There are a thousand different ways I could write this review, yet I find none of them sufficient to explain the glass case of emotion Veronica Roth has put me in.
Saying goodbye to a series has its perks, but more often than not, we face the ultimate struggle of trying to grasp that its end is not quite "the end" and that the conclusion to a well-loved saga may just be a mini conclusion to the real thing. Nothing is ever certain in books, and I guess that's why people like me are a sucker for things like them. It's because books reflect parts of our lives that we want to happen or we don't want to happen. It's because we identify ourselves with characters---their demons, their triumphs, their self-discoveries. It's because books are just like real life. Nothing is ever sure or stable.
So instead of writing a usual review, I find myself writing my journey with a trilogy that changed my shelf... and my life.
One choice can transform you.
One choice can destroy you.
One choice will define you.
I made that choice two years ago when I picked up a book called "Divergent".
I was in a high from "The Hunger Games", and I was starting to fuss over dystopian worlds and what would happen to us if we were not too careful. I remembered my first copy being paperback, and I remembered sniffing it out of habit before even indulging in its words.
I also remembered the looks I got when I had my hands on the book. I remembered the stares of curiosity, the eyes lifting and positioning themselves to get a clearer view of the prized piece I was holding. I remembered the short struck-up conversations, and I remembered recommending it even before I finished it.
It was that good.
I remembered fangirling over Four. I remembered wanting all guys to be like him---brave, strong, broken yet able to love. I remembered squealing over the Ferris Wheel scene and laughing my head off at Tris's fear of getting intimate with him. I remembered jotting down the quotes I loved in my planner and joining the fandom together with my bookish soul sisters.
But that was not the end of it.
I made another choice when the second book came.
When I made the choice to read its sequel, the fandom was beginning to grow in my community. I remembered seeing a copy of "Divergent" in almost all of my high school's classrooms. I remembered the book virus spreading rapidly and people asking me questions about it, begging me not to spoil them. I remembered the all-out fangirl wars over Tobias and how we aligned ourselves into different factions. And I was happy. I was happy because I did not only have my soul sisters to spazz with in the event of a "Divergent" attack. I also had these people---my classmates, my school mates, even a cousin. People began to understand why I now see trains differently, why I would also like to jump from them and to them instead of standing on the platform and hopping into a seat. People began to understand that my obsession over Ferris Wheels have been taken to new heights and why four has become a lucky number for me and my kind. People began to understand why I recommended this book in the first place---for its action, for its romance and most of all, for its snippets of bravery and the importance of choice.
And so I was left with the second book; much thicker than the first.
Although I loved it as much as "Divergent", I still preferred it when Tris was an initiate and learning to be Dauntless, learning to be brave. I preferred Capture the Flag games over the conflict with leaders and running and hiding. I hated it when Tris and Four fought and lied to each other. I hated it when they were yelling at one another and Four has become too patronizing that sometimes I think he doesn't trust Tris and treats her like a little girl. It was not what I was used to in their thankfully "non-instaluv" relationship. It was not what I loved about them both.
But the ending satisfied me. The big reveal was all worth the drag. And so is Tris's bravery and Four's trust in her. It satisfied me enough that I traded my paperback copy of "Divergent" for a hardcover edition and placed the two books side by side in my rapidly growing collection.
And when the date was set for the third book's release, I knew I was about to make that choice again.
And so here it is---the end of my choices.
I do not regret being one of the first to read "Allegiant". In fact, I am happy about it. I do not regret staying offline in blogging sites and avoiding the hash tags because I did not spoil myself. I do not regret remaining blind until I hit chapter 50---the inevitable chapter that caused so much pain in my heart.
But it was beautiful pain.
This is what Veronica Roth's epic conclusion offers to those who wish to read it---beautiful pain. Beautiful pain in terms of a greatly written series coming to a close. Beautiful pain in terms of a character we've all loved and treasured meeting his/her (I won't tell!) end. Beautiful pain in terms of learning the truths about forgiveness and choice. Beautiful pain in terms of making the ultimate sacrifice for the greater good and for those you love.
"Allegiant" is all for beautiful pain, and it is what the ending to a dystopian trilogy should be because a dystopian society is a beautiful society---marked with scars instead of smoothness, with rough tides instead of the calm. A dystopian society is beautiful in all its pain and in all its tragedy, in all the bad choices its leaders make and all the revolutions their peoples take part in. A dystopian society is beautiful just because its broken and everything that is broken can find a way to fix itself.
Like it always does.
Like it should be.
Veronica Roth, I know it's a one-in-a-million chance that you might be reading this, but, I knew I made the right choice when I picked up your novel.
