It’s a dystopian world, and North America is now called Panem, divided into twelve districts. District 12 is down at the bottom, an impoverished, coal-mining misery pit. Survival is a daily struggle, but once a year, it’s time for The Hunger Games.
A boy and a girl are chosen from each district. These “Tributes,” as they’re called, are moved to The Capitol, where they are pampered and trained, all in preparation for the main event: one day, before a live nationwide audience, The Hunger Games begin. They end when just one of the Tributes is left alive.
The entire spectacle is covered on TV, and wagering is intense.
Katniss Everdeen is 16 years old, a scrappy survivor from District 12. She and a boy she knows from home are drawn as tributes. And the rules say, only one of the 24 Tributes selected nationwide will survive.
From reading my review so far, The Hunger Games is not the type of book I would like.
Damn, would I be wrong. Katniss Everdeen is a wonderful heroine, strong both physically and emotionally. Her father was killed when she was young, and it’s Katniss who’s had to provide for her mother and younger sister.
I found it impossible not to be drawn into this world, which is redolent with both misery and incredible beauty. The action never drags, and Suzanne Collins’ writing shows this world, warts and all, without overstating the bleakness.
The Hunger Games surprised me. I can’t wait to start the sequel, “Catching Fire,” tomorrow.
Brilliant, and highly recommended.