Mockingjay--Suzanne Collins

October 17, 2010

In the third and final installment of The Hunger Games Trilogy, we see the violent showdown between Kaitness and President Snow as the rebels rally together in an uprising against the Capital.

Kaitness, having become the reluctant symbol of the uprising, focuses on her personal vendetta against President Snow, Having twice become responsible for pressing her into the harrowing Hunger Games and for the deaths of so many people she knew and cared about, Snow becomes the reason Kaitness chooses to accept her role as rebel leader. Along the way, she must decide who she can trust going into a battle where she once again risks losing those she loves. By her side are Gale and Peeta, each fighting their own battles as well as they face some of the most dangerous and deadly traps ever seen. Fighting their way into the Capital to face President Snow will be as difficult as anything they faced in The Hunger Games, but now the lives of all the citizens are at stake.

Mockingjay is a fitting conclusion to the trilogy, with a satisfying ending after the crescendo of the quest to reach their villain. There are shocks and surprises, layers peeled back one layer at a time to keep the reader intrigued and guessing. If I have one complaint it might be that the ending is a bit too quiet and sedate after the high-tension action of most of the rest of the book, and a bit too quick as well. It's almost as if the author wasn't quite sure how to effectively say goodbye to the characters she had become so close to throughout her journey as a their creator. The epilogue, however, leaves the door open to the possibility that we haven't seen the last of them. If that were the case, I'm sure I wouldn't be the only one anxiously awaiting a reunion.

--Donna

Hedda Gabler--Henrik Ibsen

September 24, 2010

Henrik Ibsen's Hedda Gabler is the precursor to the modern soap opera. Hedda is the controlling, manipulative protagonist who insinuates her wills and whims into the lives of others. Her bookish, clueless husband is simply thrilled to have landed the beautiful Miss Hedda, and his myopic viewpoint doesn't allow him to see her with any clarity. His focus is on his research (which he spent most of their honeymoon engaged in), and the idea of being married to her--the idealistic vision he has for their future.

Hedda, meanwhile, loathes the romantic notion of 'family', including children, and how strict social contraints seek to subsume her into the proper role of wife and mother. She feels she is above relinquishing control, and certainly, she's too fiercely independent to passively slip into the traditional female role. Instead, she fully intends to carry on a torrid affair with the judge who is, in fact, her intellectual and moral equal (and who ultimately becomes one of the catalysts for her eventual undoing), as well as manipulating a former lover who was too given to lapse into battles with alcoholism to ever provide for her future monetarily, but who was, in truth, probably the one human being she could have loved. She also capriciously manipulates her husband's relatives and her own former schoolmates, largely out of boredom. This is not a pleasant person, to say the least, but as is often the case with soap opera divas, she has enough mental acuity to spin her personality in such a way that her victims fall willingly under her spell, becoming accomplices in their own dramatic downfalls.

Every calculated move, however, somehow falls into place in a way Hedda could not have forseen, and suddenly she realizes that all the puppets she danced so tightly together have spun out of her control, and taken on a life of their own, just as she is coming to grips with another new life she didn't bank on. In fine dramatic soap opera form, Hedda decides to wrest back control in the only way she knows how--with definitive finality.

--Donna

Catching Fire--Suzanne Collins

May 27, 2010

In her follow-up novel to The Hunger Games, Suzanne Collins has not disappointed her audience. Catching Fire picks up back in District 12, with both Kaitness and Peeta sharing honors and wealth as co-victors of the last Hunger Games. Unfortunately, although life has been made easier for them and their families financially, Kaitness' daring plan to outwit the Gamemakers has angered President Snow, who sees her act as one of rebellion against the government. When Kaitness receives a visit from the President, he makes it clear that her final act in the Games has laid the ground work for an uprising against the government, and his sinister threats against her and her loved ones give Kaitness good reason to be wary.

This upcoming year being the 25th anniversary of the Hunger Games, called The Quell, a new twist is added in celebration. In a special broadcast to all districts, President Snow makes his proclamation: The Quell will not consist of new tributes--every district will be required to send two victors from previous years back into the Games to compete 'til the death. Kaitness, who still suffers nightmares from last year's Games, is faced with the certainty of having to be thrown back into the horror. She suspects President Snow's new rule is not coincidence; she is being punished with the very real threat of death so soon after she thought she had escaped for good.

She and Peeta find themselves chosen as the previous victors from District 12 to participate in The Games, so they are sent immediately to Capital City. After grooming and training, they find themselves back in the fray, up against formidable opponents from past years, as well as some older and more frail former victors who have either lost physical or mental prowess in the ensuing years, but who have nonetheless found themselves in the same harrowing position as Kaitness and Peeta.

