Separating Your Foils (Not a cooking lesson, I swear)

Sometimes I feel like I blog more about Catherine Fisher’s Incarceron than about anything else.  And if I do, it’s definitely for good reason.  But while I obviously love the book, I love its sequel, Sapphique, even more.  I figure that’s partly because my favorite character gets more screen time (page time?), but also because most of the supporting characters are fleshed out quite a bit.

Throughout most of Incarceron, Finn was the viewpoint character.  And that’s great—I love Finn—but in a way, his supporting cast just serve as foils for him.  In the second book, Finn gets separated from Keiro and Attia, and I feel like it allows all three of them to grow as characters.  Keiro is deeper, more complex and conflicted, than he seems at first—his indifferent cool guy mask slips a little, and he shows some redeeming qualities, even if reluctantly.  Attia also becomes less one-dimensional: instead of being some slightly pathetic, awestruck girl dedicated to protecting Finn, she turns out to be clever and resourceful.  And now that Finn isn’t always around and Attia’s more exposed to Keiro’s harshness, we get to see that she has more than enough fire to hold her own against him.

Happily, the character development is a come-one, come-all sort of thing.  Away from his posse, Finn’s more confident, less self-conscious—even while Keiro’s leaving Finn’s shadow, Finn is able to leave Keiro’s.  One of those cheery, “everybody wins” situations, yes?

All in all, I figure that’s the best thing about this lesson in foils.  It’s an example we can apply to our own stuff.  If you have a secondary character who’s coming off a bit flat, try to find some way to separate him from your MC.  Even if it ultimately doesn’t work out plot-wise, it’ll probably teach you something about both that character and your main one, and you can incorporate that later.  Rah, character development.

So, what do you think?  Have you ever tried an exercise like this before—how’d it work out?  If not, do you have any other examples of an author separating her foils for the better?

Why Happily Ever Afters Don't Make Me So Happy...

Okay, so this post may make me sound like a total pessimist.  Glass half-empty and all that.  Acknowledged, but I have a point to make here.

    First thing's first:  the perfect ending doesn't exist -- for me, anyway.  Because if it really is a perfect ending, in the conventional "everything's wrapped up and happy" sense, it's automatically imperfect for me.  I don't want a happy ending -- I just want it to be tolerable. 

    By "tolerable," I'm not saying I think endings should stop at acceptable, that they should just be ho-hum.  Definitely not; I like explosions and betrayal and fight scenes as much as the next reader.  But I want endings to be bittersweet and slightly painful -- I want the "we missed Happily Ever After by about ten miles" version. 

    Everything can't just work out.  That, unfortunately, is what Disney movies are for. 

    Maybe that's why I don't like the happy endings so much.  Maybe I watched too many Disney movies when I was younger, where Sleeping Beauty and Snow White woke up and Prince Charming found the shoe and Beast turned back into a human, and everything worked out.  (Extra points go to Pocahontas, since John Smith got hurt and shipped back where he came from.  Negative points go to Pocahontas 2, because that movie was moronic and nobody likes John Ralfe or whatever that punk was named.  I guess you can tell I'm more of a John Smith fan.) 

    Anyway, some more examples of endings that had some element of bittersweet in them?  I think yes.  Technically, I guess I can't talk about the endings if you haven't read them already, because that would just ruin life, but it's understood that I highly recommend the books listed below. 

• A Separate Peace by John Knowles.  Love this book.  I'm normally not into this genre or time period, but this is tied for first in my All-Time Favorites list.  (Team Phineas all the way.)
• The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald.  Lots of people probably read this in school, so the ending's not as big of a secret, but I thought it was so refreshing that it didn't end very well.  How many other stories out there had an ending to a similar effect?  Plus, it had characters like Jordan and Gatsby.  Nick wasn't bad, either.
• The Cay by Timothy Taylor.  My mom read it to me when I was sick in the fifth grade.  I hadn't thought about it in a while, but when I was thinking of bittersweet endings, it popped into my brain.  Must reread this....
• Island of the Blue Dolphins by Scott O'Dell.  This was one of my favorite books.  I need to read this one again, too. 

    Okay, that's probably enough, because I think you get the point.  At this point, I'll also slip in a quick apology for my blogging failures in this past month.  Bad me. 

    Do you agree, or are you more on the Happily Ever After side?  What are some books with bittersweet endings you've read, and did you think the books pulled them off?

Actually, Go Ahead -- Judge Away

"Don't judge." 

