Facing my fear of movie theaters by going to the first showing of the day sgdggdgd

I think I'll be the only person there which would be awesome tbh

AND I dont have to break my streak of having seen every hunger games movie in theaters :D I'm excited man

Social Commentary in The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes

I haven’t written a lot of meta about The Hunger Games trilogy. When I first read them, I devoured the entire set in three days before I was part of tumblr or writing fanfiction. My own metas were in my head and part of things I taught my classes and discussed with my friends, but not something I generally put on my blog. I don’t know why. (I do have a meta about Peeta’s hijacking that I’ve been meaning to write for a while. Maybe once I’ve finished this book. Hint: It has to do with George Orwell’s 1984, which I used in my classes last year and was performed at a theater in Houston right as the pandemic hit.) I don’t know if reading this book when I’m a decade older and after a really rough few years of my own has anything to do with it or just that I’ve been exposed to so much by being in this fandom, but I’ve got a lot of thoughts about The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes. I’ve only read Part 1 so far, but here are some observations. (It’s long, but at least read the last one—even if you have to skip to get there.)

 Spoilers below:

Reaping day is July 4. We already knew it was during the summer, so that’s not a huge stretch. What intrigues me is the symbolism of July 4 for Americans since it’s Independence Day. For those of you who aren’t American or aren’t sure why that struck me, here you go. Independence Day represents the day the Declaration of Independence was signed (although, it was actually two days later, but whatever). The Declaration of Independence was issued 14 months AFTER the beginning of the American Revolution in April 1775 at the battles of Lexington and Concord and was not the cause of the Revolution as so many believe. Penned by Thomas Jefferson (at least colloquially), it famously discusses the celebrated (but sadly, not practiced) phrase that “all men are created equal.” That’s the phrase that’s trotted out and waved about, but the Declaration is mostly about tyranny and the role of government. In fact, the Declaration doesn’t start with “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.” Instead, it begins with this: “When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another…” In other words, the Declaration of Independence does indicate that all humans are created equal. It also discusses what the government is supposed to and not supposed to do. Having Reaping Day occur on July 4 is a brilliant jab that adds an entirely new level to what Independence Day means and how it’s celebrated—with lots of flag waving and fireworks and BBQ (and very little knowledge of what the document itself actually says).

 Which brings me to Sejanus Plinth. Bless him. He’s the voice of compassion and reason in part 1 as he speaks up about treating other humans with respect and dignity, about the humanity of those in the districts, as he feeds the hungry, as he challenges the inhumanity of the Games. In short, he’s the Peeta Mellark voice from the final council of the tributes in Mockingjay. I have no idea what’s going to happen to him in the rest of the book, but he’s the humanity I’m craving as I read. A note on his name: Sejanus was a close friend and ally of the Roman Emperor Tiberius. Sejanus worked to improve conditions in the Empire and served as a proxy to Tiberius when he was absent. He was strangled to death in 31 AD/CE. His last name is what makes me stop and want to hug Collins. Four years ago, I had no idea what a plinth was. I’d never heard the word, but I was the prop mistress for my church’s summer musical, and it was on the list of things I had to find. I googled it and found out it’s a base on which a statue (or something else) is displayed. In Mary Poppins, it was used as the base for a statue that came to life and talked to the characters in the park. In other words, it’s a place on which someone can take a stand and deliver a message—a platform, if you will, of the character’s compassion and humanity.

 I don’t remember if we got that Tigris was Snow’s cousin in the original trilogy or not. What I do remember is that she was a former stylist who Snow thought was no longer useful and had her removed from the Games. I haven’t figured out yet how I feel about her in this book, but her banishment and desire to see Snow destroyed are even more intriguing to me as a result of her inclusion as his relative. I would not have pictured her as a Snow before reading the new book. I’m still waiting to be convinced. “Snow comes out on top” is awesome. I wish I could write half as well as Collins.

 There’s so much Holocaust imagery in this book, it’s terrifying. The cattle cars, the inhumane treatment of the tributes, using a veterinarian to treat the tributes instead of a doctor, the numbers, the cages, the rats, separation into districts and restrictions on travel, the hunger and starvation. Ugh. I’ve spent the past several years studying the Holocaust with some of the leading Holocaust and genocide scholars in the world both here in Houston and in Israel. I’ve traveled to Germany and Poland to see the death camps and headquarters of the Gestapo and Nazis and so on. The Games themselves are genocide, by definition, as an attempt to reduce the population of undesirables by targeting the children so they cannot reproduce. Hearing Survivor stories always reminds me of how Collins discusses Victors. There are no winners, only survivors. Survivors have never forgotten the Holocaust, nor should they. It’s what helped so many of them find compassion and humanity and forgiveness (and equally what causes such despair and depression in so many, as well). During my time Yad Vahsem in Jerusalem last summer, one thing was repeated over and over and over. The real triumph for Survivors aren’t the children; they are the grandchildren and then the great-grandchildren. In Panem, there can’t be too many grandchildren if the children are killed before they reach child-bearing age. (There’s also something in there about Snow being raised by his grandmother, but I’m gonna let that one rest for now.)

