Let us now turn our attention to a story of a bunch of people who are pitted against each other in a vicious, high stakes game of blood sport. No, I’m not talking about the Trump Administration. I’m talking about The Hunger Games.
Maybe you knew that a new installment in Suzanne Collins’ series came out a couple of months ago. Of course, it’s another prequel. This one focuses on Haymitch Abernathy, the prickly, drunken mentor of Katniss Everdeen. This novel seeks to explain Haymitch’s life in District 12, how he was chosen for the 50th annual Hunger Games in The Capital, and how he came to be the wrung-out drunkard who mentored Katniss and Peeta in the original books.
Let me warn my two readers that spoilers abound from this point. I advise you to go read Sunrise on the Reaping yourselves, form your own conclusions, then come back to absorb my obviously correct opinions.
Yes, Haymitch takes center stage in this story. When I first heard about it, I was excited. Next to Katniss, Haymitch was always my favorite character from the books. I should also say that I was less than impressed with Woody Harrelson’s interpretation of him from the movies. Woody’s version played Haymitch as a boozer who was a burn-out, but who was humorous and charming underneath the prickliness. As the movies progress, he evolves to affectionate avuncularity toward Katniss.
I realize that this is subjective, but how many of you who read the original trilogy got the impression that Haymitch was always kind of a jerk, even before he survived the Hunger Games and became an unwilling mentor under the boot of President Snow?
If you took this vibe from the book version, you’re not alone. I too got the idea that Haymitch was never really a warm, cuddly person. This is a perfectly reasonable take. If you know anyone who is of above average intelligence, you’ll often find that they are not particularly nice or endearing people. In my experience, ultra-smart people seldom suffer fools gladly, have very little patience with opinions that differ from their own and are not particularly adept at effectively communicating their inner voice to the outer world. In other words, they may have plenty of intellect, but they are often lacking in emotional awareness or empathy.
That was book Haymitch to a T. Of course, Katniss comes to know him as a tragic, solitary alcoholic who has no tolerance for her willful, headstrong ways, especially when he is proven right in the face of her stubbornness. It is a credit to Collins that, despite the current trend of girl power in young adult fiction, she writes Katniss as a flawed human being who indeed discovers that Haymitch (a man) kind of knows what he’s talking about when she is out of her depth.
I prefer Haymitch, the irascible asshole we come to know in the original Katniss trilogy. What if you peeled back the layers of pre-Hunger Games Haymitch and discovered that he was, in fact, kind of a prick all along? Would that not make him a character worthy of exploration? Would that mean that he couldn’t have a moral center? Think of Dr. Gregory House. Before he experienced muscle death in his leg and used it disability as an excuse to become a pill-popping dick, he was still an unpleasant, unhappy person. Yet, House did have a moral code that helped to redeem him for the audience. Why do we need to sanitize this notion in a dystopian world of authoritarianism and autocracy? In fact, wouldn’t an arrogant, smartass Haymitch be a more lamentable figure when he ultimately loses his battle with President Snow than watching Mr. Nice Guy get owned? Even if he were a full-fledged jerk, Haymitch has plenty of reasons to be prickly, even before the games. He’s a super smart kid living under the yoke of an oppressive regime with a bunch of indigent people who are dumber than he is. Why is that a story not worth telling?
If you agree with my impressions of Haymitch, you may find Sunrise on the Reaping to be a disappointment. When we meet Haymitch for the first time, he’s a relatively normal, happy kid. Like Katniss, he’s taking care of his family in the impoverished, oppressed District 12. He’s also in love with a gypsy music girl named, Lenore Dove. I mean, like, really in love, like, teenage boy love. Love, like, he talks to the spirit of Lenore while he’s in the arena. If you want to give alcoholic Haymitch a run for his money, play a drinking game wherein you take a big gulp every time Suzanne Collins writes the catch phrase, “I love you like all fire.” Take two drinks every time Haymitch says some variation of, “Time to play the rascal.” Take three drinks every time he cries.
Did we really need all that lovey-dovey shit? I’m a big romantic at heart and I dig a good love story as much as the next straight guy, but come on! God knows we got plenty of that in the Katniss Chronicles with her emotional oscillations between Gale and Peeta. Even future President Snow got smitten with his tribute. Why couldn’t Haymitch just be in love with Edgar Allan Poe and have done with it?
Whoa there! I’m putting the chariot before the horse. Sorry ‘bout that. Anyway, as the story opens, Haymitch is actually in a happy relationship with a girl, is nice to his younger brother, loves his mama and only pretends to be a rakish rascal from time to time in order to annoy adult authority figures. But he’s a good kid at heart and it shows. There’s also nothing to suggest that Haymitch possesses brilliance-level intelligence. Sure, he’s a smart kid with some streetwise cred, but he’s not a genius by any stretch.
Of course, Haymitch’s tranquil existence goes shitside up when, through a twist of fate, he is selected for the 50th Hunger Games. He is ripped away from his family, his girlfriend and his mostly peaceful life in order that he may provide the rich, entitled citizens of The Capital with some gladiatorial combat for their amusement.
I should note here that, if you want to thumbnail version of How Haymitch wins the games, you need only consult Chapter 14 of the second HG novel, Catching Fire, in which Katniss and Peeta watch the tape of Haymitch’s experiences. You can capture the entirety of the events in about four minutes, including how Haymitch wins the contest. Collins knows this, of course, so she has to add some extra plot elements and backstory to elevate the emotional stakes for veteran readers. In service of this, we get return engagements with familiar characters like Plutarch Heavensbee, Effie Trinket, Mags and, of course, President Snow. In Catching Fire, we are left to conclude that Haymitch found the edge of the arena containing the force field because he was smart enough to deduce that it was there. In the current novel, we discover that Haymitch figures it out because he is carrying out a mission assigned to him by Plutarch, who is already a clandestine rebel.