    It's an expression I hear quite a bit, mostly in joke -- but let's face it.  Whether we want to or not -- whether we realize it or not -- we judge people and characters.  And a lot of the time, one of the first impressions is actually a name. 

    Names are obviously important -- they need to match the character's personality, time period, social status, and so on.  Eugene Fitzherbert isn't a great name for an adventure-loving thief, and I'm sure Flynn Rider would back you up on that one. 

    But even though names are important, they don't necessarily make or break a character -- that's all up to the characterization. 

    Example time --

    Four from Divergent by Veronica Roth.  I mean, anyone else ever read a character with a number for a name (besides the temporary title Boy 412 had in Magyk by Angie Sage)?  Yeah, not really.  And somehow it seems like Four makes a natural name, whereas, I don't know, the name Three or Five or Eight would just be ridiculous. 

    It's the same way with Dustfinger with Inkheart by Cornelia Funke.  At least Four is a nickname -- Dustfinger's kind of stuck with his name.  Still, he's an awesome character, and if you focus on him and don't consider his name too deeply, he manages to make "Dustfinger" a pretty cool name. 

    A lot of high-fantasy books are the same way.  Who would've ever thought Aragorn or Frodo or Legolas could've been names? 

    These are only a couple of examples, but I the point's pretty clear -- any more would be overkill.  Have you come across any other names that at first sounded riduculous, but ended up seeming rad once the characterization had done its job? 

"Good designers can create normalcy out of chaos...." --Jeffery Veen

In the above quote, replace "designers" with "writers".  Because writers are just people who design with words, right?

    About a week ago, I finally got around to reading Divergent.  (I know, I know, it took me long enough.)  It was great in general, but one of the things it did reminded me of the Inkheart books -- both Roth and Funke use simple, everyday occurences -- even the most mundane of things -- to give the reader a sense of normalcy.

    Example time -- first, from Inkheart:

    " 'And, Meggie,' [Mo] said over his shoulder, 'you go back to sleep.'  Then, without another word, he closed his workshop door.
    Meggie stood there rubbing her cold feet together.  Go back to sleep.  Sometimes, when they'd stayed up late yet again, Mo would toss her down on her bed like a bag of walnuts.  Sometimes he chased her around the house after supper until she escaped into her room, breathless with laughter.  And sometimes he was so tired he lay down on the sofa and she made him a cup of coffee before she went to bed.  But he had never ever sent her off to her room so brusquely."

    "Dustfinger must have been waiting in the road beyond the wall.  Meggie had picked her precarious way along the top of that wall hundreds of times, up to the rusty hinges of the gate and back again, eyes tightly closed so she could get a clearer view of the tiger she'd imagined waiting in the bamboo at the foot of the wall, his eyes yellow as amber, or the foaming rapids to her right and her left."

    "Meggie was just throwing [the sparrows] the breadcrumbs she had found in her jacket pocket -- left over from a picnic on some long-forgotten day -- when the door suddenly opened."
   
    "It was a strange feeling to be spying on Mo.  She couldn't remember ever doing it before
-- except the night before, when Dustfinger had arrived.  And the time when she had tried to find out whether Mo was Santa Claus."

    Throughout these bits of story -- most of them slipped seamlessly into the main narrative of the novel -- you get a real sense of how life was before.  Before the characters' lives went crazy, before the story itself started and everything changed.  You get a glimpse into how close Meggie and Mo's father-daughter relationship is, how Mo isn't exactly the most responsible parent, but he loves Meggie and makes things fun.  You see how Meggie used to climb the fence and imagine she was on adventures -- who hasn't played in their yard as a kid? -- and that she goes on picnics and leaves crumbs in the pockets and tried once to determine whether her dad was Santa.  In these paragraphs, in relatively few words, Funke establishes the characters' lives before, to better show how they change after, and again, sets a normal background that makes it easier to believe the fantastic, sometimes unrealistic things that're going to happen. 

    Divergent did the same thing for me:

    "We walk together to the kitchen.  On these mornings when my brother makes breakfast, and my father's hand skims my hair as he reads the paper, and my mother hums as she clears the table -- it is on these mornings that I feel guiltiest for wanting to leave them."
   
    "[M]y brother made breakfast this morning, and my father made dinner last night, so it's my turn to cook."

    "We sit at the table.  We always pass food to the right, and no one eats until everyone is served.  My father extends his hands to my mother and my brother, and they extend their hands to him and me, and my father gives thanks to God for food and work and friends and family."

