I am always interested in the representations of strength in women, where that strength comes from, how it is called upon when it is needed most, and what it costs for a woman to be strong.
All too often, representations of a woman’s strength overlook that cost.
The Hunger Games, released in 2008, is the first book in a trilogy by Suzanne Collins. Catching Fire and Mockingjay, the next two books, were released in 2009 and 2010. The franchise was an instant success. More than 2.9 million copies of the books are in print. There are more than twenty foreign editions. The Hunger Games was on the New York Times bestseller list for 100 weeks. There are special editions. There is merchandise including a Katniss Barbie, which Katniss would absolutely hate. In March 2012, the movie was released and thus far has earned nearly $460 million worldwide. I am part of the problem. I have seen the movie four times and have plans to see it again.
The series tells the story about a young woman, Katniss Everdeen, who doesn’t know her own strength until she is confronted by her need for that strength. She is a young woman who is forced to become stronger in circumstances that might otherwise break her. She is a young woman who has no choice but to fight for survival—for herself, her family, her people.
I have found myself inexplicably drawn to these books, the complex world Collins has created, and the people she has placed in that world.
*
I am not the kind of person who becomes so invested in a book or movie or television show that my interest becomes a hobby or intense obsession, one where I start to declare allegiances, or otherwise demonstrate a serious level of commitment to something fictional I had no hand in creating.
Or, I wasn’t that kind of person.
Let me be clear: Team Peeta. I cannot even fathom how one could be on any other team. Gale? I can barely acknowledge him. Peeta, on the other hand, is everything. He frosts things and bakes bread and is unconditional and unwavering in his love and also he is very, very strong. He can throw a sack of flour, is what I am saying. Peeta is a place of solace and hope and he is a good kisser. My devotion to Peeta is so strong, so serious, I have made a Venn diagram detailing his best qualities, which are many.
*
In December 2011, I didn’t really know much about The Hunger Games. Given my abiding interest in pop culture, I’m not sure how I missed the books.
I do most of my leisure reading at the gym. I hate exercise. Yes, it’s good for you and weight loss and whatever, but normally, I work out and want to die. I really do. I knew I was in love with The Hunger Games when I did not want to get off the treadmill. The book captivated me from the first page. I wanted to keep walking so I could stay in the world Collins created. More than that, The Hunger Games moved me. There was so much at stake, so much drama and it was all so intriguing, so hypnotizing, so intense and dark. I particularly appreciated what the books got right about strength and endurance, suffering and survival. I found myself gasping and hissing and even bursting into tears, more than once. I looked insane but I did not care. I was completely without shame.
After finishing The Hunger Games, I quickly read the next two books in the trilogy—my obsession, at this point, was raging and white hot. I was so invested in the books I couldn’t stop talking about them. I daydreamed about Katniss, Peeta and I suppose, sometimes, stupid Gale as well as the other compelling characters—Cinna, Rue, Thresh, Haymitch, Finnick, Annie. I wanted the best for all of them even when all seemed hopeless, was hopeless.
This obsession intensified well before I realized the first movie would be released in March. That development took things to a whole new level.
I started counting down to the movie well before opening day. I could hardly contain myself. I attended the midnight showing even though I had to teach the next (same) morning. I warned my gentleman friend that he couldn’t mock me for how I reacted during the movie because I knew I was going to get close to the rapture and didn’t want to be judged for it. I live in a small town so I expected that there wouldn’t be many people attending the midnight opening, but AMC screened The Hunger Games on all ten screens and every screening was nearly sold out. My friends and I joked that we were probably some of the oldest people in the auditorium. It was no small relief when we saw some silver-haired folk among us. As we waited, the teenagers and tweens chattered energetically about the books and the casting and whatever else young people talk about these days. Nearly all of them were staring at electronic devices. I thought, “Don’t they have school tomorrow?”
As the movie began, I held my breath. I had so many expectations and I didn’t want those expectations, those hopes, destroyed by Hollywood, a known killer of dreams.
