When a new fad of fiction hits the popular mind I make a habit of engaging with it.  Twelve years ago I did it when Harry Potter arced up.  More recently I engaged with Twilight (where by “engage” I mean forcing myself to complete the first book).  After all, its from this sort of phenomenon that common metaphors and other tools of communication evolve, and they are useful.

And so I read The Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins.  And I thoroughly enjoyed it.  In and of itself its a decent story.  But the cultural influences are so clearly obvious that there is is an inevitable undertone of (unwitting?) social commentary.  How can there not be when you have a narrative in which there are clear allusions to Twilight, Survivor, Extreme Makeover with a nuance of Man vs Wild, The Empire Strikes Back and even a taste Dickensian rags and riches?

Without wanting to give the story away, it revolves around the main character, Katniss Everdeen, a prodigious illegal hunter from the poverty-ridden District 12.  She finds herself, together with teenagers from other Districts caught up in The Hunger Games themselves – a televised fight-to-the-death for the population of the oppressive Capitol where there can be only one Victor.  To this experience is added social rebellion, military rebellion, and ultimately cynical disillusion.  All this is coloured by a love triangle (of course), family loyalties, mental illness, grief, and determination.  I was genuinely entertained.

The depth, however, lies in some of the underlying themes.  One of these is clearly the fakery of television.  Much is made of the young girl from nowhere being dressed up to play her part for the entertainment driven Capitol.  But as the story progresses this play-acting becomes a weapon.  The superhero-alter ego construct is clear, but Katniss’ hero side, the Mockingjay, is a phantom of media manipulation.  The Mockingjay has no powers but what the cameras and an editing suite can give her.   I appreciate the deconstruction of modern media – perhaps if nothing else these books might teach a generation to be sceptical about Today Tonight and its kin.

I found the first-person present writing voice to be disconcerting and at times unhelpful.  The one benefit such a style has, however, is to allow the inner thought-life of the character to come to the fore.  Katniss is constantly battling herself – her mixed motivations, her self-aware selfishness, her weariness and worries.  I’ve read some reviews that deride these books as playing Katniss as the fickle female, unsure of herself, unable to lead, having all the exciting bits happen while she is unconscious.  I simply think its a description of reality of what goes inside the head of all those who dare to have that head above the trenches, taking a chance, pushing at risks.  If these books demonstrate that heroism is not about being unmoved but about choosing to choose well within the darkness and confusion, they will have done well.

Finally there is a social commentary, on Western Society and humankind as a whole.  The third book has Katniss in conversation talking with a defector from the Capitol, Plutarch, who intones the phrase Panem et Circenses.  Panem is the name given to the world in which these stories take place, here the underlying allusion is collapsed.

“What’s that?” I recognize Panem, of course, but the rest is nonsense.
“It’s a saying from thousands of years ago, written in a language called Latin about a placed called Rome,” he explains. “Panem et Circenses translates into ‘Bread and Circuses’.  The writer was saying that in return for full bellies and entertainment, his people had given up their political responsibilities and therefore for their power.”

The latin phrase is applied to the Capitol which correlates to America and the West.  I am amongst those who draw parallels between the Roman and American empires, the stupefication of a populace, the embrace of debauchery and libertinism that eventually leads to collapse from within.  We should learn from history.

Collins uses her books to explore some hypotheticals.  She ends up with no solutions.  There is no chance of reformation, the human self-destruction will continue.  For Collins the only hope lies in escape, laying low, self-sufficient and separate.  Ultimately this is no solution at all, but then the readers of these books will need to figure that out for themselves.

These books will be no Harry Potter.  People will not “grow up” with the characters as they grew up with Harry and Hermione and Ron.  But its a worthwhile flash in the cultural pan and worth a read if you’re up for some light entertainment.  The movie will probably ruin it though, but that goes without saying.

So I read it. For the same reason I read Harry Potter ten years ago – I need to have an opinion on it, and I can’t form that opinion without reading it. I’m talking about Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight of course. It’s an immensely popular, bestselling, movie-spinning mega-book. My comments below will only be about the first book in the series. I’m not planning to read any of the others.

So what did I make of it? Like J. K. Rowling, Stephenie Meyer has been the target of the full blast of Christiosity zeal. Here, apparently, is yet another piece of worldly literature sucking us into dabbling with the occult and surrendering our souls to dark things. I discount that attack. The seduction is not attached to the occult and the darkness is attached more to the reality of the human soul than with dancing with the devil in the pale moonlight. It is not the fact that this book has vampires in it that I’d prefer my daughter to wait a little bit longer before she reads it.

If Harry was Star Wars for Generation Y – the child of destiny meeting his potential – this book is Pretty Woman – the forgotten girl mixing with manly power and holding her own in complete helplessness. Here is feminine weakness repulsed but attracted to dangerous masculinity. Here is feminine attractiveness drawing out both the potential and horror of the masculine conundrum. It is written well – the first person narrative drawing us into the intimacy of internal thoughts and, while avoiding being too explicit, causing us to engage with the bit-lip heart-skipping blood-rushing sensuality of near-fatal attraction. No wonder it’s popular.

For those who don’t know the story is simple – big town nerdy girl moves to small town and encounters mysterious boy. Boy is vampire, caught between his blood-thirst for the girl and his surprising affection for her. Girl finds out he is a vampire yet is drawn to him, desiring both his safety and his danger.

Hear the pulse of the female psyche. The chapter where they spend their first significant time alone together is the crux of it all.  She wants to be close to him, comfort him, be comforted by him. Knowing that he could kill her, almost wanting him to take her “wondering, if it would hurt very much… if it ended badly.” He is like an addict and she is both his addiction and his salvation: “Common sense told me I should be terrified. Instead, I was relieved to finally understand. And I was filled with compassion for his suffering, even now, as he confessed his craving to take my life.”

She both delights in her ability to confound him (she is the only mind he cannot read) and at the same time she swoons, literally, with every kiss. She is his adventure and he takes her on one.  And then the action sequence encapsulates the rocky road of the reality of their relationship – how will it ever be consummated (figuratively speaking)? Should she become like him, take on his identity, become a vampire herself, despite the pain?

It’s fairy tale from start to finish. But where the passion in a different era would have been wrapped up with sex – a useless gambit in this sexually desensitised generation – it is now wrapped up in blood lust. What in one era would have been an interplay between feminine wiles and passivity and the sexual drive and chivalry of the man is now explored through the concept of a vampire’s addiction and honour and a girl’s intellectual strength and physical dependence. How else could you get away with a main character who faints, stumbles and is always being swooped up and protected by the main man?

Where Jane Austen would have the girl battle with losing her identity in marriage, longing for a proposal, here it is about longing for a painful but transformative venomous bite.  I guess girls wanting a knight in shining armour still exist… and buy books.

As with Harry, so with Twilight – the danger of this book is not occult but fantasy. Too many people (many of which are too young) will get lost in it detrimentally. There must be more to life than this.

And there is.

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