    And then there's the example Tris goes back to the most -- her mother trimming Tris's hair.  It's mentioned several times, so I won't pick an example.  Throughout Divergent, these pieces of background information show how her family interacts and works, which is really complex, given their dystopian world's customs and standards.  Family plays a large part in Divergent and Inkheart, and I think that shows.

    Both authors managed this well --- a light-handed sprinkling of background information, of the characters' pasts, that isn't forced or heavy.  It feels so natural that it also makes the world seem normal, real, and to me, that's important in a book. 

    Agreed, or no?  What books have you read that had the same effect as these?

The Only Constant in Life is Change, or Something Cheesy Like That

"Only the extremely ignorant or the extremely wise can resist change." -- Socrates

    If we've heard it once -- and we've all heard it once -- we've heard it one-point-three million times: 

    Characters need to face significant growth by the end of a novel.

    Well, sure.  I'm not denying that.  After all, if Scrooge had been a total cad at the end of A Christmas Carol and let Tiny Tim ("God blesh us, ev'ry one!") die, the story probably wouldn't make such a warm, fuzzy Christmas movie/play. 

    But.

    Not all characters are Scrooge, you know what I'm saying?

    Characters need to change.  Like Socrates said, only morons and brilliant people resist change -- and a lot of main characters don't fully fit into either category.  Practically everything that makes characters themselves are their personalities, actions, reactions, quirks.  And if you remove all of those traits from the equation, what's left? 

    A boring imposter-of-the-original character that, quite frankly, I don't want to read about. 

    Example time -- and that means if you haven't read the books about the bolded characters, I don't know if you'll want to read their paragraphs.  I'm not spoiling plot events, exactly, but I do go through the character growth in the books.

    Artemis Fowl changed throughout his series, making friend and becoming less cold and ruthless.  But he's still sly and calculating, and unafraid of lying or manipulation.  If he'd become a total softie throughout the books, I wouldn't like his character anymore (because really, he's really more interesting when he's being cold and ruthless). 

    Maximum Ride became softer throughout her series, too.  Sometimes against her will, she became warmer, friendlier, and more emotional.  She isn't always exactly happy about these developments, but her character has changed -- grown -- so she deals.  I don't always like Max's weaker side -- slightly annoying, if you catch my drift.  I'm the tough one, I don't know why I'm crying, I can count the times I've cried in front of these kids on one hand, blah, blah, blah.  But it's usually fine. 

    Tally Youngblood (Uglies series) -- okay, this one's kind of a doozy, and it's not even completely Tally's fault.  (This one actually has spoilers.  Close your eyes if necessary.)  In Uglies, thanks to society standards, Tally considered herself worthless and hideous, but knew she'd be amazing once she got the pretty-making operation for her sixteenth birthday.  By the end of the book, after a nice little visit with some rebels, she decides she doesn't need any operation and that real is beautiful.  However, she also volunteers to be turned pretty so she can test a cure -- and thanks to the surgery, forgets all about her whole "natural beauty/brainwashing is bad" epiphany.  She's a vapid, self-absorbed pretty now.  Once she gets the cure -- cough -- she's back to her pre-surgery, post-Smoke self again.  Then she gets turned into a Special, and she's arrogant, ruthless, and cold, determined to keep everything under the city's control.  She cures herself from being Special and finally finds her own way of thinking, free from any surgery or city-manufactured thinking.  Major growth-rollercoaster there.  Three- steps-forward-four-steps back-five-steps-forward kind of thing, yes?  Even though I halfway hate Tally for what she inadverently did to Zane (who's one of my listed Favorites), I still like her and her growth arc okay. 

    Katniss Everdeen (The Hunger Games) used to be a happy little girl.  Then her dad got blown up and her mom turned worthless.  It was up to Katniss to ensure her and her little sister's survival, and she ended up cold and hard, a total survivor.  (Spoilers coming from here on out.)  She ended up softening a tad around Peeta, then slightly insane after her sister's death, and back to her normal, less-distant self again.  One could definitely say her growth arc is more of a wave, though not as erratic as Tally's.

    Dustfinger (Inkheart) was a roaming fire-eater in his own world.  He had a wife, two daughters, and a stellar way with flames -- and then Mo read him out of his world.  To get back home, Dustfinger's willing to lie, cheat, steal, manipulate, and generally throw morals out the window.  But he's only doing it to get to his family again, and he tries to fix the problems his double-crossing starts.  Basically, he's good if you're helping him, bad if you're not, a character with flexible morals and a generally good heart.  (He's a Favorite, too.)