As a fan of The Hunger Games, I was not disappointed. I had feelings throughout the movie, true, mad, deep feelings. Had I been alone, I would have embarrassed myself with vulgar displays of enthusiasm. At times I wanted to spontaneously break into applause just to celebrate the thrill of seeing the book I’ve read so many times, playing out, ten feet high. There was just so much to look at—the set design, the costumes, the glittery cast. The movie was almost cerebral and meticulously faithful to the book when it needed to be. The production values were impeccable with only a few missteps (whatever the hell was going on with Katniss’s flaming outfits, for example). The actors acquitted themselves well. I became even more fervently a member of Team Peeta. I left the movie thrilled with the overall experience of the movie.
As a critic, I recognize the significant flaws, I do, but The Hunger Games was not a movie I am able to watch as a critic. The story means too much to me.
*
The Hunger Games books are not perfect. While the writing is engaging and well paced, the quality of the prose weakens with each successive book. Many of the secondary characters aren’t well developed and at times the plot strains credulity. The third book is rather rushed and some of Collins’s choices felt almost gratuitous, particularly with regard to the characters she chose to kill off. The complete erasure of sexuality is problematic. Intimacy is conveyed through a great deal of kissing to the point that it becomes laughable. It is disturbing that within the world of The Hunger Games, it is perfectly acceptable for teenagers to kill one another and die or otherwise suffer in really violent ways but it is not at all acceptable for them to act on their sexuality.
As I read the trilogy, I was struck, consistently, by the sheer brutality, and yet, the undeniable heart of the story, of the characters, of my dearest Peeta and his devotion for Katniss and how toward the end, even when it seemed hopeless, they found their way to one another. The books’ imperfections are easily forgiven because the best parts of the books are the truest.
*
I am fascinated by strength in women.
People tend to think I’m strong. I’m not. And yet. I identify with Katniss because throughout the trilogy, the people around Katniss expected her to be strong and she did her best to meet those expectations, even when it cost her a great deal.
I come from a loving, tight-knit, imperfect but great family. My parents have always been involved in my life even when I pushed them away. I have wanted for little. One of my biggest weaknesses, one that has always shamed me, is that I have always been lonely. I’ve struggled to make friends because I can be socially awkward, because I’m weird, because I live in my head. When I was young, we moved around a lot so there was rarely any time to get to know a new place, let alone new people. Loneliness was the one familiar thing, making me this bottomless pit of need, open and gaping and desperate for anything to fill me up.
I should not be this way but I am.
When I was young—old enough to like a boy but young enough to have no clue what that meant—there was a boy who I thought was my boyfriend and who said he was my boyfriend but who also completely ignored me at school. It’s a sad, silly story that lots of girls like me know. It was fine because when we were together, he made me feel like he could fill that gaping void inside of me. He was terrible but he was also charming and persuasive. I was nerdy and friendless, all lanky limbs and crazy hair and he was beautiful and popular so I accepted the state of affairs between us.
When we were together, he’d tell me what he wanted to do to me. He wasn’t asking permission. I was not an unwilling participant. I was not a willing participant. I felt nothing one way or the other. I wanted him to love me. I wanted to make him happy. If doing things to my body made him happy, I would let him do anything to my body. My body was nothing to me. It was just meat and bones around that void he filled by touching me. Technically, we didn’t have sex but we did everything else. The more I gave, the more he took. At school, he continued looking right through me. I was dying but I was happy. I was happy because he was happy, because if I gave enough, he might love me. As an adult, I don’t understand how I allowed him to treat me like that. I don’t understand how he could be so terrible. I don’t understand how desperately I sacrificed myself. I was young.
I was always a good girl. I was a straight-A student, top of my class. I did as I was told. I was polite to my elders. I was good to my siblings. I went to church. It was very easy to hide how very bad I was becoming to my family, to everyone. Being good is the best way to be bad.
It never crossed my mind to say no or that I should say no, that I could say no. He started pressuring me to have sex with him. I didn’t say no but I didn’t say yes and I did not want to say yes. I wanted to say no but could not because then I would lose him and I would be nothing again.
