The Hunger Games

(Note: This entry does NOT contain spoilers)

The Hunger Games is a modern phenomenon, in a sense it's the successor to Harry Potter in the youth fiction world. But Harry Potter's magnitude is untouchable, and there are no wizards or magic brooms in Suzanne Collins' grim post-apocalyptic dystopia. No happy school days, no quizzes or goofy teachers. And if this world ever had an immutable, wizened Dumbledore-figure to protect the weak from mistreatment, he died decades before our story begins, not six books through it.

The United States is perhaps not even a memory, in its place stands the nation "Panem." A cold and luxury-laden city called The Capitol rules 12 "Districts." Forced into crippling poverty to decimate their ability to revolt, and worked as slaves for the Capitol's benefit, a final cruel punishment is weighed upon the Districts. In order to remind them that they are inexorably and totally beneath the Capitol's absolute power, every year the Capitol takes two children from each district and forces them to compete in a savage battle to the death, where only one survives. Rubbing emotional salt in incurable wounds, the bloodbath is filmed for the entertainment of The Capitol's citizens, and everyone is forced to watch.

It's Fahrenheit 451 meets And Then There Were None. A spiritual successor to Shirley Jackson's The Lottery, and the 2001 film 'Series 7: The Contenders.' It's Metal Gear Solid and V For Vendetta, Gladiator and The Giver, with just a sprinkle of Twilight... and a sprinkle of Saw. The Hunger Games is an exquisite mix, a unique thrill, a true original. I don't say any of this lightly, it is genuinely stunning literature. Uncannily both bloodthirsty and pacifist. It is equal parts Hollywood action blockbuster, and scathing Orwellian satire, of an uncompromisingly Juvenalian harshness. While one chapter has me on the edge of my seat grabbing for a bag of popcorn, the next threatens to shatter my fragile view of society and siphon away faith from the materialistic culture we inhabit. Suzanne Collins playfully eggs us into craving the next kill, and then condemns us for the thought, painting a tapestry of ill morals and somehow still managing to come out righteous.