In The Quell, the tributes encounter new trials created by the Gamemakers, form new alliances, re-think assumptions about one another, and learn once again what it is to face the horrific dangers of The Hunger Games. What makes this time even more difficult is that both Kaitness and Peeta have vowed to ensure the other's survival, even though it means self-sacrifice. Add to that a betrayal Kaitness never sees coming and an ending both powerful and unexpected, and Collins' audience will be holding its breath for the third novel in the series, due out in a couple of months. I know I can't wait to see the final showdown between Kaitness and President Snow.

--Donna

The Girl Who Owned a City--O.T. Nelson

May 19, 2010
Imagine a deadly virus has wiped out every human on earth over the age of twelve. What would become of the children left behind? O.T. Nelson's short novel The Girl Who Owned a City explores how children, if left to their own devices, might fare in a world devoid of the adults who once kept them safe.

As with many pieces of speculative fiction, the requirement for suspension of disbelief is great. There are problems raised within the novel that somehow seem to solve themselves or become non-issues as the storyline progresses. (An example? Where are all the bodies of all of these adults who have died? They just mysteriously vanished?) There's also the seemingly unbelievable ease with which our protagonist rises from ordinary every-day ten year old girl to leader of the city, commanding attention and negotiating the clandestine building of the fortress that will house the titular city and protect its citizens from outside attack.

Lisa is our protagonist. Initially, there is nothing spectacular about her, but she recognizes the need for action to protect herself, her brother, and her home from looting bands of child-thieves who are also seeking out whatever way they can find to survive. There are no caretakers anymore, and Lisa realizes that she must step into that role if she and her brother are to stay out of harm's way. Within a short span, she teaches herself how to drive, finds first a farm and then an entire warehouse store that has been left untouched by looters. (She is apparently the only one to have remembered its existence.) As she begins to stockpile goods for survival--she calculates that they can survive on what they find in the warehouse for up to a year--she also sees that if she is the only one with food and necessities, she will be the target for attack if she doesn't join forces with the other orphaned children of her neighborhood.

Lisa gathers together the child-inhabitants of her neighborhood and promises them safety and food in return for their allegiance and oath to work together in building up defenses against the gangs that are beginning to form in surrounding areas. Here the novel becomes a bit too heavy-handed and preachy, as Lisa none too subtly espouses (sometimes to her neighbors, sometimes merely aloud to herself) her philosophy of life. Life is good--fun, even--when one works to earn what they have. The fun of life is solving problems, and that is how one earns his or her possessions. This philosophy is one that Lisa, and by extension the author, continues to present as TRUTH throughout the novel, at the exclusion of all other viewpoints.

It's a very utilitarian approach to life, pragmatic and somewhat detached. The interesting thing is that this philosophy is in stark contrast to two other viewpoints, seemingly equally important, that Lisa shuns as at best a waste of time, and at worst, detrimental. Jill is a mother-figure of a child who has taken in some of the frightened orphans to live in her home. She takes care of them, looks after their emotional needs, and has the true heart of a humanitarian. This approach, according to Lisa, merely serves to coddle them and leave them helpless and vulnerable. It does, in fact, more harm than good. Although Jill is never quite convinced Lisa is right, for the protection of the children she is willing to work within Lisa's rules and guidelines. The second viewpoint is Craig's, who feels it would be valuable to relocate to the country farm and learn how to grow crops that could feed them all. His ideas of an agrarian lifestyle are nonsense to Lisa, who believes the first priority is to militarize and form a defense so strong that offense is not necessary against adversaries. Charlie, too, reluctantly joins forces with Lisa and abandons his idea in the interest of solidarity and protection.

The most interesting thing about this is that it does not seem that any of these things are mutually exclusive, though they certainly are presented in that way. Lisa does pay a bit of a price for not being as maternal as Jill; the kids think she's bossy and mean. However, the more serious consequence for not incorporating all of these approaches to building up a citizenry is the abandonment of farming as a viable form of self-reliance. This is entirely glossed over within the context of the novel, though. Despite the fact that Lisa initially estimates there is enough food in the warehouse to sustain their little group for a year, as the novel progresses we are taken through not one, but two years of their existence, and the original group grows in numbers as they recruit additional children into their fold. So how do they continue to feed all those mouths? If Craig had been allowed to begin farming, it would be logical that perhaps that's where some of the food was coming from. He wasn't, though, so we are supposed to believe that they simply have found another stash of food that had been unmolested by other bands of children foraging to survive.

