The Girl Who Was on Fire

by Leah Wilson, Jennifer Barnes, Mary Borsellino, Sarah Brennan

  Decadence is also seen in the neo-classical architecture of Panem’s grand columned buildings, reflecting the Roman influence once again. The purpose of the architecture in ancient Rome was to demonstrate Rome’s power over the rest of the world, and its wealth. It was large, it was audacious, it was decadently decorated with frescos, friezes, and other forms of statuary, sometimes even painted in gold. We get glimpses of comparable architecture in Catching Fire at the celebration in the Capitol. The banquet room has forty-foot-high ceilings, musicians seemingly float on white clouds halfway up, the floor is covered with flower gardens and ponds are filled with exotic fish. And tables are replaced by sofas “so that people can eat and drink ... in the utmost comfort” just as the ancient Romans did (Catching Fire).

  And though not ancient Roman–inspired, architecture as decadence can also be seen in President Snow’s greenhouse in Mockingjay. Such a building requires a great deal of upkeep and money to maintain, and the purpose of Snow’s is not even food production—it’s the ability to grow roses year round. Its description as too sweet, almost suffocating in its heat, is a great reminder of the excess it represents.

  Thanks to the way the series begins, with Katniss in District 12, the reader has no doubt that behind all this decadence is a large population working to support it. Like the bottom row of cheerleaders in the pyramid, the job of the districts is to prop up the Capitol. Each district provides a particular resource to the rest of the country. Or so it is said. From the beginning of The Hunger Games, however, we know there is not enough food to go around, not enough building supplies to construct solid homes to protect people from the elements. Product is being made, but it is clear that the Capitol is getting the lion’s share. None of it is being consumed by the districts.

  We see even more grotesque examples of the many supporting the few, most notably with the Avoxes who serve at the pleasure of the Capitol’s citizens. Yes, they are supposedly being punished for crimes by having their tongues cut out and being forced to work as slaves. But through Katniss we are well aware that the crimes they are being punished for are not always things such as murder and rape, but rather speaking out against the Capitol, or trying to run away from a horrible situation. Or being difficult. They are the perfect metaphor for the power structure of Panem: like the districts, they serve the Capitol in silent obedience.

  Of course, you can’t turn everyone into an Avox; You can’t punish an entire population, though it appears the Capitol has tried to do just that. And when an entire population grows restless, the result is change. A society of workers who might be weak from lack of nutrition but still strong from day labor has a definite advantage over a society of overripe, unhealthy citizens who haven’t lifted so much as a pen in recent memory.

  What history has shown us is that a state of decadence simply can’t last. Invariably such a society collapses. There are usually two ways the breakdown happens. The first takes place when the economy of the decadent society simply cannot support its citizens’ lifestyle. When people spend more and indulge more than they actually can afford to do. We saw something similar happen recently, in the last recession. The drive to have “things” caused people to spend what they didn’t have, and banks were granting loans to people who could not afford to pay them back. When a society is founded on a lie, like on fake money, well, that’s not going to end too well. Like a house built on sand, eventually it’s going to sink.

  The other way that such a society comes tumbling down is through revolution. A system of the few living off the many simply cannot last. When the majority of people are the ones creating the products that sustain just a few people, in the end all those hard-working people are going to realize, “Hey, wait a minute. There are more of us than of them.” History has witnessed this pattern time and time again. The fall of Rome. The French Revolution.

  Usually it’s a combination of both financial irresponsibility and the few holding down the many that leads to the inevitable fall.

  So really it should come to no surprise to anyone in power that such a revolution takes shape in the world of the Hunger Games. After all, the Games themselves exist specifically to demonstrate the Capitol’s power over the populace, to help prevent such a revolution from happening.

  Thus the Games represent more than just the decadence of a society seeking greater and greater thrills. They are, at the same time, a demonstration of how to keep the masses in their place. But the Games also end up serving as a catalyst for revolution, a means to reach the millions of citizens whose shoulders are starting to ache horribly from holding up the rest of the pyramid.

  Truly, it’s been a long time since the title of a series was so apt.

  This really is the story of the Hunger Games.

  Collins says it best in Mockingjay when she has Plutarch, in conversation with Katniss, directly reference Ancient Rome:

  “Panem et Circenses translates into ‘Bread and Circuses’. The writer was saying that in return for full bellies and entertainment, his people had given up their political responsibilities and therefore their power.”

  I think about the Capitol. The excess of food. And the ultimate entertainment. The Hunger Games.

  The idea here is that, by entertaining the citizens of the Capitol, the government can distract them from realizing what it is doing to the rest of the country. Focusing on small details of the Games, on the odds of who will win, on the costumes worn by the contestants, and the excitement of the Games themselves replaces greater concerns over politics or the state of poverty elsewhere in the country—even the truly cruel nature of the Games themselves.

  The Capitol isn’t the only area being entertained to distraction, however. The goal is also to distract the districts. After all, you have to give people something to take their minds off their suffering or all they will do is dwell on it. And dwelling on it can lead to unpleasant results, like coming to the conclusion that it might be a neat idea to revolt.