    Characters usually change in their stories -- sometimes drastically, sometimes subtly -- but not too much.  Because if they do, they lose what makes them them.  I'm not saying your Twihard-axe-murderer protagonist should still be going around chopping people up at the end of the book(s) -- certainly that first bit needs to change.  But maybe your jewelry thief should still have a weakness for emeralds; maybe your MC still chews other characters out.  (Lame examples there, I know.  Oh well.)

    Do you agree with this, or are you for the characters being reformed by the end of the story? 

You Heard the Man

          "They say, best men are moulded out of faults,
           And, for the most, become much more the better
           For being a little bad."
                     
            -- William Shakespeare, "Measure for Measure", Act 5 Scene 1

    Today, I think we'll take it from an expert. 

    All of my favorite characters on the All-Exclusive All-Time list are definitely flawed.  (Peeta's on that list, which almost dashes the continuity there, but I think Snow and a certain venom took care of that.)  Maybe that's just a personal preference of mine, but I think it raises a point.  We all know that no one likes perfect characters, and most normal people don't like purely awful characters either.  Society tends to frown upon that -- but then again, I frown on society, so who knows.

    All of my Favorites have some sort of quirk that makes them interesting -- and not necessarily nice -- and influences the story line.

   A great example of this is Artemis Fowl.  He's not one of my Favorites -- I mean, he's a great character and all, but he's not on The List --, but he's quite flawed, thank you very much.  He can be ruthless, manipulative, completely full of himself.  (The fact that he's the biggest supergenius out there doesn't exactly hurt matters, either.)  He ends up showing gradual growth -- peachy -- but he doesn't completely lose his flaws in the process.

    What about you?  Is there a common thread between all your favorites -- or do you even pick favorites?  (The notion is completely foreign to me, but my mom actually doesn't pick favorites . . . except for Peeta, that is.) 

    And what scale should the characters be on -- way flawed or, in the words of Shakespeare, "a little bad"?

Do Everyone a Favor -- Skip the Lecture

For me, there are several things a writer can do to ruin a book:

    1)  Mention a vampire

    2)  Mention a werewolf

    (Thank you, Twitlight.  But that's beside the point.)

    3)  Turn the book into a preaching platform

    There we go -- today's topic. 

    Really, people don't read fiction to hear the author's opinion on anything other than what pertains to the story.  It's annoying, it's something that everyone can't agree with, and it totally interrupts the plot.  I don't read to learn anyone's stand on global warming or environmental awareness (ahem, The Final Warning and MAX: A Maximum Ride Novel, both by James Patterson.  Max is still great, though), politics, the economy, etc. -- unless it directly relates to the story.

    That said, I think it's amazing when books teach us about important life issues -- when it's done right.  Some of my favorites do this, without ever outright saying "War is bad" or "Be true to yourself".  Not only are these stereotypes (not all wars are bad; being yourself is great and all, unless you happen to be an axe-murderer or cannibal or Twihard), they need to be handled with more subtlety.  Here are a few of those favorites, in no particular order:

• A Separate Peace by John Knowles.  Of course, being slightly biased, I consider all my favorite books amazing, but this one is especially so.  That's mainly because of my favorite character, Phineas, but the book also touches on deeper subjects, especially the darker side of the human nature.  (Really, we aren't so nice.)  While it takes place at a boy's school during World War II, the focus is more on internal war.  And while I would've judged the book by the cover (and synopsis and setting) and expected it to be boring, probably not even giving it a chance, it's now my favorite.  I'm primarily a fantasy reader, so that's definitely saying something.
• The Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins.  Most people have read this one, so I don't have to go into as much detail -- but the way she handles themes like war, violence, and freedom seems so effortless, so smoothly integrated, it never ceases to amaze me.  Okay, the gushing is over.
• Uglies trilogy/series (I guess it depends on your opinion, and whether or not you include Extras) by Scott Westerfeld.  It hits a whole range of themes, from self-acceptance to society's place and influence to, again, freedom.  Even with all that going on, it doesn't seem too busy, and the world-building's fabulous.
• Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling.  Again, this is an obvious pick, which is part of why I couldn't leave it out.  Good and evil, fighting over power (of the ruling and magic variety) -- it's all there.

    Of course, there are countless other out there, and you can find morals or symbolism to almost anything, if you try -- but what are some of your favorites?  What themes/lessons do they express?  Do you think it's okay to preach in books, or do you also feel like it's a no-no?

    This lecture on lectures was presented in blog form, so I decided to ignore the irony and go with it. 

Over-Capitalizing?

