Review: The Hunger Games books 2 & 3, Catching Fire and The Mockingjay, Suzanne Collins

Catching Fire (The Hunger Games trilogy, book 2)

Suzanne Collins

Scholastic, 2009 (YA)

ISBN 978-1-40710-936-7

The first book of The Hunger Games is good, but the second is better. In fact, it’s brilliant. In Catching Fire, the story begins to open out and we understand more and more about how Katniss’s story will influence the fate of her country, Panem. Against a background of civil unrest and brutal government ‘silencing’, she finds that she has inadvertently become a key player in the political battle beyond the arena – the game of power. But can Katniss survive in this role, dodging the vengeful manoeuvres of President Snow? And can she make sure that the ones she loves also come through unscathed?

As you can see, the stakes are raised in Catching Fire, and Katniss’s personal struggle for survival becomes ever more interwoven with the wider political events of Panem. Collins handles this shift with apparent ease and to great effect – the reader is shocked along with Katniss as she discovers the enormity of the events her actions have triggered, and feels keenly for her as she is once more caught up in other people’s machinations. The broader scope of Catching Fire also means that the Battle Royale similarities fade almost completely; as these were the main cause of my reservations about book 1, I found that enjoyed book 2 that much more for it.

And on top of that – while the first book was exciting, the second is even more so. New characters are introduced, with their own secrets and complex backstories; there’s more, and more varied, action; there’s an array of new settings, giving the reader a wider overview of Katniss’s world; and there are yet more unexpected twists – real edge-of-your-seat stuff!

This has been a rather shorter review than usual, but it’s safe to say that I thought Catching Fire was a fantastic continuation of The Hunger Games trilogy!

The Mockingjay (The Hunger Games trilogy, book 3)

Suzanne Collins

Scholastic, 2010 (YA)

ISBN 978-1-40710-937-4

After the excellence of Catching Fire, I was a little disappointed with The Hunger Games’s final instalment. The structure seemed less tight than in the previous two novels, which meant that it didn’t achieve the tense, climactic build-up I was hoping for. Also, in this book, Collins’s forthright style moved us along a little too swiftly at times. As you would expect from the third book in a trilogy, the stakes are raised to their utmost height in The Mockingjay, and sometimes I felt that Collins should have dwelt longer on certain scenes, to allow us to feel the full emotional impact of what she described. The action centring on The Nut, for example, felt as though it was rushed over, and overall I felt less involved than I would have liked.

And, while we’re on the subject of emotional impact, I have to say that I started to feel a bit uneasy about the number of gruesome deaths that occur in The Mockingjay. The Hunger Games is intended as a gritty YA trilogy (massive understatement), and I applaud Collins for her courage and for handling the violence well… for the most part. I had no problem (aesthetically speaking) with the level of violence in books 1 and 2, which generally served to emphasise how ghastly and wrong it was to kill another person (and to force children to kill each other). In The Mockingjay, however, I felt that Collins took this too far. We are of course meant to be disturbed by what she narrates, but after a while the sheer number of deaths begins to undermine the outrage about the violence in books 1 and 2, and I felt that The Mockingjay actually got a bit ‘trigger-happy’. So, whereas I zoomed through the first two instalments, I needed constant breaks from the horrors of the third.

Also, Katniss began to irritate me – especially when it came to her interactions with/thoughts about Peeta and Gale.

It is true, though, that my expectations of The Mockingjay had been raised to a perilous height by the quality of the first two books, and that, despite my griping, the final novel in The Hunger Games trilogy was very good. The atmosphere of overhanging danger and dread was sustained throughout, and Collins’s use of the rose references (you’ll see when you read it) was a stroke of genius, truly sinister. Moreover, the twists in the final book are very well judged – I was really impressed with how Collins concluded the power-play between the Capitol and… well, I won’t give it away – and the ending is both bittersweet and poignant. There was still something lacking that meant it didn’t *quite* fulfil its potential – maybe this was a problem with the structure/pacing – but nonetheless it was an admirable finish to the trilogy and certainly not a let-down.

In conclusion… Though I have grumbled about the shortcomings of the final book, overall The Hunger Games trilogy was fantastic. It’s ambitious, brutal, and consistently exciting, and dwells upon some extremely difficult issues – of oppression, war, sacrifice, and the price we pay for freedom.

Review: The Hunger Games, Suzanne Collins (Book 1)

The Hunger Games

Suzanne Collins

Scholastic, 2009 (YA)

ISBN 978-1-40710-908-4

Ever seen (or read) Battle Royale? I know it must have been said a million times, but I can’t forgo pointing out the concept underpinning The Hunger Games – that of the Games themselves – is, in essence, the same at that of Battle Royale. In BR, a class of unruly schoolkids is chosen each year to take part in the ‘Battle Royale’, a fight to the death in a huge outdoor arena where only one child can emerge victorious, overseen by adults with the power to kill off any child they choose – or any within a designated area – at any time. In The Hunger Games, too, a group of children are chosen at an annual ‘reaping’ ceremony to participate in a similar contest. Placed in an artificial arena, the twenty-four ‘tributes’ are required to kill each other off until only one remains. Periodically, the designers of the arena – called Gamemakers – may choose to intervene if they think the action’s getting a little slow. These interventions are unpleasant and often fatal, ranging from unnatural tidal waves to the release of mutated creatures – ‘muttations’– with deadly venom and/or other gruesome attributes. These ‘mutts’ are certainly a unique touch by Collins, and generate much of the horror that permeates the trilogy, bringing gruesome and unexpected ends to many a character. But where The Hunger Games really diverges from BR and begins to carve its own niche is in the political context of the world Collins envisages, a scenario that has led to the Games’ existence in the first place. That, and the impact of the continual media coverage the tributes are subjected to – which lends a whole other facet to the battles they must face.