  So the Hunger Games become like the gladiator combats of old, set even in their own coliseum, though the arena for the Games is much more elaborate and the action is relayed not to an audience in the stands but rather to all of Panem with the help of television. Entertainment on a massive scale.

  We can see how such distractions are used in our own society: the film boom in the ’30s during the Great Depression, for example. And even now as our world is in serious financial trouble we have fantastical epic films rising in popularity. These films allow an audience to escape the less pleasant aspects of their lives compellingly and completely.

  Not only does such entertainment distract during the actual Games, it also becomes something aspirational. So just as we have people today longing to be famous for no other reason than to be famous, the Hunger Games provide a similar opportunity. Not only is there pride and celebrity in being the winner of such a huge event broadcast to the entire population, there are the rewards given to the winning tribute’s district as well, like extra food. So instead of the Games’ being horrific events to try to avoid, for some—like the “Careers” in Districts 1 and 2, children who are trained from a young age to compete in the Games—it becomes a mark of honor to win. And yet ironically, by supporting the Games in order to earn such benefits as food rewards, these districts are supporting the very thing that keeps them down and prevents them from having enough food in the first place.

  But of course, the Games’ most nefarious purpose is to remind the masses who is in charge:

  As our yearly reminder that the Dark Days must never be repeated, [the government] gave us the Hunger Games ... Whatever words they use, the real message is clear. “Look how we take your children and sacrifice them and there’s nothing you can do. If you lift a finger we will destroy every last one of you.” (The Hunger Games)

  It is hard not to fear a power that can so easily, thoughtlessly sacrifice the lives of children. If they are willing to do that, well, what else might they do? Better to stay obedient and alive than risk a wo
rse form of retaliation.

  And yet, in the end, the Hunger Games become a message of good, the platform for revolution. Of course, Katniss doesn’t realize how her small act of rebellion will start a greater one, but for people to see sacrifice in a place where everyone only indulges in their own selfish wants, her small gesture in threatening to eat the poisonous berries rather than killing Peeta to save herself is enough to spark hope in people. The metaphor of the girl catching fire is very apt.

  However, the Hunger Games isn’t telling the story of a society’s return to goodness, of the fall from decadence to the rise of equality. It is instead telling our story—the story of our world and the continuous cycle civilization seems to spin over and over again. It isn’t focused on black and white, good and bad, but rather on highlighting the grey. The saviors of the country—the rebels—are presented in stark contrast to the Capitol. On the one side we have President Snow, a man who epitomizes decadence turning to decay, who epitomizes wastefulness and indulgence. He’s an overripe fruit verging on rotting, and even smells a little too sweet. Never has something as beautiful as a rose seemed so threatening and sickening.

  On the other side we have Coin, the President of District 13 and the incarnation of pragmatism. Her world is one of strictly enforced limits, where everyone gets enough to eat, but only just enough. Pleasure is secondary to survival. In 13, citizens have their schedules dictated to them and must not indulge themselves in anything, an imposed restraint that is for the benefit of the community at large.

  We see in Snow and Coin two ends of a spectrum who oddly have much in common. Both have a deep distrust of the masses and believe they must be kept on a tight leash. And when Coin, upon winning the war, suggests doing one last Hunger Games as a logical solution to show the citizens of the Capitol who’s in charge now, well, we see the exact same rationale for the Games that Snow used.

  Coin has so much in common with Snow that it is easy to envision a government with her in charge ending up in a familiar place. The people would be yet again subjected to harsh rules “for their own good,” this time rules of self-restraint. They would eventually reach a breaking point and once more seek to change the way they are being forced to live. After so many years without any kind of luxury or indulgence, who wouldn’t want to be a little selfish? A society of indulgence will slowly develop and the cycle of decadence and downfall will begin all over again.

  The Hunger Games suggests the only way to break out of the cycle is a third choice: moderation. Neither Snow nor Coin. The world of Mockingjay’s epilogue is hardly one that is bright and new. But it is one where the Capitol no longer has power over the other districts, where District 12 shuts down the dangerous mines and turns to producing medicine instead, and where, importantly, the history of what happened before is taught. It is clear that this is a society that understands that remembering the mistakes of the past is the only way to prevent them from recurring in the future. But the biggest sign that the society has truly changed is the toppling of a symbol—the end of the Hunger Games.

  Can a cycle ever truly be broken? Is society always doomed to repeat the patterns of the past? Certainly our own history seems to reflect that theory. Time and time again people indulge in decadence until we self-destruct, only to do it all over again. But the end of Mockingjay seems to suggest otherwise. Though many have found it bleak, I personally see a great deal of optimism. Suzanne Collins could have chosen to give us Coin as president, an example of a continuous pattern, mistakes just waiting to be made again. Instead she gives us a song. And children. And though “they play on a graveyard” (Mockingjay), the important thing is that they are free to play.

