Mockingjay, the final book in Suzanne Collins’s amazing Hunger Games trilogy, is one of those books that you feel like you can’t really write about after reading it. I finished the trilogy over a month ago, yet it still remains something that I have trouble putting on paper because it’s so raw, so moving, and just so well done.

At the end of Catching Fire, we know that a rebellion has begun. We know that many of the past tributes died keeping Katniss and Peeta alive for the cause, and that Katniss was rescued instead of Peeta in order to become the face of the rebellion, since her and her mockingjay symbol have already inspired so many people of Panem to stand up and fight against the Capitol. (Spoilers ahead.)

In Mockingjay, we see Katniss be used even further as a tool—only this time, not for the Capitol, but for the rebellion. And as much as she hates the Capitol, this isn’t the ideal way for her to rebel against it. Plus, since Peeta was not rescued and nobody has any idea of what happened to him, she’s more anguished than ever—perhaps realizing that she really does love the boy with the bread.

Though Katniss was robbed of her childhood long ago when her father died—perhaps even at birth, simply by being born in the Seam—what little of it that is left is completely gone by the end of Mockingjay, and not just because she has aged. Katniss becomes both The Mockingjay as well as Soldier Everdeen, and Snow, bent on destroying her, turns the only two things left in her world that were dear and pure into things so sinister they ultimately lead to her destruction.

Though she exhibits the same kinds of attitudes that you might expect of a teenager, her pain and loss render her a completely different person.

The destruction of District Twelve has also changed many people, including her beloved friend Gale, who always had rebel blood burning in his skin anyway. By the end of the book, their relationship will have also darkened and changed because of the war. And Katniss will also have realized that she has been played by more people than she’d originally thought, which brings about consequences that none of the leaders in the series—no matter their side—anticipated. Science also plays a heavier role in this novel, from military strategy to the largest loss of life in the series.

What’s so incredibly disturbing and satisfying about this book at the same time is, no matter how horrific and soul-crushing it is (and it is), it does not end with the same kind of happily ever after you’d expect from a YA novel. No, instead it ends with the realistic consequences of war—the debris, the aftermath, the never truly getting over what was lost. There is no “All was well,” because there really never IS an “all was well” following a war, is there? But it does end with some hope—perhaps not the bitingly bright bull that comes from so many other novels about war, but definitely more hope than, say, The Road.

And, perhaps just as importantly, it portrays the consequences of war and lust for power in terms of children and youth—as well as the darkness emanating from any and all who fight—perfectly. It’s a novel that you want to give to anyone in favor of war, just to say hey, take a look at this. This is the face of war.

Suffice to say, the book left me trembling. I’ve since read all three books twice—some parts even more than that—and I know they’ll always stay with me.