Battle Royale similarities: this colourful lady vs. Effie Trinket, anyone?

In the world of The Hunger Games, thirteen districts surround the central ‘Capitol’, and all fall under the jurisdiction of the terrifying President Snow. Decades before, the districts rose up against the oppressive regime, but were beaten back. District 13, the spearhead of the revolution, was completely decimated, and the districts remained under the Capitol’s control. It is because of this revolt that The Hunger Games were invented, as a warped form of remembrance/revenge: every year, the Capitol reminds the districts of their mistake by choosing two children from each district – one girl and one boy – to enter the arena and fight to the death.

Our protagonist, Katniss, is from poverty-stricken District 12, and, of course, becomes the female tribute for the district at the annual reaping. In many ways, Katniss is your standard tough-but-sympathetic, doesn’t-realise-she’s-attractive-but-actually-she-obviously-is YA female protagonist, but Collins handles her adroitly. Katniss is flawed but likeable, and easy to root for. The male tribute for District 12, Peeta, is also well realised. The relationship between him and Katniss (the exact nature of which I won’t reveal) was, in fact, what gripped me most about the book. I was impressed that it wasn’t overwritten or overwrought – which is always a danger in YA fiction (*cough*Twilight*cough*). Instead, the revelations were nicely paced and Katniss’s mixed feelings were refreshingly complex. What makes this storyline particularly engrossing is that it’s bound up throughout with the media coverage of the Games, which are televised for the entertainment of the Capitol’s citizens. In order to survive, Katniss and Peeta have to develop certain personas and play to the cameras. In this way, they hope to become popular with the viewers, who may then choose to ‘sponsor’ them, thus sending them valuable aid in the arena. This is a great conceit, and Collins uses it to varied and tense effect. The pressure of cameras is a constant burden on the characters, affecting their actions and relationships even in the most horrific of circumstances, driving many of their decisions and creating consequences they do not expect…

Collins’s portrayal of the Capitol is also wonderfully unexpected. Instead of the hard-nosed, callous citizens I was anticipating, the city is populated by air-headed, fashion-obsessed people, who have grown so used to their life of luxury and entertainment that most are almost incapable of understanding the reality of the torments the tributes are subjected to (sounding familiar, anyone?). It is, as Katniss herself observes, hard to hate this effusive and decadent populace, a fact that prompts readers to think hard about issues of responsibility and ignorance.

Together, the elements of politics and media work to shift The Hunger Games away from Battle Royale territory and allow it to come into its own. Collins executes (haha) her concepts deftly, highlighting the horrors but without making the whole thing too heavy. The prose is firm and straightforward, not overburdened, which keeps up the pace and allows you to race through the book (in a good way). There’s also a nice balance between the structured settings and plot focussed on the Games, and the surprising/shocking twists when the characters break out of the moulds assigned to them. It must have been daunting to write the actual Hunger Games section, but Collins handles it well, interspersing descriptions of Katniss’s survival techniques with more spectacular, high-adrenaline moments, ensuring that it’s exciting and pacey, but also ‘realistic’. I don’t have any major gripes about the novel, apart from wishing that I had been drawn a little more into the characters. I liked them, and rooted for them, but didn’t love them. They didn’t come alive for me as much as, say, the characters in Harry Potter did. However, this may be partly due to the fact that I’m older than Collins’s target audience, and it certainly didn’t stop me enjoying the book.

A hearty thumbs up for Book 1!

Now to wait and see what the film will be like…?

Review: The Forest of Hands and Teeth, Carrie Ryan

The Forest of Hands and Teeth

Carrie Ryan

Gollancz, 2009 (YA)

ISBN 978-0-575-09086-6

First thing to say: when I bought this, I didn’t realise that it is, in essence, a zombie novel. Second thing: I don’t much like zombies. Werewolves – cool. Elves – yup, can deal. Orcs – you’re getting a bit shaky, but I’d give them a chance. I even still rather like vampires, though this may be due to the fact that I’ve stridently avoided reading Twilight. I would never, however, intentionally pick up a book with ‘zombie’ in the title. I’m sure I’ve come across them in short stories, and enjoyed what the author did with them, but in general they’re not really my thing. Not my cup of (undead) tea. (Undead tea?? Now that’s a disturbing thought…)

So Carrie Ryan’s debut YA novel was always going to have a tough time with me when I realised just what these ‘Unconsecrated’ were. But, all that said, Ryan manages to pull off her zombie idea with some panache. Thankfully, they weren’t as boring/irritating as I expected.

