I read The Hunger Games at the behest of my first daughter, the first person in our family to read Suzanne Collins' trilogy and fall in love with it. So I read it. And I liked it. I didn't fall in love with it, however, largely because YA is not, generally speaking, my cup of tea. And, to my daughter's horror and amazement, I didn't continue onward with the series.
Enter Daughter #2. She's a voracious reader, Rowan. Has read the Harry Potter series and all of Rick Riordan's books umpteen times over; she would make millions on an episode of Jeopardy in which the topics were J.K. Rowling, Witches and Wizardry, and Greek Mythology.
After devouring the Hunger Games trilogy, Rowan nagged me about reading Catching Fire a few times, but my ever-towering TBR pile kept her fairly realistic about the possibility of that happening. So she resorted to drastic measures. She made me a deal.
The deal: I would read Catching Fire, and in return, Rowan would read a book that I prescribed. Well played, Rowan. So I had her read Jasper Fforde's Shades of Grey (a book that I will recommend to you as well), and in return, I read Catching Fire, finishing it just in time to see The Hunger Games movie, in fact.
Yes, I enjoyed it. It was a quick, fun read and one heck of a cliffhanger, guaranteeing that I will read Mockingjay. But not until I make a deal with one of my daughters first.