One day we were riding our bikes in the woods. About a mile deep, there was an abandoned hunting cabin often used by teenagers to do the things teenagers do when they’re hiding out in the woods. It was disgusting—small, a dirt floor littered with empty beer cans and used condom wrappers and discarded cigarette packs. There was a small bench. The glass in the windows was broken, brown with age. Several of his friends from school were there. I didn’t know them well, had mostly seen them in the halls. They were all popular, handsome. They would never have reason to know a girl like me, quiet, shy, awkward.
I did not understand, not at first. I was very naïve despite all the things I thought I knew. Once I realized what was going on, I assumed that this boy wanted me to give his friends blowjobs. I did not want to do that, to share what I thought was private between this boy and I, but I would have. I could have, if only to make him happy. I told him I wanted us to leave, to continue on our bike ride. I did that. I did try to save myself. I did understand I was not safe. They were all so much bigger than me and I finally felt something. I felt fear but I didn’t know how to say no. I tried to leave, to run out of that cabin but they grabbed me just past the threshold. I screamed. I opened my mouth and I screamed and my voice echoed through the woods and no one came for me. Not one person heard me. We were too far deep.
The boy who I thought was my boyfriend pushed me to the ground. He took my clothes off and I lay there with no body to speak of, just a flat board of skin and girl bones. I tried to cover myself with my arms but I couldn’t, not really. The boys stared at me while they drank beer and laughed and said things I didn’t understand because I knew things but I knew nothing about what a group of boys could do to kill a girl.
I was a good girl who went to church. I had faith. I believed in God then so I prayed. I prayed for God to save me because I could not save me. I whispered Our Father because it was the only prayer I knew by heart. I went to church but spent most of my time daydreaming. I begged God to change those boys’ minds. He didn’t. And then I did say no, I found my voice, and it didn’t matter and I had wasted my first love, my first everything on a boy who thought so very little of me.
They kept me there for hours. It was as bad as you might expect. The repercussions linger. I walked home alone pushing my stupid bike, hating myself for ever thinking this boy loved me. I was a good girl so that’s what my parents saw when I came home a completely different person and went to my room and tried to pull myself together well enough to be the girl everyone knew me to be. I knew I had to hide what happened because I didn’t want to get in trouble, because my parents were strict, because you’re not allowed to have sex before marriage, because I was a good girl, so that’s what I did. I swallowed the truth, which only made that gaping void of need inside me yawn wider.
Just because you survive something does not mean you are strong.
The worst of it was going to school the next day. I didn’t want to but I had no choice. I was a good girl. I went to French class and sat in the second to last row. It was uncomfortable in every way you can imagine. Just as class was about to begin, the boy behind me grabbed my shoulder and I felt a surge of adrenaline and then terror. He stood and leaned into me. He said, “You’re a slut,” and everyone heard and they snickered. Everyone started calling me a slut. When the teacher came in and stood at the front of the room she looked at me differently. If she could have, she would have called me a slut too. I was mortified and trapped. I sat perfectly still and tried to concentrate but all I could hear was the hiss of the word slut. That shame was one of the worst things I have ever known. Slut was my name for the rest of the school year because those boys went and told a very different story about what happened in the woods.
*
In June 2011, Meghan Cox Gurdon wrote an article, in the Wall Street Journal, about how Young Adult fiction has taken too dark a turn, has unnecessarily exposed young readers to complex, difficult situations before they are mature enough to make sense of those situations. She wrote, “If books show us the world, teen fiction can be like a hall of fun-house mirrors, constantly reflecting back hideously distorted portrayals of what life is. There are of course exceptions, but a careless young reader—or one who seeks out depravity—will find himself surrounded by images not of joy or beauty but of damage, brutality and losses of the most horrendous kinds.” She is correct in noting that there is darkness in some Young Adult fiction but she largely ignores the diversity of the genre, and the countless titles that aren’t grounded in damage, brutality, or loss. More troubling, though, is the suggestion that somehow reality should be sanitized for teen readers.
The critical response to Gurdon’s article was swift and passionate from writers and readers alike. Sherman Alexie wrote, “…there are millions of teens who read because they are sad and lonely and enraged. They read because they live in an often-terrible world. They read because they believe, despite the callow protestations of certain adults, that books—especially the dark and dangerous ones—will save them.”
