Okay, I have a confession to make: I get angry at inanimate objects.
Now, I think most of us do this to some extent. Everyone has at some point in their lives felt as if, say, a traffic light was out to get them. Most people can probably commiserate with getting frustrated at a window that won't close properly, a key that refuses to turn, a chair that seems determined to trip them. In college, my roommates used to laugh at me for yelling furiously at my homework, "What are you even asking??"
But I also get angry at books. I love to read, don't get me wrong. And I don't bother getting angry at books that aren't any good, because... let's face it, they just don't deserve that kind of attention and emotional response. The books I get angry at are the ones that pull you in, that demand every speck of your mind, that won't let you put them down, that worm their way into your heart.... and then leave you shouting, "What? That's the end?!?"
The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins just did that to me. It's a wonderful book, really, and I highly recommend it, but it should come with a warning label: "Caution: This book will mess with you."
You know how, with a lot of books (and movies), even very good ones, you can kind of predict which characters are going to live and which will die? "Oh, they'll never kill off that one." "Uh oh, she's a goner." That kind of thing. This book? Not a chance. You're not even sure about the main character (even though she's the narrator and it's hard to think how that would work out). I found myself making deals with the author in my head: "Oh, please don't make this terrible thing happen. This other terrible thing, I could live with that."
Also, I didn't realize when I read it (*cough* in a matter of hours, nonstop *cough*) that it has a sequel. A sequel which hasn't been published yet.
And if there's anything more frustrating than shouting, "That's it???" at the end of a book, it's shouting, "What?! 'End of Book One'?!? You mean, that's not it???"
Because then you know you're hooked.