is the strength of the medieval characters, and the author's ability to make them seem both of their times and relatable to ours, again without too much pomp or undue over-attention. Though the story can seem to drag at times, the book simultaneously seems to read quickly, and the accelerated pace of the third book is much appreciated after a not-so-suspenseful attempt at a Big Reveal. Regardless, everything about the book is executed nicely, with effective prose and obvious- and appreciated- deliberation. Doomsday Book can be a bit of a slog in the middle, but it is a remarkably executed hybrid novel well deserving of its many accolades.

Grade: A-

Book 19: Mockingjay

Mockingjay

Suzanne Collins

I'm not sure whether it's easy or incredibly difficult to properly follow up on such a prominent and well-written series as the Hunger Games books, but in Mockingjay Suzanne Collins suitably, if not brilliantly, wraps up the loose ends and brings the series to what feels like an inevitable, but appropriate, conclusion. We rejoin our heroes a while after the cliffhanger, revelatory, but ultimately unsurprising ending of Catching Fire, where they're firmly embedded in a typical dystopian good-versus-evil plot. Though much of this book, like its predecessors, operates in a highly simplified moral fabric, Collins mercifully throws an ambiguous wrench in the operation, forcing readers to re-think things a bit and, by the end, everything becomes far from simple. Though she is far from a master of subtlety, Collins is able to construct characters and a plot with considerable depth. Much appreciated is her handling of the books' central romantic triangle, which resolves itself in an incredibly realistic way. These things seldom escape the feeling that they are forced upon the characters in question, and to have teenagers acting like actual teenagers, but also like themselves, is refreshing. Also refreshing is the author's continuing willingness to utilize brutal violence: she has placed Katniss and company in the middle of a brutal war for control over Panem, and she does not shy away from the implications of this. The violence, however, almost always feels necessary to advance the plot or enhance character development, and though the book strangely drags despite its internal sense of urgency, nothing feels terribly misplaced within. The result, then, is a sometimes contemplative, sometimes high-octane conclusion that is ultimately satisfying, if a bit simplistic and, like its companions, predictable. The series is, as a whole, remarkably consistent, with no precipitous decline (or increase) in quality, though the same problems seem to surface within each book, as do their strengths. Mockingjay successfully resumes and concludes the Hunger Games trilogy, providing a satisfactory ending without straying too far from the first two books' best qualities or most frustrating faults.

Grade: A-