Revisit Panem for Haymitch’s Quarter Quell

I first read the original Hunger Games trilogy in one delirious gulp, stranded indoors by a Buffalo snowstorm for a long weekend. It was 2011, and I was 23 years old. Not exactly the target audience for the books, but within spitting distance of it. Barack Obama was president — it was the era of “Yes We Can.” I was still new to the adult world and found kindred spirits in Katniss, Peeta and their ilk. The Hunger Games felt like the world did then — new, energizing and fresh. Like things could change for the better if only a few teenagers with the right balance of spunk and smarts showed up.

Today, I’m 37, older, more jaded, but not necessarily wiser. When I was sent a coveted early copy of Sunrise on the Reaping, the second prequel to the original Hunger Games trilogy following 2020’s The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, I couldn’t help but think back to that first, furious read.

There are three ways to read Sunrise on the Reaping, the latest in Suzanne Collins’ groundbreaking young adult dystopia series. The first is as it’s meant to be read — by a teenager in the throes of the particular angst of their demographic, which feels unique to each new generation.

The second way is to approach it as a fictional adventure in the isolation fantasy affords. None of us live in Panem, after all. Our society doesn’t send teenagers to fight each other to the death and watch it on live TV as a form of entertainment and recompense for a long-ago rebellion. We aren’t divided into districts by the goods we produce, and most of us (let’s be honest) wouldn’t survive the Reaping if it did exist.

The third option is the way I couldn’t help but devour the book as an adult who also reads the news — as a commentary on the times we’re living in and as a rallying cry against the forces that would divide us. That’s the way I recommend adults read it, because there’s lots to be gleaned through that lens.

This prequel follows Haymitch Abernathy, the mentor we first met in the original trilogy. It’s his birthday and Reaping Day, the day when contestants are chosen for the Games from every district.

He wants what every teen boy does — to shirk off work, hang out with his girl Lenore Dove and go home to his birthday dinner with his ma and younger brother, Sid. But this is the Quarter Quell, the 50th Hunger Games, and in the first major twist that I won’t spoil for you here, Haymitch finds himself sent to the Games. His birthday, it’s fair to say, is pretty well ruined.

From there, the book follows a familiar format to the previous four. Anyone who’s read the others — and you should before diving into this one — will slip back into the rhythm like a warm bath. It’s a little on the nose at times, sure. The love story can tend toward the broadly painted, but remember this is a book for teens just discovering the first flushes of love. If it didn’t feel a little sappy, that’d be a different sort of problem.

But there’s something about Sunrise that hits differently. Maybe it’s Haymitch’s refusal to bend to authority or the subtle (and not-so-subtle) ways he sabotages the Capital’s plans at every turn.

Maybe it’s the lines Collins inserts at key moments that brought me up short and reminded me why so many adults read fantasy in the first place. Lines that felt, if not like a poison dart aimed at our current political situation, then like an awfully lucky shot. Consider: “If you can get people to laugh at someone, it makes them look weak.” 

Or, “You should know that, despite appearances, a desire for freedom is not limited to the Districts.”

There’s enough time spent on the stark difference between what really happens in the arena and the heavily edited version shown to the Districts that’s awfully close to what we see on social media — and all media for that matter.

But what I really took from Sunrise on the Reaping is a reminder that Collins is awfully good at what she does — the sharp descriptions, the heart-pounding battles, the creative punishments and machinations in the Arena that make me wonder what goes on between her ears — and that readers of all ages would do well to take another trip to Panem. It’s a life-giving book, no matter what you think of the world we’re living in now. Because it reminds us that unity is worth something. In some cases, it’s worth everything. 

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As Collins puts it: “Where there’s life, there’s hope.” Or, if you prefer: “I’m nobody’s idea of a hero … But at least I’m still in the game.”

Sunrise on the Reaping is on sale now, wherever books are sold.