 In one of the seminars from last summer at Yad Vashem, a scholar of Holocaust music taught us about the role of bands and singing in the camps (all levels, from death camps down to prison camps). First, there are some achingly gorgeous songs (the lyrics of one which were preserved on a child’s shoe in the death camp of Majdanek). Second, she asked us what we thought were the purposes of songs and music in the camps, and we all gave the standard answers—an attempt to distract themselves, holding onto humanity, finding beauty in the midst of horror, and hope. As a faithful fan of The Hunger Games and the saying “Hope is the only thing stronger than fear,” I was just as astounded as others when she said, “There was no hope. People died in death camps. They were starved and covered in shit and piss and lice and filth. They wanted revenge.” I don’t think revenge is what music represents in this book or in the original trilogy, although I think that argument can be made with the use of the Hanging Tree song in rebellion in the movies, but I can’t get that woman’s statement out of my head when I read this book. Not everybody has hope. Katniss didn’t when she first volunteered. I think there’s something to that.

 Lucy Gray Baird is not Katniss. I haven’t exactly figured out who she is, yet, but she’s not Katniss in the first part of this book, which I think some people were hoping she was (as an analogy, obviously). Her flirtations with Snow are fascinating, and her outgoing and peculiar behavior at the reaping in District 12 was my first indication that the title was not as clear cut as Snow=Snake and District 12 female tribute=Songbird (alluding to Katniss). She puts a snake down the dress of the daughter of District 12’s mayor. She also sings. Is she both? Is she the songbird only? If so, then why the snake? And Snow doesn’t appear to be the snake either. My bet’s on Dr. Gaul. She’s a piece of work. Or maybe it’s Clemmie. Interested to see where that goes, too.

 Lucy Gray’s insistence that she’s not from District 12 is fascinating. She insists she’s Covey, which by definition is a group of birds. The Covey are a group of traveling performers, who were stopped in District 12 and not allowed to leave. Trapped birds—interesting. Also, besides the Jews, the Roma/Sinti were targeted during the Holocaust. This group was commonly and derogatorily referred to as “gypsies,” people who moved about frequently and were suspected of crime, stealing, and a myriad of other issues. The Roma and Sinti immigrated into Central and Eastern Europe from India. If Katniss and others in District 12 are descended from Lucy Gray, then that covers the non-white argument about her ethnic makeup. I have no idea if that was Collins’ intention, but it makes a lot of sense in my brain.

 As for Snow, he’s not a villain in this book. At least he’s not yet. So far, he’s the hero (or maybe anti-hero is better), but he’s definitely not the villain. Since we’ve read The Hunger Games, we know he’s the ultimate villain later, but he’s not so far in this book. He’s got ambition and cunning, but neither of those are ultimately villainous. He mourns his mother. He loves his cousin and grandmother. He’s proud of his father’s military service. He’s sad about his friends who die. He’s interested in, if not attracted to, Lucy Gray. We know what he becomes, so it’s hard to read about him as a person with hopes and dreams and struggles. Why? Because it humanizes him, and when he’s humanized, it’s harder for us to say, “He’s evil, and that’s why he did those things.” This is much the same way people blame the Holocaust and World War II on Hitler. “Well, he’s evil, so of course he did that.” Or how we dehumanize gunmen in massacres—“Well, he was clearly a sick individual, so he shot up the place.” Please don’t misunderstand. I’m not saying these crimes are excusable (in real life or in Collins’ works). What I am saying is that knowing Snow was a child shaped by war, hunger, poverty, and loss makes it harder for us to distance ourselves from this “evil” person. His characterization is uncomfortable because it makes us face that we could also do terrible things in specific contexts. Evil people are rarely born. They are almost always made, which means any of us could be a villain. That is what’s really terrifying.

 A couple of other notes before this gets way too long for anyone to read.

 The role of the government: Sejanus argues it’s the government’s job to take care of its citizens. This is an argument that’s raged in the US (and other countries) for a long time. The question is how do governments take care of the citizens? By feeding them and giving them health care and making sure everyone has enough? Be protecting them with a huge army? By allowing broad civil liberties (e.g., choosing whether to wear face masks during a pandemic)? By instituting restrictive liberties (e.g., gun control, wire taps, screenings at airports)? It’s a really interesting point Sejanus makes early in the book. Not surprising not everyone agrees.

 Mention of the three other book titles (almost): The Hunger Games are mentioned several times. There’s a reference to something that “really catches fire.” And then there are the jabberjays. There are no mockingjays yet. Probably because there is no mockingjay yet. Seriously, Collins is brilliant.

 The role of war: War is not good for those who live through it. Snow is traumatized by the war, as are the rest of the Capitol’s citizens. It makes most have little empathy for those in the districts who rebelled against them. War has destroyed the city. It’s weakened the economy. It’s destroyed the Snow’s fortune. And then it also leads to the Hunger Games. This book is anti-war just as much as the original trilogy is. It is not anti-soldier, but it is anti-war.

 The role of children: Suzanne Collins lives in Connecticut, right? Yes, she does. You know where? Sandy Hook. More specifically, Newtown. Where children were shot to death in their classrooms by a gunman a few years ago. A ton of gun control people thought the slaughter of children would be enough for gun control to be implemented in the wake of that mass murder. It did not. Since then, there’s been a meme that’s circulated (taken from a tweet) that says, “In retrospect Sandy Hook marked the end of the US gun control debate. Once America decided killing children was bearable, it was over.” On page 60 of the book (right at the end of chapter 4), Snow insists the Hunger Games are to show how much people care about children when Dean Highbottom asks what the purpose of the Games is. And then there’s a paragraph in which Snow wonders if people really do care about children. He concludes that children don’t seem to be quite as important as we claim they are. I don’t think that’s a coincidental commentary on Collins’ part.

 So, that became a lot longer than I planned, but wow. This book is fascinating, and Collins is a genius. I’m so ready for more. Part 2, here I come.

Hey, @everlarkedalways, does this count?