I learned a long time ago that life often introduces young people to situations they are in no way prepared for, even good girls, lucky girls who want for nothing. Sometimes, when you least expect it, you become the girl in the woods. You lose your name because another one is forced on you. You think you are alone until you find books about girls like you. Salvation is certainly among the reasons I read. Reading and writing have always pulled me out of the darkest experiences in my life. Stories have given me a place in which to lose myself. They have allowed me to remember. They have allowed me to forget. They have allowed me to imagine different endings and better possible worlds.
Perhaps I loved the Hunger Games trilogy because the books were, in their own way, a fairy tale and I am always, always in search of a fairy tale.
As I read The Hunger Games, I thought of Gurdon’s article, because I was struck, more than once, by the intensity of the traumas the characters were put through, the relentlessness of that trauma, and the visible effects. At times, I thought, “This is too much,” but I know something of the world now, and there are rarely limits to suffering. In these books, suffering has few limits, and suffering has consequences which, all too often, we forget when narratives neatly imply that everything turns out okay, when narratives imply that it gets better without demonstrating what it takes to get to better. In The Hunger Games, it takes everything.
My love for these books, at its purest, is not really about Peeta or anything silly (though, still). I love that a young woman character is fierce and strong but human in ways I find believable, relatable. Katniss was clearly a heroine, but a heroine with issues. She intrigued me because she never seemed to know her own strength. She wasn’t blandly insecure the way girls are often forced to be in fiction. She was brave but flawed. She was a heroine, but she was also a girl who loved two boys and couldn’t choose which boy she loved best. She was not sure she was up to the task of leading a revolution but she did her best, even when she doubted herself.
Throughout the books, Katniss endures the unendurable. She is damaged and it shows. At times, it might seem like her suffering is gratuitous but life often presents unendurable circumstances people manage to survive. Only the details differ. The Hunger Games trilogy is dark and brutal but in the end, the books also offer hope—for a better world and a better people and for one woman, a better life for herself—a life she can share with a man who understands her strength and doesn’t expect her to compromise that strength, a man who can hold her weak places and love her through the darkest of her memories, the worst of her damage. Of course I love these books. The trilogy offers the kind of tempered hope everyone who survives something unendurable hungers for.
85 responses
this is so beautiful. thank you for writing it…
This is beautiful. Thank you for writing it.
Oh damn, how is it that I echoed exactly the first commenter (thinking I was the first)? Ha!
No shit. I was just about to post practically the same damn thing.
I read this shivering with recognition, appreciation and gratitude. I’ve read Roxane’s work so closely for some time now that I had more than an inkling about the terrible violation that happened in that cabin in the woods, but to my knowledge she has never chosen to write about it explicitly before. I know that her having done so here will be a lifeline to many young women and men. It was so brave and important and this essay was so potent.
This is almost everything I felt about the Hunger Games and wasn’t able to verbalize.
The desire to protect our children is so strong (in some of us) it can be easily misguided or twisted. Instead of shielding them, we must teach them to protect themselves.
Wow. Just wow. Going to continue the echo of thank you for writing this.
Thank you Roxane. I have forwarded this to my sixteen-year-old daughter.
As the mother of two teenage girls I wanted to take ahold of you and love you through your pain. I am so sorry this happened to you. It is a wonderful piece and so beautifully written. I admire your courage. I admire your strength. It takes courage to keep moving forward, it takes incrediable strength to put it out there for everyone to see. You are what you admire in Katniss.
Thank you. It must have been hard to write this. I hope those most in need of reading this, find their way here.
Completely intrigued with your writing and story, thanks for sharing.
I know you don’t think that surviving something terrible makes you strong, but it does. And even more so, infinitely more so, your strength is demonstrated by your willingness to share. You’re my hero, Roxane! <3
Roxane, this just shattered me. I agree with Christine that you are what you admire in Katniss. And this: “The trilogy offers the kind of tempered hope everyone who survives something unendurable hungers for.” This perfectly articulates what these books have meant to so many people. Thank you.