Early on, Lisa decides that it is too difficult to adequately protect each individual's home in the neighborhood from gangs once her own home is attacked, and an epiphany leads her to contemplate renovating the nearby school into the fortress that will become their home. After nights of working in secret to prepare (during which time they find all the necessary implements to devise all manner of defense for the building and everything to provide for the needs of all the inhabitants), the entire neighborhood relocates to their new home. Predictably, a band of thieves discover the fortified building (but naturally they didn't see it until it was inhabited) and decide to take it for themselves.

The battle ensues, and for a time it appears the attackers have been successful. Lisa, thought to be dead on the battlefield, recovers and devises a plan to regain control of her city. And here, the biggest expectation of suspension of disbelief--when all is said and done, and Lisa is left to confront the leader of the opposition and she is at his mercy, she simply tells him that the reason the city shouldn't be his is that he didn't EARN it, didn't WORK for it. He should know that it would never be fun or satisfying to lead in this city because he wasn't the one who solved the problems and learned how to build it. He would always be afraid of losing it because it wasn't truly his.

And you know what? He buys it. Sees the wisdom of her words and walks away, and she wins her city back--just like that.

This is a young fiction novel, but I'm fairly certain that even my twelve-year-old self would have cried foul at that. Too easy, too black and white, too 'here is the lesson you're meant to learn.' There's not so much a sense of 'and they all lived happily ever after' as there was a sense of, 'see--I was right all along.' Speculative fiction though it may be, I expect some sense of reality when I spend time with my characters. And the truth is, these characters didn't behave like real people, conflicted and frightened and even desperate in the face of a potentially devastating future. The premise is a really interesting one, yielding rich possibilities to contemplate and weigh, even within the context of young adult fiction. The target age group is intelligent and merits a more substantive read than the author has provided.

--Donna

Letting Go, or Breaking Up is Hard to Do

April 25, 2010
I'm a little out of control as a collector of books. I've got hundreds of them, on bookshelves, in boxes, in my classroom. I've got books I've read again and again, and books I've read and would love to read again sometime, and of course I've got stacks and stacks of books that I heard about or read about or grabbed my attention in a bookstore at one point or another.

The problem, besides the obvious storage issue, is that I probably have more books in my possession that I can realistically read in my lifetime. I love to read, but I'm no speed reader, so even if people stop writing interesting books for me to buy or borrow RIGHT NOW, I'm not going to make it to all of my books. I've got to prioritize. For awhile, I rotated genres to help me decide what to read: first I'd read a classic that I hadn't gotten around to yet, and then a teen fiction piece (to help me make recommendations to my students), and then a contemporary modern novel. Often, as a matter of fact, I have all of these going at once---I pick one up according to my mood. I've gotten away from that particular system, but I still follow it loosely. I also throw in some non-fiction every now and again, but those aren't the ones I tend to be drawn toward.

For many years, I never picked up a book I didn't finish. I somehow felt that if I invested time in starting the book it would be somehow wasteful if I didn't follow it through. I'm an optimist, too, so I always wanted to give the authors the benefit of the doubt--if it got published, it was bound to get good eventually. Not so! Sometimes, they start off badly, and they just stay there. I recognize that some books get off to a slow start, having to set up an in-depth back story or highly descriptive setting integral to the plot that will eventually unfold. In some of these books, once we meet our key players and discover the journey they are on, we don't mind so much the hard work we trudged through in the introductory exposition to get to them. If, however, the characters are flat or unsympathetic or simply don't connect with the reader, you never forgive them that dry and uninspired trek at the beginning.

Five or six years ago, I ran into three such consecutive books, causing me to re-think my 'never put down a book once you begin it' philosophy. These were all highly received books by many people's standards; I was SUPPOSED to be able to appreciate them. And yet, there was nothing about these books that made me feel I'd gained something in persevering through--I only felt I had wasted my time. I read, in succession, Charles Frazier's Cold Mountain, Anne Proloux's Shipping News, and Frank McCourt's 'Tis. I had never read anything by the first two authors, but they were book club recommendations and I really tried hard to like them and to have something of significance to share with my group. I got nothing, and couldn't bring myself to like or care about the characters in the least, despite having gotten all the way to the ends of their books with them. And Frank McCourt I already had a connection to, because I read and completely loved Angela's Ashes. 'Tis, it seemed to me, was a lazy capitalization on McCourt's previous success and name recognition; the novel had very little to say and all but undid the fondness and admiration I developed for his character in his first novel. Ultimately, I realized that I have far too many books on my shelf to devote time and energy to the ones that become a chore for me. It's not unlike a relationship whose time has passed; when it's not a two way street, and you're not both contributing to the relationship, sometimes the best thing to do is to part ways.

