Thirst for "The Hunger Games"

I was told that I had to read them!! 

"They're AMAZING!" They said. 

But, if I'm honest, when I finished the first in the trilogy of The hunger games, I wasn't overly impressed. 

The writings of Suzanne Collins and the subsequent films have sparked worldwide adoration and a deeply entrenched admiration of leading actress Jennifer Lawrence and an unshakeable crush on Josh Hutcherson.

I don't doubt the concept of the book. In fact, the dystopian genre was the genre that first enthused me to write. I loved the idea of writing about a place that didn't exist and didn't have to make sense. I always found, once I picked up my pen and settled myself, that writing as much as reading was a manner of escapism. I was fascinated about the mind's ability to leave this world; and I still am. How little me can live in a dualism and even completely create something so abstract as a new world. 

In this way, The hunger games struck a chord with me. The idea of living in Panem spurred me simply to read page to page. But what I loved most was the concept of the games. 

Everyone likes a book that you can't end yourself; especially me, which is why I find Jodi Picoult's book so intriguing. The thought that goes into her writing and the deep inter-woven and complex relations make her stories simply unforgettable! It was these complex relations that I admired in The hunger games. I was constantly figuring out who I would kill, if anyone. I knew I would sacrifice myself and wondered if Katniss would do the same. I certainly would not have made alliances with ANYONE. The choice between Peter, who Katniss and even I, fell in love with and a mother and sister so desperately dependent on you was what kept me reading. 

But beneath all the deep and intricate thoughts, the beauty of the possible complexity and intermingled relationships, the execution of the book left me, unfortunately, less than impressed. Understandably, as it is aimed at you get readers than my 18 year old self, the book was engaging with the constant cliff-hangers and engaging narrative. 

I was disappointed by the ending on more than one account. The plot line that detailed Peter and Katniss being the last two in the arena, to the change in rules and then their declaration of  being the winners must have spanned about 3 unfulfilling pages. I neither felt as though Katniss' crime was horrendous nor merited a punishment which is written into the second in the series; "Catching Fire". 

It was almost as though Suzanne Collins seems to rush to publication. The ending (with all unintended rudeness and dismissal on my behalf) seemed to scream, quite possibly like Katniss Everdeen; "I'm done! TAKE ME HOME!!" 

But I know I can't really talk - although I've done very well. Writing is not only about being original and being unique but about writing what sells. No one will publish your novel unless it can be sold and make profit. So I must credit Suzanne Collins because certainly it seems that this type of novel is just what the public ordered! 

Ten minute trip down 'special lane'

Uni, if anything, has been a massive learning curve. In my independence, I've found all about the weird intricacies of my mind; how happy eating tinned sweetcorn makes me, how closing any drawer in my room after having opened it requires more effort than it's worth and how I am in absolutely LOVE with literary symbolism.

I'm very stubborn, though it might not seem so. I listen to others and accept their opinions but interpretation allows me to always be 'right'. The thing is, I couldn't care less if I was right or wrong, I just want to have a say. I want to say something that makes someone stop and think; actually, you do have a point. In an argument, I don't think there is ever just one winning statement. Maybe I'm biased because I can't debate for toffee but I believe that each person can win in the same debate with multiple good points and so whilst I may agree with what you're saying, I can counter your statement in more ways than one.

I was walking home from Uni today in black leggings, some brogues, my one and only scarf draped round my neck with a vest top, red coat and woolen cardigan in-between. It's an old cardigan, one of my favourites. It has a hole, only small, and, despite the fact that I can sew, the great tear in the fabric never worried me quite enough to have me fetch my needle and thread. In fact, it's a good job I never did, because I probably wouldn't be sat here writing this post.

My hands, in the winter, seldom leave my pockets. I love the image; girl walking through a street of fallen leaves, ankles boots, hair pulled back and her hands burrowed in a coat.

So there mine were, in my pockets when two of the fingers fell through the hole. I looked down and saw them poking through. A pair cold reeds quilted by wool. I walked, for a moment, thinking of nothing else but a scene from The Polar Express; when the young boy takes his hand, puts it through his dressing gown pocket and finds it empty. His two fingers come poking out the end.

I don't know why I had the need but I began to question: what does this mean? I was reliving a scene from a cartoon film. But why?

(Yes, these are the kind of things that go through my mind!)

I concluded, after much thought and multiple possibilities, that someone was trying to tell me something. The boy in the film loses the bauble that he was given by Father Christmas. If the boy believed in him he would hear a ringing when the the ball was shaken. If he didn't he would hear silence.

What had someone given me that I wasn't meant to lose? Was someone going to give me something that I was supposed to keep hold of? Was there someone I needed to believe in? Something?

Or was I just meant to sew up that hole?

This all occurred in one 10 minute walk from the bus to my front door. But it's the symbolism. I don't know why I had to attach some meaning to the laziness of not sewing up a hole. What if I'd have looked at my fingers from another angle, what would I have seen? What if I hadn't have looked at my fingers at all? Or was that just it; was I meant to see?

Things like these will endlessly entertain me. I could think of a thousand scenarios. A million interpretations. Symbolism will just never fail to please me. But, in a sense, I'm so glad that it does. I think I've always been a little eccentric. The oddball. The kid obsessed with watching the butcher fill sausages - I'm literally obsessed! But I don't think that's weird - well, maybe the sausage part - it's definitely not a bad thing; it just makes my life a lot more fun!