This makes me weep, Roxane. But yes, yes, yes, to strong young female characters in fiction, like Katniss. Thanks for writing this.
This is a beautifully written piece – heart-breaking yet poignant. Like others who have posted, I admire your courage but you are wrong when you write “People tend to think I’m strong. I’m not.”…it takes unbelievable strength and heart to put this out there and move forward.
KM
Damn you, you made me cry. But also smile, at that last line. So yeah, thank you. That’s what I really meant to say.
Oh, Roxane. This piece is everything I wanted…and more importantly, NEEDED it to be. From a family dichotomized between women who were survivors and women who weren’t, I felt all your yearning and rage and love when I read the books and saw the movie (alone- I was free to embarrass myself.) Also, go Team Katniss! (But let’s let Peeta tag along.)
Roxane, your last paragraph here made me burst out in tears. Thank you.
As many others wrote above: this is beautiful. Beyond beautiful. This is one of the most vital essays I’ve read in my entire life. Thank you thank you thank you.
I may be about to embark on a new career interacting with at risk teens. This piece is so honest, so painful, so brave, and so strong, I would like to use it as a springboard for group discussion about setting safe boundaries and finding one’s place in the world, making good choices and learning to trust in oneself even if the herd wants to tell you otherwise. What courage this took to write. Thank you.
Any time someone says they hate this movie (without of course reading the book), I can never find the words to articulate its greatness. Now I can just show them this essay.
Roxanne Gay is one of greatest writers there is. Read her piece in Black Warrior Review Spring/Summer Issue of 2011. You will never forget it.
you found my voice.
this is one of the most beautiful, truthful essays i have ever read, roxane. thank you. and i agree. adolescence and young adulthood are for many, the darkest periods of their lives. certainly for me. and perhaps you. and young adult fiction should reflect this, not shy away from it.
Roxane, my teenage sister just finished the first book in the series. She’s not an avid reader at all, but she devoured it. Although you may not think so, you are an incredibly strong human being for writing this. I think I may just have to read the books with her now too. Thank you.
“I am fascinated by strength in women.
People tend to think I’m strong. I’m not. And yet. ”
I have learnt that pretending to be strong can become strength. Strength is having the fear, the wobbles, the terror, and yet still doing the fearful, wobbly, terrifying thing.. You are one of the strongest women I know of. Your writing is wonderful, beautiful, vital. I thank you for all that you do.
It seems that white hot and glowing serves you well. Thank you for giving these words
just the context they’ve been burning for. Bask a bit. This is for real, and it’s gorgeous.
You and your writing are amazing.
I’m still trying to figure out what others see in this series that I don’t. Your last paragraph is very helpful.
You see, I loved the first book, the second was OK, the third ruined the whole series and makes me wish I’d never started reading it. Of all the possible endings, the author chose the worst possible conclusion.
I only heard of the series a month or so before the movie. I say lots of recommendations for it on twitter. Since I mostly follow Librarians on twitter, I put the series on my to-read list.
Maybe this is a male/ female thing, maybe the fact that I’m 50 yrs old makes the difference. In any case, it ISN’T OK TO BE BROKEN IF YOU CAN BE FIXED.
Katniss is the victim of state sponsored torture. Having to friend people and then kill them or see them die is torture. (Anyone remember the Russian Roulette scene in Deer Hunter?) She needed therapy, but the shrink she got allowed her to ignore the ringing phone. The state kept her alive, but isolated. Did she love Peeta? I don’t think so. She loved Gale, but Peeta was the only one available to her. Does the summation of her life past 20 show she thrived? No, she merely survived.
Someone please explain what I missed?
Thank you all for such extraordinary support and for reading my words. It really means a great deal.
J, even though it is impossible to know the motivations of a fictional character, I’ll go there. She could have had Gale if she wanted. She could have chosen to stay alone. Katniss plainly explains why she chose Peeta–she wanted solace, not fire. She wanted hope. I tend to believe she’s capable, after everything she’s survived, to know her own mind. I also think “just” surviving is a whole hell of a lot. Sometimes, that’s all you have the energy to do.
