One girl's struggle

Somehow, I consider it a matter of pride to have no idea of what's going on in popular culture. But occasionally, popular culture sneaks up and bites me on the butt before I recognize it.

Thus, a week ago, following a helpful prompt from Amazon, I began reading The Hunger Games, a "young adult" (read, "for teenagers") fantasy trilogy that I suppose appealed to the only semi-dormant sci-fi passions of my youth. Only after availing myself of Amazon's all-too-easy "one click" purchase protocol did I discover that I wasn't alone -- not only is the trilogy extremely popular, but its release as a film in March promises to be one of the cinematic events of the year.

Today, the Yahoo! homepage contains a prominant link to one of several YouTube trailers for the movie -- a link presented not as advertisement, but as "news."

So be it. I'll mingle with the masses, or at least the younger contingent of the masses. I was up late last night, my eyes glued to my Kindle, and am now 70 percent of my way through Catching Fire, the second of the three books.

The story, for those of you who, like me a week ago, haven't a clue, takes place in a post-apocalyptic future. All the wealth now belongs to the citizens of the "Capitol," an affluent and technologically advanced city apparently located somewhere near present day Denver. Today's U.S. has been divided into twelve impoverished districts, each ruled with an iron hand by the wealthy Capitol, each responsible for producing raw materials and goods for the Capitol citizenry. (See any political allegories, students?)

To demonstrate its absolute control, and to punish the citizens for a failed revolt 75 years earlier, each district is required annually to furnish a boy and a girl, selected by lottery, to take part in the Hunger Games -- a no-holds-barred combination of survival game and deadly combat, fought out in a huge wilderness "Arena", until only one out of the 24 kids is left alive. The games are unscripted but fully televised, in a manner well known to followers of our own "reality" shows.

The author is Suzanne Collins -- atypically for such dystopian fantasies, a woman -- and the story is told from the point of view of Katniss, a tough-minded girl of 16. The story is, as you'd expect, full of struggle, killings, anguish, torture, and physical hardship. But -- and I try not to think in stereotypes -- the story seems to reveal the gender of both the author and her protagonist by simultaneously focusing on Katniss's complex and ever-changing relationships (friends? enemies? rivals? lovers?) with two boys, one of whom is a childhood friend back home and the other, her fellow representative from District 12.

The books also seem to focus at times to a weird degree on fashion, cosmetics, and food preparation. This focus could be another indication of femininity, but more likely is simply a device to contrast the effete superficiality of the "One Percent" (my term) who live frivolous, meaningless lives in the Capitol with the tough, quick minds and even tougher bodies of the youngsters from the districts, kids who have grown up familiar with hunger, poverty, and hardship, but have also learned to adapt and think quickly.

The games are played against long-smoldering opposition to the Capitol by the oppressed masses. Katniss's television persona appears both a precipitating factor pushing the districts to active revolt, and a beacon of hope for the rebels.

Having sneaked a look at Amazon reviews for the third book, Mockingjay, I realize that some weird things are waiting in my reading future. Roughly half of the readers appear anguished at the way the plot develops in the final book, and with the unhappy resolution for Katniss and all the people for whom readers had grown attached.

The other half of the reviewers essentially say, "That's life and that's war, toots. Learn to live with it." They loved the ending.

So, my attention will be absorbed a few more days while Katniss discovers and faces her Fate. Then my blog can return to its usual urbane fascination with post-modernist deconstruction of Elizabethan drama.