Well, I'm still at camp, so I don't have another character analysis mapped out yet. (I know, excuses, excuses. Sorry.) But I brought Uglies with me and was rereading it today for the umpteenth time, when I thought of something.


Sometimes, authors take capitalizing too far.


I'm not saying Uglies does. In fact, I consider it one of those books you should consult to see something done right -- in this case, capitalization. Usually, when a writer designs a new world or culture she/he designs new terms and "inventions" -- for lack of a better, more inclusive word -- to go along with that world. And all too often, authors capitalize way too many of those words they coin. An example of this? Magyk by Angie Sage. (She also deliberately misspells "magic" words and puts them in bold, which I'm not exactly crazy about, but hey, that's a different rant altogether.) Then again, one of the main characters in that series is named Jenna, so I can't pick on the book too much.


There are some other examples of capitalization gone right besides Uglies, of course. Harry Potter does a great job of it. The Hunger Games series doesn't offend of that front either, though there aren't as many opportunities to over-capitalize there.


So maybe we should all take a cue from e. e. cummings and go easy on capitalizing made-up terms. Agree? Disagree?

Endings Are Important, Too: THE LAST OLYMPIAN by Rick Riordan

The Last Olympian by Rick Riordan, come on down.  You're today's contestant for "the endings" series, which is probably drawing to a close itself.  (For a little while, at least.  I'm feeling a little like a broken record.  Of course, if I don't actually think of anything to blog about or it's been a long time, I may spring one every once in a while.  Just to keep everyone on their toes.)

    But.  Like I was saying.  Here's the last bit to The Last Olympian:

        " 'Could be a problem for another generation of demigods," I agreed.  "Then we can kick back and enjoy.'
        She nodded, though she still seemed uneasy.  I didn't blame her, but it was hard to feel too upset on a nice day, with her next to me, knowing that I wasn't really saying good-bye.  We had lots of time.
        'Race you to the road?' I said.
        'You are so going to lose.'  She took off down Half-Blood Hill and I sprinted after her. 
        For once, I didn't look back."

    Now then.  Let the pondering begin.

    I think, overall, it was an okay ending.  Granted, it wasn't amazing, but I told myself I'd quit holding other endings up to Mockingjay's, which everyone's most likely sick of hearing about.  (Sorry.  I can't help it.) 

    By that point, everything had been wrapped up -- and one last flag had been raised.  Another prophecy, towards the end, which is what Percy and Annabeth were talking about in the excerpt.  According to my sister -- I haven't read the other series yet, because of a loyalty to "originals" and a dislike for spin-offs that basically translates into stubborness --, the new series is pretty good and still features some of the characters from the Percy Jackson & the Olympians series.  Apparently, he had the other series in mind when he ended the first one.

    So, no fireworks or total amazement at this ending, but that's okay.  It'd really already taken care of all the big stuff by this point, and this chapter was the epilogue that tied up the loose threads blowing around.  It's one of those endings that a lot of books have -- the sort of peaceful, calm piece with something trivial and "normal" tacked onto the end.  In this case, it's the race. 

    However, the main point of interest here isn't the ending itself -- rather, it's the thread Riordan did leave hanging.  The prophecy, and Annabeth's almost foreboding unease about it.  I haven't seen a ton of books do something like that, so I have to say, it was a pretty nice touch. 

    Now that I've thought about it, I'll probably have to check on that other halfblood series sometime.  In the meantime, the question falls to you --

    The Last Olympian had a satisfying ending.  Real or not real?

Endings Are Important, Too: HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATHLY HALLOWS by J.K. Rowling

Okay, so that was quite a title.  Moving on. 

    As you've probably noticed, this is a series on book endings.  Sooo . . . I'll be talking about book endings.  This little paragraph is just a disclaimer explaining that, so I don't have to mess with a "Spoiler Alert!" announcement every time I write one of these posts.  Sound like adequate warning?  Good. 

    Today, I'm going over Deathly Hallows.  J.K. Rowling cuts from the main wrap-up of the book to an epilogue set 19 years later.  In that epilogue, you learn that Harry and Ginny have three kids, who they're seeing off to Hogwarts.  The fates of a few other characters are revealed, Harry talks to his kid about a few of his own experiences at Hogwarts, skipping to the ending now --

        " 'He'll be all right," murmured Ginny.
        As Harry looked at her, he lowered his hand absentmindedly and touched the lightning scar on his forehead. 
        'I know he will.'
        The scar had not pained Harry for nineteen years.  All was well."