So how do you know whether the book is eventually going to draw you in? I advise my students to give it at least fifty pages in before they abandon a book they're reading for pleasure. If, by that time, the characters have not made their impression, you are not likely to care about them in another three hundred pages. There are so many characters and worlds and lives to explore; I have given myself permission to set aside the characters that are better suited to someone else's acquaintance. It's okay to let go.

--Donna

The Hunger Games--Suzanne Collins

March 10, 2010

As I was reading the book (another recommendation by one of my students), I was struck by the same feeling I get that makes horror movies so difficult for me to watch--the hopeless, inescapable feeling of being trapped. In a suspenseful horror movie, the feeling is visceral; I don't want to be there, participating in the experience of walls closing in, killer getting closer, options disappearing.

Books are different for me, though I can't quite tell why. I have a vivid imagination; I can see clearly what I'm reading. For some reason, though, I don't feel quite like I have to live through the situation in order to experience it. Despite being fully engrossed and present in the story, I am not made to feel I am in peril. I get to experience the cathartic release ("Thank goodness it's not me!") from a removed spectator position, rather than participant. It's fascinating and entralling and riveting, and I love it.

The Hunger Games is another book set in the post-modern world, a dystopian society that is simultaneously familiar and foreign. The country is divided into twelve districts, many of which are suffering economically. Kaitness and her family are barely eeking out a living (by illegally hunting) in District 12, the most distressed of all the districts. Hunger is a constant companion, and the well-being of her sister and her mother are the sole focus of her days.

That is, until the annual reaping, wherein each district is obliged to offer up two tributes to participate in The Hunger Games, sacrifices to the Capitol which provides for their safety. All children and young adults are eligible, at a certain age, to become selected, and in this particular year, Kaitness' beloved younger sister is selected. Desperate to protect her, Kaitness offers up herself as this year's female tribute. Along with her, District 12 sends Peeta, the local baker's son. They will represent their District in the fight-to-the-death struggle that is The Hunger Game.

All tributes, two from each district, are transported to the Capitol, where they are fed, trained, and prepared for a brutal, televised competition in a wilderness designed to test their strength, cunning, and perseverence. It's closely followed by all the inhabitants of each district who are hoping a win will bring money and food and respect to their families and neighbors. Ultimately, there can only be one survivor who will reap the benefits of wealth and adoration, both for themselves and for their district. Once chosen, a tribute has no option. It's kill or be killed, survive at all costs. Alliances can be made initially, but trust is a hard-won commodity, since there is the ever-present knowledge that if there is to be but one victor, alliances can only survive so long.

Kaitness and Peeta face ruthless opponents, devastating wildfires, attacks by genetically engineered beasts, starvation, and lack of water. There are ambushes, broken alliances, and loss of friendship. The most difficult trial, though, that they must face is the knowledge that the bond they form with one another will become the most painful thing of all. To end the Games, either Kaitness or Peeta, or both, must fall.

Part Running Man, part Logan's Run, part Rollerball, part The Lottery, part Survivor, and part Big Brother, with Lord of the Flies thrown in for good measure, it's the kind of book that has appeal for the young adults for whom it's written and their parents as well. I couldn't put it down, and when I did finish, I felt the need to run right out and get a copy of the second novel in this gripping trilogy.

--Donna

Running Out of Time--Margaret Peterson Haddix

February 15, 2010

At the recommendation of one of my students, I picked up this young fiction novel after we read The Handmaid's Tale in class. The elements of a dystopian society are juxtaposed with modern society. In an elementary and somewhat simplistic way, the issues of unchecked power and abuse of modern science and technology are explored. Actually, I was reminded, as I was reading, of the movie "The Village," though I expect the intended audience is not yet old enough to watch that film.

In the novel, Jessie is a young girl growing up in 1840, a simpler time of hard work and rustic, rugged values. However, in her tiny little town of Clifton, a powerful outbreak of diptheria threatens the lives of many of the children of the village. With great trepidation, her mother, the one who is called to tend to the sick and dying, reveals an almost unbelievable secret. The year is NOT, as Jessie believes, 1840. It is actually 1996, and Jessie and all of her neighbors are living in an elaborate frontier village that the world outside views through hidden cameras as a tourist attraction. Several years past, the adults banded together to escape the growing danger and instability of the outside world and with the help of a few powerful men on the outside, set up a virtually self-sustaining and isolated society. They had agreed for the sake of authenticity to raise the children of the villiage to believe they were from that earlier time.

