The Hunger Games

A teasing flirt of a read.

A fast-paced, easy to read, "can't put it down" type of a novel.  Simple and well-crafted, it's a teasing glimpse of the first confusing moments we imagine a more naive prettier version of a next door neighbor's daughter's friend might have when discovering what it is to be loved.

Some ways we might describe the Hunger Games

The start of a feeling.  The tip of a feeling.  Learning love.  What is love?  A juvenile romance.

The second book is a B+ bridge book, I didn't get the same satisfaction as from the first in any aspect.

In Mockingjay, I find myself bored with this world, with the war, with the romance, or lack thereof.  I put it down, and have to force myself to pick it up and keep reading.

My favorite part in Mockingjay, by far, is the start of chapter 25: "...knows only a single sensation.... unrelenting burning of flesh.... can't find refuge... I am Cinna's bird, ignited, ... feathers of flame... I consume myself, but to no end"

I read, and reread, and reread again the brilliant first nine paragraphs of chapter 25.

A mental image

Suzanne Collins tells a story to a group of young adults, seated cross-legged in a semi-circle, fidgeting with the carpet or wondering about reaching for cell phones. Self-aware and anxious about keeping her audience, she describes the world at our level, unchallenged and accepting we sit, distracted and amused when she loses herself in the moment. Immediately elevating her form, we glimpse real talent; blissfully unaware and present in her narration, her creativity rises to the luminous.  Metaphor, narration, symbolism, depth, and layers of meaning emerge in a beautiful blend of description and poetry that reminds me of Oppenheimer quoting the Bhagavad Gita after atomic bomb tests, and of a Buddhist monk seated, in lotus pose, burning.

Challenged, her audience now shuffles and reconsiders themselves, some mouths open in awe, some brows furrow with confusion, some glance furtively at their peers wondering how they should react, and some protest by redirecting their attention to other fruitless, mind-numbing and unchallenging distractions.  But beauty has been created, thank you, Suzanne Collins.