    Maybe I expected too much, but this ending really didn't do it for me.  It seemed too abrupt, almost . . . I don't know.  Forced, maybe?  The words didn't flow, if you know what I mean.  Read the last two sentences out loud.  Is it just me, or do they seem sort of -- stilted?  

    The only Oprah episode I've ever watched was the one where she interviewed J.K. Rowling in Scotland.  There, J.K. explained that she'd originally intended the last word to be "scar," but something -- either she didn't mention it or I, you know, forgot -- made her change her mind.  Instead, she wanted the last line to be "All was well".  She did just that, but in some ways, I wonder if it would've been better if she'd stuck with "scar".

    Also, this is just personal opinion, but I generally don't like it when authors end series with a tell-all epilogue set a number of years later than the rest of the book, the rest of the series.  With Mockingjay, I wasn't 100% sold on the idea, but I've accepted it over time -- and that's the only book I actually like the post-story epilogue for.  But that's another post, isn't it?

    In her interview with Oprah, J.K. also talked about how she'd grown close to Harry -- understandable, since he's been her protagonist since 1990.  (Plus, you know, her stories of him catapulted her into fortune, fame, and writing legend.)  And after he'd been through so much, it makes sense that she'd want him to have a happy ending; she probably felt like a mom toward him, fictional character and all.  But sometimes, you just shouldn't give the obvious happy ending.  The series had plenty of darkness in it, so I feel like this ending should've had some, too.  Perhaps something not quite so positive, something a little more subdued, bittersweet?  Look at all the people (yeah, I always call characters "people") who died throughout the books.  I'm sure she could have referenced something to make the ending feel a bit more melancholy.

    Still.  I can't really call J.K. Rowling out for anything -- she's a genius, literary royalty, agreed?  I love tons of other stuff that she did with the series, and how she wasn't afraid to kill her darlings.  She deserves tons and tons of praise -- and she gets tons and tons of praise.  All I'm talking about here is the ending she wrote for the series, which, unfortunately, I wasn't all that impressed with.  Not when I really think about it.  Because if I had to make a list of the top endings, out of all the books I've ever read?  Deathly Hallows wouldn't make the cut.  And that's surprising, I think, considering the impact that Harry Potter and his adventures had on so many readers, on the world itself. 

    Agree?  Disagree?  Both?  Feel free to share your thoughts. 

Endings Are Important, Too: MOCKINGJAY by Suzanne Collins

People are always talking about the importance of a book's beginning lines.

    Well, sure, that's definitely true.  I mean, what else is supposed to keep a person reading?  (I'd take a strong, interesting opener over a flowery weather forecast any day -- The rain slashed across her window pane.... Cliche alert! Cliche alert!)

    But no one ever really mentions how important the ending is. 

    I don't necessarily mean the general ending, what happens, but the last couple of lines.  Since that's the last thing you really take away from a book, I think it's just as important -- if not more, in some ways -- than the beginning.

   For me, the best ending line ever comes from Mockingjay, the third installment from The Hunger Games series by Suzanne Collins.  (You probably shouldn't read on if you haven't read these books.  Also, you probably should read these books.)  But hey, the whole last piece is great, so I'll throw in the last two paragraphs.  It helps you get a better feel for the conclusion if you've never read it before, anyway:

     "I'll tell them how I survive it.  I'll tell them that on bad mornings, it feels impossible to take pleasure in anything because I'm afraid it could be taken away.  That's when I make a list in my head of every act of goodness I've ever seen someone do.  It's like a game.  Repetitive.  Even a little tedious after more than twenty years.
    But there are much worse games to play."                       
                                                                        
   I really only need one word to sum this up:  Amazing.  The reference, of course, ties back with the title of the first book and a major plot point throughout the series.  It has a certain sense of finalty to it -- read it out loud.  Hear that unspoken "the end" quality it has?  That's what I'm talking about.  The whole section has a bittersweet mood going on, which I love, because that fits perfectly with the book, the series, the main character.  It somehow wraps up the beginning of the first book and the last thing, plot-wise, that's happened in the last book, and ties them together with some kind of grace and ease that I've never seen before in any other piece of writing. 

    Obviously, I'm in awe of Suzanne Collins' ending (even if she read the exerpt for Mockingjay's beginning with a hick accent -- I must be pretty forgiving).  In fact, I'm kind of wondering if she's even human, because the ending definitely wasn't. 

    Sometime soon -- probably tomorrow -- I'll go over another series' ending.  Maybe the seventh Harry Potter?  Anyway, what do you think is important for an ending?  Have any ending in particular that really strikes you?