The only real modern advances would be medical--medicine would be sent in secretly to the village on a regular basis in order to maintain the health of the inhabitants. Within the past few months however, just prior to the diptheria outbreak, the medicine stopped being delivered, with no explanation. Jessie's mom sends her on a dangerous mission out in the real world--a world completely unfamiliar to her, to seek help and to find out why this has happened. The village is heavily guarded so that no one can either exit or enter, but Jessie must find a way to escape--lives are at stake.

As Jessie makes her way to 1996, readers follow her journey not only to find help, but to find answers as well. How did the village come to be? Why? Whose interests are being served? Why has the medicine stopped coming? Why is the outside of the village so heavily guarded? We as readers are not disappointed as Jessie explores all of these questions. The author's writing style is at times a bit choppy and occasionally heavy-handed, but I was impressed at the way in which she was able to address some fairly complex issues in a novel geared at a young audience. Kids who enjoy this novel might find their way a few years down the road to an appreciation of 1984, Brave New World, The Road, and yes, The Handmaid's Tale.

--Donna

The Handmaid's Tale--Margaret Atwood

When I first read The Handmaid's Tale some 25 years ago, it had a profound effect on me. All these years later, I find that the basic message still holds true.

The novel is set in the not very distant future. The damage we have done to the environment has taken its toll on fertility rates, as well as the water and food supplies. Feminist mores of society have also become more extreme, adding to the drop in childbirth rates. An extremist group, feeling like a move away from traditionalist values is to blame for the ever-alarming direction society is moving in, enacts a coup and in one fell swoop violently guns down the members of Congress in session. Swift and immediate repercussions are the freezing of all bank accounts by women and halting of international travel. (Extreme reliance on technology in the society make this possible--everything, including money, is all automated.) The Constitution is suspended in order to 'enact emergency measures to stablize society.' In the blink of an eye, all systems are in place for a reversion to a completely patriarchal and near-dictatorial system of government.

In this new system, there is a distinct hierarchy designed to maintain patriarchal rule while simultaneously building back up the population. Those who are still fertile but are not considered worthy to be wives of the elite become Handmaids, vessels for the sole purpose of reproduction. Hearkening back to the Old Testament, the Handmaids' bodies are 'borrowed' for surrogacy by Commanders and their wives who are unable to have children. They are reduced to that basic biological function. Once they have successfully managed to produce a child, that child is given to the Commander and his wife to raise as their own.

Offred, the main character is one of these Handmaids. She is a former feminist, daughter of a feminist, and is now in service under her Commander. The society is ruled through such fear and intimidation that she dares not rebel, though her position is what one would consider degrading and subservient. The unexpected happens, though, when her Commander summons her for a clandestine meeting at night behind closed doors. What they do there is...play Scrabble. The written word has been denied women in this society, as has free conversation. It turns out, this is what the Commander most misses about the old society--the ability to converse, engage in word play, enjoy verbal banter. He misses the emotional and intellectual connection that has been eradicated in this highly regulated, compartmentalized society. She learns, in her undercover meetings with the fairly high ranking Commander, the impetus for the coup, what they hoped to accomplish, what they still hope to attain in this newly restructured society.

Through the Commander, Atwood warns of extremism: extreme political views, extreme social views, extreme religious views, and extreme reliance on technology--all elements we battle in our own contemporary world. When one group superimposes its own singular viewpoint on others, everyone in society loses. Even those whose will is powerfully enforced will find that something is lost. The Commander says, "You can't make an omelette without breaking eggs." He says this to justify the sacrifices made by some, presumably for the greater good. What he doesn't realize, though, is that he, too, has sacrificed something, and that what they thought was the greater good might not have been so after all.

A caveat: if you decide to pick up this book (and I think you should), be sure to read the Historical Notes at the end. I have recommended this book to friends and students many times and have realized that the notes at the end can be misleading. It looks like an addendum--perhaps Atwood's research notes. Many bypass this section as they might a preface or a forward. However, in this case, it is, in fact, part of the novel itself. If you don't read it, you haven't actually read the end of the book, and it does make a difference. Offred says in the novel, "Context is all," and here the Historical Notes, closing chapter in the book, give a new context that has bearing on the perspective of the rest of the novel.

--Donna