Nasty, Brutish, and Short

For those of you who've read even the first 50 pages of Suzanne Collins' gripping trilogy, The Hunger Games, you know just how telling and immediate the title of this post truly is. After completing the first volume this weekend, I had a hard time deciding between the title from Hobbes above and one from Mr. Willy Wonka, a quote which zipped through my mind almost constantly as I read. "The suspense is terrible... I hope it'll last."

Ultimately, Hobbes' win was a matter of length, not more or less veracity.

Annie and I polished off the first book of the series this weekend and let me tell you, the fact that she doesn't already have the second book (and thus, we can get started on it immediately) is more than a little irksome. ("Ugh. Good one, Annie..." in disgusted-with-the-world Gwyneth Paltrow voice.) :) I'd throw our friendship to the wind and just start without her, but believe you me, it's the kind of book that's best to read along with someone because invariably, you'll need to feverishly discuss every minute detail... as Annie and I have done, when we're not... you know... working...

I'm going to try to keep this spoiler-free as possible, but it won't be easy. Collins pretty much keeps you on your toes at every turn...

The Hunger Games is set in a brutal future where a pair of adolescents (one boy and one girl) from each of 12 districts is compelled to compete in a bloody battle royale that only ends when one sole competitor survives. For me, it kind of felt like Ender's Game meets the savage gladiatorial games of the Colossuem. It's bloody and uncompromising pretty much from the very first page. I don't know exactly how she did it, but Collins managed to set up a universe for her stories, called Panem, in such an effective and immediate way that I felt completely immersed within minutes. The setting she paints is enough like our current world that it's relatable, but far enough removed that the horrific things that happen aren't so galling. In several ways, the sociopolitical make-up of Panem reminded me of Firefly, with wealthier central cities prospering at the expense of other territories. The capitol is an oppressive regime that compels the Hunger Games and entangles Collins' characters in its web, essentially exploiting its people for sport.

Along with an engrossing universe to explore, Collins sets up an equally engaging cast of characters that are diverse and individual. The story is told by Katniss, a strong, cunning 16-year-old girl from the poorest of districts, who's had to grow up in an environment where starvation is rampant and a premature death is a crushing near-inevitability. Unlike so many other novels told in the first person (particularly when that person is a teenager), Collins manages to keep the voice consistent throughout and gives the reader her perspective solely without sacrificing description or exposition. I'm not generally a huge fan of first person narration, but for this particular story, it's not only gripping, it's essential. So many elements of the story are predicated on the reader not having all the information that to have had it any other way would have been disastrous. It quite frankly would have been an entirely different reading experience. Another brilliant narrative move is that the story is told in the present tense. These aren't the musings of someone looking back on her life and telling stories. It's that that something horrible "happened." Something horrible "is happening." Like, right now. Run! It gives the novel a terrifying sense of immediacy whereby you don't know what's going to happen in the next paragraph, let along a hundred pages down the line. You don't even know if the narrator herself will make it to the next page. Indeed, this is the kind of book where if you happen to stumble across a part where nothing of an edge-of-your-seat or nail-biting nature is occurring, you better stop reading, even if it's mid-chapter, mid-page, or even mid paragraph, because you might not get another chance. You never know what kind of peril the next sentence will bring. For this book, "stopping point" can generally be defined as any brief moment where imminent death isn't staring a character directly in the face. Collins doesn't pull any punches here (nor does she pull any eviscerations, neck-snappings, impalements, etc.) and you can't afford to get stuck in the middle of it.

Although many of the book's strongest elements are based in life-and-death suspense, the novel does much more than that. The characters are all well-developed and particular. Collins does an excellent job of building characters that you genuinely care about and who each have specific strengths and weaknesses, a fact which is embraced fully in the arena battles. She has taken the time and care to look at each character's background and make a logical argument for where his/her skills and hindrances would lie. She makes a point that considerable size and brute force are not enough to win the games and showcases characters who are cunning and sharp as well. Katniss is a heroine I connected with almost instantly. She's not a moody teenager who thinks the world revolves around her. She grew up in hard times and stepped up to the plate. She's smart. Genuinely smart. A lot of novels will tell you that a character is smart, but Collins shows you that Katniss is smart, which is a lot more convincing. She's clever and patient, attributes which more than make-up for her small size. She's one of the few characters I've come across in a long time that didn't make me want to throw the book across the room. So often a writer will have a character do something incredibly stupid in order to further the plot or add some drama and excitement. Giving someone the idiot ball is a sign of lazy writing and it drives me absolutely crazy. In The Hunger Games, such tactics aren't employed, and quite frankly, aren't necessary. There's more than enough excitement going around without silly plot devices. Katniss thinks things through before she makes a move. She's a character whose actions I don't have to worry about. All the things that we readers are thinking when reading a situation ("Don't go upstairs!") are the same things she thinks. For once, I was presented with a character who sees a situation the same way that the reader would, tries to determine if there's any possible way her actions could affect her adversely, and proceeds accordingly. Her caution and patience only add to the suspense, but are also kind of comforting in a way. Horrible things will probably happen, but not because she did something unbelievably stupid. It was a truly lovely change of pace to have a heroine I could really count on, which reminds me of something else Collins does that I love. The fact that Katniss is female is incidental. This isn't a book harping about the genders being equal. It isn't necessary, because here, the genders quite simply... are. Which actually makes this book all the more about equality. The fact that she's female hardly gets a mention, and that says more than the most blustering prose ever could in my opinion.

