Morgan Missen

Why I couldn’t get past one page of Hunger Games

I’ve never taken an interest in young adult novel series-cum-global-entertainment-phenomena. I never saw/read/was successfully marketed Harry Potter or Twilight, though I couldn’t escape hearing about them for what seemed like seven years each (actually, are they even over yet? is it safe to come out now?). Now there is The Hunger Games. I don’t see many Hollywood movies but I read a lot, and The Hunger Games satisfies my one and only criterion for fiction: the protagonists are human. So, I give it a shot. I start reading Book One over a friend’s shoulder. But I only get to the fourth paragraph when I turn away in disgust.

Here’s the offending passage:

“…Scrawny kitten, belly swollen with worms, crawling with fleas. The last thing I needed was another mouth to feed. But Prim begged so hard, cried even, I had to let him stay. It turned out okay. My mother got rid of the vermin and he’s a born mouser. Even catches the occasional rat. Sometimes when I clean a kill, I feed Butter cup the entrails. He has stopped hissing at me.

Entrails. No hissing. This is the closest we will ever come to love.

I swing my legs off the bed and slide into my hunting boots. Supple leather that has molded to my feet. I pull on trousers, a shirt, tuck my long dark braid up into a cap, and grab my forage bag. On the table, under a wooden bowl to protect it from hunger rats and cats alike, sits a perfect little goat cheese wrapped in basil leaves. Prim’s gift to me on reaping day. I put the cheese carefully in my pocket as I slip outside.”

Really? This is the book my intelligent friends have been raving about? I couldn’t believe author Suzanne Collins is getting away with portraying her narrator, sixteen-year-old Katniss Everdeen, this way.

Not sure I’m talking about? Let’s zoom in:

“I swing my legs off the bed and slide into my hunting boots. Supple leather that has molded to my feet. I pull on trousers, a shirt, tuck my long dark braid…”

“I swing my legs off the bed and slide into my hunting boots. I pull on trousers,”

“I slide into my hunting boots. I pull on trousers,”

“hunting boots. trousers.”

She puts on hunting boots, then trousers? Boots first, then pants? No, I don’t believe you. No one does that. Ugh Suzanne… sitting in your mansion… what kind of idiot do you take us for?