  ADRIENNE KRESS is a Toronto born actor and author. Her books are Alex and the Ironic Gentleman and Timothy and the Dragon’s Gate (Weinstein Books). She is a theatre graduate of the University of Toronto and the London Academy of Music and Dramatic Arts in the UK. Published around the world, Alex and the Ironic Gentlemen was featured in the New York Post as a “Post Potter Pick,” as well as on the CBS Early Show. It won the Heart of Hawick Children’s Book Award in the UK and was nominated for the Red Cedar. The sequel, Timothy, was nominated for the Audie and Manitoba Young Readers Choice Awards.

  Her debut YA novel, The Friday Society, will be published by Dutton in 2012. Visit her website at www.adriennekress.com.

  COMMUNITY IN THE FACE OF TYRANNY

  How a Boy with a Loaf of Bread and a Girl with a Bow Toppled an Entire Nation

  BREE DESPAIN

  By the end of the first book, it’s obvious to just about everybody that the Capitol made a mistake in letting Katniss take Prim’s place in the Hunger Games. What isn’t obvious is why. Katniss doesn’t intentionally stir up dissent, and she certainly isn’t the cause. The people of Panem were unhappy long before Katniss appeared on their television screens. So what is it about our heroine that makes her such a threat? Bree Despain suggests that the answer lies in Katniss’ greatest skill—not her dexterity with a bow, but her knack for creating community wherever she goes.

  Being a tyrant is easy, really. All you have to do is take away people’s freedom. Many people in today’s society take certain liberties for granted: freedom of speech, freedom to assemble, free commerce, free press, and more simple freedoms such as travel and easy communication—all things that make a community strong and viable. But what if in one swift movement all of these liberties were taken away? That’s what the Capitol did to the districts of Panem. After the first unsuccessful rebellion of the districts against the Capitol seventy-five years ago, the Capitol retaliated by taking every measure it could to destroy the feeling of community within the districts and between the districts, controlling and isolating people in order to keep them from rebelling again.

  The most literal meaning of community is “to give among each other.” Essentially, to share something amongst a group—whether that’s information (communication), goods, common goals, or a sense of family. If you destroy the ability, or simply the desire, to give or to share amongst a group of people, you will destroy the heart of the community. And if you destroy the heart of community and replace it with fear, then you will control the people.

  The Capitol does this first by keeping many of the people in the districts on the brink of starvation. It controlled the food sources, outlawing hunting and forcing parents to sign over their children’s potential futures (and any sense of security or innocence that should come from being a child) in exchange for tesserae food rations. Only a privileged few outside the Capitol, especially in the poorer districts, have enough money to buy goods from the baker and the butcher (and I imagine the candlestick-maker). And those few aren’t going to complain about the needs of the less fortunate for fear of losing their privileged status. The Capitol keeps the people hungry enough that all anyone has the energy to think about is how to feed themselves.

  Second, the Capitol instituted public flogging and curfews, and trained dastardly “Peacekeepers” to watch the people’s every move in order to force them to keep their heads down for fear of punishment. It surrounded the districts with giant electrified fences to keep people from interacting with, or traveling to, other districts. Almost all forms of long-distance communication have ceased to exist throughout the districts, and what little is permitted (television propaganda, and the telephones in the victors’ mansions) is constantly monitored. It is also apparent that within the Capitol itself, and parts of the districts, the people are monitored by cameras so they are not free to communicate without reprisal.

  The Capitol even instituted an “ultimate punishment” for major infractions: cutting out the offending person’s tongue, therefore making him or her unable to communicate—and in result unable to function properly within the community. The Avox is removed from his/her family and forced into a life of slavery. The ultimate punishment is ultimate isolation.

  Considering all this, the Capitol may seem like a shining city on a hill for budding despots everywhere. So wher
e did it go wrong? What was the fatal mistake that lead to its downfall?

  There were two mistakes, actually: the institution of the Hunger Games, and allowing the existence of a teenage girl like Katniss Everdeen from a place like District 12.

  The Hunger Games

  When you first think about the concept of the Hunger Games, it may seem like the perfect way to instill ultimate fear in the hearts of district citizens. The Games were created to punish the districts for their original attempt at rebellion, and to remind them of the uselessness of trying to oppose the almighty Capitol. The districts must sacrifice their children, a most precious commodity in any community, to the Capitol’s sick idea of amusement. The mostly defenseless children are then forced to isolate themselves and fight to the death in an arena for mandatory public viewing on television—therefore symbolizing to the districts’ citizens the isolation and futility of their own lives.

  The Capitol instituted the Hunger Games to create derision and strife among the districts by pitting them against each other and making them hope for the other districts’ children to be slaughtered instead of their own. But as Laura Miller from the New Yorker’s review of the first two books in the Hunger Games trilogy points out, “the practice of carrying off a population’s innocent children and commanding their parents to watch them be slaughtered for entertainment—wouldn’t that do more to provoke a rebellion than to head one off?”