Ryan’s concept is interesting enough: our protagonist, Mary, lives in an isolated village, surrounded on all sides by the title’s ‘Forest of Hands and Teeth’. The village is surrounded by chain-link fencing (this mere detail lends some intrigue from the start; when is this set, what technology is available? we ask) which serves to keep out the Unconsecrated (zombie) hordes that claw unceasingly at the barrier, hungering for human flesh. If bitten by one of these undead creatures, one becomes infected and dies – and Returns as an Unconsecrated oneself. The villagers thus have a pretty sticky situation on their hands if one of their own gets bitten: the choice is to kill them as soon as they’ve Returned (killing them for good), or if that is too unbearable, turning them loose into the Forest to slowly tear themselves to pieces on the fencing. Meanwhile, Mary spends her time wondering if there is any other life beyond the Forest, apart from the Unconsecrated, whilst everyone around her seems adamant that there isn’t, that this small village is the last human outpost. Combine this with the oppressive ‘Sisterhood’ that dictates the laws and customs of the village, keeping secrets from the other residents…

Bleak, no?

That was what first struck me about Ryan’s novel. From the very start, Mary is hurled into one horrible situation after another. Lots of doom and plenty of gloom. It certainly keeps you on edge; the story doesn’t so much reach a particular ‘moment of peril’ (though there are certainly heightened moments throughout the book) as plunge into peril from the very beginning. It certainly makes for a gripping read. But there are, unfortunately, some major flaws here as well.

Mary, for a start. OK, so she’s feisty and brave – and I guess that’s interesting in its way. But goshdarnit, does she have to be so very moody all the time? OK, I understand that this criticism seems unfair – after all, if I lived in a village surrounded by zombies, many of whom used to be my friends and even family, I’d be pretty grumpy too. But what I’m pointing to really is the intensity of teenage angst that infuses Ryan’s book, and which eventually ends up making Mary an irritating character rather than a sympathetic one. I suppose it was brave of Ryan to attempt a protagonist whose moods and selfishness are evident, but these weren’t countered with enough sympathetic traits to make Mary someone you really rooted for. Even, I suspect, if you happen to be a hormonal teenager yourself.

And since I’ve brought up the angst…

I think that YA fiction does benefit from a romance story somewhere in its plot. As a teenager, I liked those moments (I admit, I still like them). Ryan doesn’t disappoint on this score: Mary spends a great deal of time yearning for a certain Travis, the brother of her actual betrothed, Harry. The book’s knotty relationships – also involving Mary’s best friend, Cassandra, who is betrothed to Travis – are relied upon to provide a good deal of the novel’s interest. And to some extent, this works. But only if a) you don’t mind the fierce intensity of the yearning and pining and jealousy and passion that accompanies this aspect of the plotline, and b) if you can get over the fact that Travis and Harry are essentially ciphers of ‘maleness’. It’s this second point that’s the real pitfall. Travis and Harry simply weren’t developed enough as characters for me to care particularly about them, or for me to care which one Mary ends up with. I didn’t even really get a sense of what was different about Travis; he and Harry seemed much the same to me, basically interchangeable. And this is a shame. Ryan goes to such lengths articulating Mary’s feelings, but neither Travis nor Harry emerge as complete and sympathetic characters. Instead, they seem merely convenient figures (male #1 and male #2) to complement Mary’s emotions. The first-person narrative certainly shouldn’t have prevented this kind of characterisation from being established.

Moving on from the characterisation issues, I also felt that the concept – whilst it had a lot of potential – was also not developed sufficiently to really draw me in. Ryan does give us some clues to what might have been before the Return (the emergence of the infection that brought about the Unconsecrated), and what might in fact lie beyond the Forest – but really, these are nothing I didn’t expect. The point at which I was most intrigued was, in fact, near the start of the book when Mary discovers that the Sisterhood of her village are keeping tantalising secrets concerning what lies beyond the Forest. But as the novel moves on and we move away from the village, these ‘secrets’ are easily guessed, and they’re basically unexciting. Moreover, the ‘code’ which Mary puzzles over for the greater part of the novel doesn’t generate any extra suspense – partly because the reader knows immediately that it’s just Roman numerals. It would have been better had the code genuinely been something that the reader couldn’t figure out either, if we only discovered its solution when Mary did. As it is, we just have to wait until the protagonist realises something we’ve known all along.

Having said all this, the book was definitely not awful. I raced through it pretty darn quickly. I wondered – to some extent – what was going to happen (though I have to admit I was willing it to uncover more interesting revelations than it did). The writing was slick and not as indulgent as it might have been, what with the intensity of the passion Mary felt for Travis – a restraint which I appreciated. What we have here is a book that is certainly readable, and which has a brave concept, but which unfortunately doesn’t reach its full potential. Perhaps Ryan develops her ideas more intricately in the sequel, but if that’s so, it comes a bit too late.