If you want more of what made the original Hunger Games novels so dark and gritty, you get plenty of it here. We have a blood-soaked slaughter with many heartbreaking deaths, some of which involve children who don’t even shave yet. There’s a plot involving a tribute named Louella McCoy that is particularly shattering. We get action, treachery, resourcefulness of the main character and random terror from mutated animals (called mutts) that add that extra bit of demonic intensity. We are treated to carnivorous squirrels, electric butterflies, poison apples and a porcupine with lethal projectile quills.
What we don’t really get is a story that we haven’t already been told. We already know that President Snow is an evil, vindictive man who will render Haymitch’s victor a hollow one. We already know that the Hunger Games are terribly, relentlessly savage. We already know that Haymitch drinks to dull the physical, emotional and psychological pain over the trauma of the games. Even with the extra frosting Collins has added to the cake, we don’t really learn much about the bleak and brutal world of Panem.
All that said, Collins deserves a lot of credit. In a world where creative types (especially young adult authors) wear their politics on their sleeves and bludgeon their readers with it, she has always played her hand close to the vest. My limited research has not turned up any interview where she has sounded off about war, class disparity, media propaganda or even climate change. Aside from some general comments in service of her books, she doesn’t use her position as a soapbox. Her messages are evident, but she allows the readers to form their own conclusions.
One of her obvious points concerns state-sponsored media disinformation. When Katniss and Peeta watch the tape of Haymitch’s contest, they are viewing a deceptively edited final product, courtesy of The Capital. The point of Sunrise on the Reaping is that Haymitch’s authentic story can now be shared with the fans. The behind-the-scenes account is meant to be poignant and devastating, but for me, it didn’t really land. The softened Haymitch is too different from the image I had conceived in my mind’s eye.
As is always the case with prequels, we get a lot of box-checking. Where did Madge get the MockingJay pin? Check. Is Mags an extra tragic figure? Check. Did Haymitch know Katniss’s parents when they were kids. Check? We even learn the *real* reason why Haymitch always calls Katniss, “Sweetheart.” Hint: He’s not patronizing or needling her as we originally assumed. Bummer.
It would be the irony of ironies of Collins herself fell victim to media influence in the writing of this book. I’m referring to the Woody Harrelson version of Haymitch from the movies. As I read this novel, it struck me that the Haymitch we come to know in Sunrise in the Reaping would be a dead ringer for the Harrelson version of the character. What if Suzanne Collins gave us unfiltered, undiluted Haymitch in her original trilogy, but then the movies colored even her perceptions of the character? Remember that the last HG novel was published in 2010, almost two years before the first movie. How’s that for irony?
I’m approaching this book with a critical eye, but I really did enjoy it. I certainly liked it better than the previous installment dealing with the backstory of Coriolanus Snow, though I also do recommend that one for HG enthusiasts. In fact, in another paradox, I found A Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes to be less entertaining, but more informative than Sunrise on the Reaping.
The 50th Quarter Quell was more straight forward and less circuitous. I guess I just want to know why we couldn’t get Haymitch the jerk, rather than Haymitch the nice boy who’s just putting on an act for The Capital? Could it be that Collins didn’t want anyone (particularly male readers) to interpret her treating Haymitch the jerk respectfully as a tacit endorsement of *gasp* “toxic male behavior?” “How dare you call Katniss sweetheart, you mansplainer!” In a contemporary world where male figures like Donald Trump, Elon Musk and J. D. Vance are viewed as heroes by scores of young men, Collins may have felt it paramount to show Haymitch as a paragon of male virtue; or at least, the leftist stereotype of it.
There is certainly plenty of wiggle room in my theory. Maybe folks should read the book and decide for themselves. Whatever you do, go reread the original Katniss trilogy. Those books hold up beautifully. In fact, I’ve seen a few pundits on Twitter recently crapping on the books as, “Fifth grade level material.” All due respect…go chew on a tracker jacker. The Hunger Games is a compelling piece of fiction that has a lot of important things to say. My compliments to Suzanne Collins for bringing this dark, soul-crushing world to life so vividly.
Sidebar: I read The Hunger Games in 2012, four years before I got my first cat. When I reread it, the scene near the end of MockingJay when Katniss is reunited with Buttercup just wrecked me. I mean…I’m glad Kylie doesn’t judge. I should also mention that Katniss wasn’t a warm and cuddly girl either. She wanted to drown Buttercup until her sister interfered. What kind of twisted freak does that!?
I see that a movie about Sunrise on the Reaping is already in production. It will be released sometime in 2026. I’ll probably go see it. So what’s next on Collins’ list of prequels. Personally, I’d love the backstory of President Alma Coin. Remember her? I bet the progressives won’t like that one. President Coin proved that the resistance often become the tyrants when they win. Even if Suzanne Collins were willing to write it, I bet Hollywood won’t want to film it. Plutarch Heavensbee would be so, so disappointed.
Before I go, here’s a glimpse into my blind world, which is like District 102 in the world of minority intersectionality. I read the audiobook version of Sunrise on the Reaping. The narrator, Jefferson White, didn’t have the right voice for Haymitch. His voice was a tenor with a rasp to it. Think a more refined, slightly more effeminate version of Bob Odenkirk. I got used to him, but it did put a dampener on my reading experience. Santino Fontana was just lousy. He sounds like a glorified voice-over artist doing radio commercials.
Erin Jones, however, the BARD narrator of the original trilogy, did masterful work. You sighted Capital dwellers will have to be content with Carolyn McCormick, who does a good job, but Erin Jones is better. Erin, wherever you are, God bless you. Thank you for bringing Panem to life for us blind folk. Great job, sweetheart.