It's the immediate love for Katniss and the rest of the characters in the book that may lead to some tears for readers. When Annie told me she had started the book and that she was in tears by page twenty-four, I hardly believed her. I didn't think an author could set-up a situation so quickly and completely as to elicit tears so soon and simply chalked it up to Annie, well, being Annie. Well, I showed her. Annie was a goner by page twenty-four, but I'm made of sterner stuff than she. [Insert shot of me breathing on knuckles a couple of times, then rubbing knuckles against shirt collar.] Oh yeah, I made it all the way to page twenty-five before I teared up like a little kid whose ice cream just rolled off the cone. Bad to the bone, baby. That's me. Seriously, the simple blush of rebellion on the face of the oppressed hit me to the core. A silent show of solidarity was all it took. The sociopolitical aspects of Panem will likely be explored more so in coming volumes, but so far, even the most seemingly minor acts of sedition cause tension and unease among the ranks. I can only imagine where we're headed in the next two books. Even when you start to think that things might be actually work out, the underpinnings of the society in which she lives uproots any calm that manages to sneak in.

This series looks at a lot of social constructs and absurdities and points them out with blood-soaked conspicuousness. That the people of Panem relish watching the gory deaths of teenage combatants harkens back to Roman times, but puts it in a more modern, more disturbingly familiar context. I know TV and I know that the tactics employed by the state in the interest of entertainment are absolutely accurate and terrifying. As repulsed as I was by the audience's reaction to kids slaughtering each other, I couldn't help but feel complicit. I was as rapt and enthralled as they were at times. It's a sad and disturbing commentary that you can't escape, even in your own mind. I can't wait for the next volume, and yet I'm a bit terrified to see what Collins has in store.

To say that every single aspect of this book was perfect would be inaccurate, but as a whole, I was riveted from cover to cover. Even the aspects of the book that didn't totally resonate with me served a very specific purpose. There is strategy in everything, even basic emotion. There were certain aspects that at first glance seemed convenient, but upon further inspection, just make sense in terms of this universe, in terms of human nature, and the audience mentality. Even the aspects that didn't entirely gel for me or seemed a little convenient never rose to the level of true annoyance. It wasn't like the end of The Lord of the Rings when the eagles finally show up and all I could think was, "Good god, where were you 1100 pages ago?!" And it was never like Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince when suddenly Felix Felicis ("liquid luck") arrives on the scene and saves everyone's lives. Geez, I spent the better part of that book thinking, "Well, that sure would have come in handy five books ago! And four, three, and two books ago for that matter!" That was really the only time in the Harry Potter series that felt way too convenient and even a little lazy. Don't get me wrong, Tolkein and Rowling did their damnedest to justify why the eagles and the elixir didn't show up till then, but the justifications fell a little flat. Even the most seemingly convenient elements of The Hunger Games ultimately worked for me and never felt forced or simplistic.

At the end of the day, The Hunger Games keeps you on your toes and challenges your assumptions. Indeed, when rabidly theorizing about where the novel would lead, Annie and I came up with opposing assumptions, and in a way, we were both right. You just don't know what to expect most of the time and even the elements that I saw coming played out in unexpected ways. I was almost afraid to keep reading at times, but mostly, it boiled down to, "Can't... read... fast enough!" Annie and I both loved it and haven't come across a book that held our attention so unwaveringly in a very long time. She and I don't always agree on books (I loved the Ender's Game series, but she certainly didn't), but we definitely found common ground here. I would recommend it to just about anyone.

Oh, and don't let Stephanie Meyers' endorsement on the jacket of the second book turn you away as so many Oprah endorsements might. I have to assume that after writing the drivel that is the Twilight series, Meyers read The Hunger Games and kept thinking to herself, "Oooooh, this must be what real writing looks like!" She's also a huge Joss Whedon fan, so it seems her tastes far exceed her talents.

In summation, and to appropriate Mr. Wonka's general sentiment, when it comes to The Hunger Games, the suspense is terrible... and I simply can't wait for more.