Skip to main content

Book of the Week: The Hunger Games


If Cynthia Voigt had written science fiction, it probably would have looked something like The Hunger Games. In Suzanne Collins's newest novel, we meet a protagonist who seems remarkably familiar. Like Voigt's heroines, we understand her story because she seems so much like ourselves - no matter how strenuous or bizarre the circumstances, we feel certain our story would be the same. We, too, would have those resources, that practicality, that certain sensitivity that separates us from the masses. I don't say this critically - it is the book's strongest feature that it identifies with every one of its readers and says 'this could be your story.'

It is not just its portrayal of Katniss Everdeen, the novel's heroine, that is familiar. The story takes place in a post-apocalyptic North American nation, Panem. It is a country held together by fear - a fear instilled by the capitol into each of its twelve districts and maintained by a yearly event called the Hunger Games. Each year, one boy and one girl are randomly selected from each of the districts to be thrown into a large 'arena' for a fight-to-the-death. If the Roman Colosseum met the show Survivor, this is what you'd get. And this is precisely what seems so eerily familiar about this book. Despite the fact that it's clearly a futuristic novel, the story has all the rusty barbarism of something very old. Except for the cameras and plastic surgery and hovercrafts, this could almost be historical fiction. It is not only a strange mixture of what was and what could be, it is remarkably relevant for today's paparazzi-culture. The contestants in the Hunger Games are the only examples of celebrities in this imaginative culture - and they are made famous for killing or being killed. Think of a reality TV show gone horribly awry.

But in case you think you'll be plodding through another Fahrenheit 451 or 1984 or some other work of social-criticism-thinly-veiled-as-science-fiction, think again. It's an adventure story - a story about loyalty and fashion and eating roots and shooting arrows and trying to decide between two very eligible young men. There are explosions and kisses, genetically-altered bees and numerous near-death experiences. You will not want to put this one down. Which is actually a problem, because this book is the first in a series. You might be tempted to write Suzanne Collins a thank-you letter, but please think again. Let's not interrupt her while she's working on book two. The sooner it's out, the better.

Comments

  1. I think you need to get a job writing book reviews. You'd be so awesomely perfect.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Cyndie was just saying that earlier today. I googled 'book review jobs,' and let me just say, that's not how book reviewers find lucrative work. How they do it, I don't know. But it's not through google.

    ReplyDelete
  3. i think they have Connections with People or something... we should get you some of those.

    ReplyDelete
  4. What a lovely Jenny picture...

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

window in the sub

Dear Nathaniel, I am microwaving pie that Mom bought up in Oak Glen this week on her way home from the orthodontist. As I put it in the microwave, I was full of sadness that I was not in Oak Glen with her. Why did I not go? I was working. I want to see the trees turn. I want to wander slowly through autumnal gift shops. Under the water, you cannot sense the approach of the seasons. Even here it is difficult because, after all, it's California. But I can still sense it. After three seasons in Illinois and one in Scotland, it must be with me for good. Or at least for a while. Because I am all abuzz with eagerness for fall and winter, for turkeys and dried leaves and Santa. I should start cooking again this fall. Fall foods are my favorite. Baked squash dripping with melted butter and brown sugar, pumpkin soup... this year, if I have enough money, I will put together a holiday dinner for my friends. And we will drink Scandinavian mulled wine, which is the most wonderful thing I have e...

At the close of nine years

I'm moving to Texas in less than two months. I've lived in Long Beach now for nine years. Already I have stacks of books covering my dining room table that I'll be reading for my PhD program in the fall. I've quietly begun the tedious work of sorting and cleaning everything in my little apartment. I'm scheduling all of my last days with friends, moving through my calendar in reverse order from when I expect to slip into my car and drive away. This is the longest I've lived in one place, so I've never really experienced a leaving quite like this before. I remember the day I left Wheaton, closing the bedroom door on my best friend, walking down to Chaeli's car so she could drive me to the airport. (The greatest grace of Texas is that she will be there. Some friends we never lose completely.) I remember leaving California for Scotland—walking away from my mother in the Palm Springs airport. We leave people who have changed us, and we leave places that ha...

wanderlust

I am going home tomorrow morning. This is a strange idea. It will be a stranger reality. I am glad to go home, glad to step away from this world for just a moment, to better see it new and fresh but familiar when I return. More than this, I am glad for my sister's wedding. Glad for the vows, the strange appearance of extended family members, the green skirt. Glad for seeing my brother and my mother and everyone. Glad for the twos-on-twos. On the airplane, I will do my best to blitz through Samuel Richardson's Pamela. I will ignore the assigned readings of Foucault's "The Deployment of Sexuality," in part because I couldn't get it at the library and because I don't want to buy it, but most of all because I simply don't want to read it. I will read the essay by Adorno instead, and the chapter of Adorno and Horkheimer that I couldn't finish last night. I will listed to Rob D on my iPod. I will buy an overpriced sandwich in the airport. One of the airp...