Amazing, amazing.
Roxane, You are a brave woman and an excellent writer. I am sorry those boys did that to you. Understatement. Puny words to express my feeling. Your writing brought me to tears and made me say yes yes. I too devoured The Hunger Games on vacation a few weeks ago. I took it with me to see what all the hoopla was about and was nailed. Your article explains so much of why. I did not and have not read Harry Potter or the Twilight series, but I will read number 2 and 3 Suzanne Collins’s trilogy.
Roxanne, Bravo to you for your response. Surviving is a whole hell of a lot. Surviving is everything!! As another women, I am so proud of you.
“Being good is the best way to be bad.”
I stopped reading this at “team peeta”. Was this written originally for Teen Magazine? I felt exactly as baffled as when a deluge of squeals flooded the theater during the kiss scene… Are we even talking about the same movie?
Ok, read the whole thing after the comments indicated I might have missed something important. I’m sorry for what you went through, it must have been terrible.
It’s clear that the enthusiasm comes from a place not everyone has access to. You should be aware that fir sone of us this movie looks like a Twilight-inspired version of The Running Man.
A fantastic essay. Will definitely read the books. Your description of how the “good girl” becomes someone who is unfamiliar, and loses her name — because she is raped, gangbanged, and lied about — parallels the experiences of many of us. Decades pass, and the shack in the woods fades and reappears — it never goes away. Thank you for your beautiful and honest writing. Reading your essay saved me tonight. And I didn’t realize how much I needed to be saved.
This blew me away, Roxane. I didn’t know anything about the books or the movie (I live in a cave) but I read the essay because you wrote it and you’re such a good writer. It’s amazing, and thanks for writing it. Even as I was reading your words I was thinking, This is going to stay with me forever.
Damn, Roxanne. This piece cracked me right open.
This in particular is so right, so true, so dead-on:
“You lose your name because another one is forced on you. You think you are alone until you find books about girls like you. Salvation is certainly among the reasons I read. Reading and writing have always pulled me out of the darkest experiences in my life. Stories have given me a place in which to lose myself. They have allowed me to remember. They have allowed me to forget. They have allowed me to imagine different endings and better possible worlds.”
Thank you. So much.
when i read this, i felt as though you’d written it for me–and now i see how many people have had a similar response. the part that affected me the most is where you write about losing your name. the identity theft. going to french class and having to deal with people thinking things about you that aren’t true: crazy person, liar, slut.
thanks for giving voice to those of us who can’t or don’t have the option to speak.
John’s comments stuck in my mind (and my craw) and I kept thinking about Roxane’s other recent essay, Beyond the Measure of Men. “Team Peeta” = pink cover?
It’s fine that the movie (& presumably books) might look that way for “some of us.” I’m grateful that others saw fit to publish this tremendous, moving, important piece.
Roxane—going by your opening paragraph I would recommend the movie “Winter’s Bone”. It is a gritty realist take on an extremely strong and corageous young woman’s trial by fire. I understand your essay’s point, but pop trash like “Hunger Games” is, in my opinion, twisted propaganda. Your reflections on the sexuality/violence quotent in that movie remind me of an instance in my son’s life. He joined a Baptist youth group (ugh!) for a while. The youth minister-leader of this group lent him some movies. All horror/gore movies. Nothing overtly sexual,heaven forbid. Well, I called that person on the phone and let them know that I would rather have my son watching sexual situations than mutilations. Too often sex is mixed up with violence (as in your “woods” experience) due to it’s repression by the good/righteous/moral,etc… esp. in fantasy movies.
Harry, I’m curious – have you read the book you describe as “pop trash”?
Thanks for this, Roxane. Incredible read, and so, so gutsy to put it out there.
Harry. we clearly see different things in the book. I have seen and read Winter’s Bone. It’s a great story. There are all kinds of valuable stories out there about women’s strength that are presented in different ways. What you consider pop trash, I consider awesome. And if that means I love so-called pop trash, I am absolutely fine with that. But, I’d reconsider that term. There’s more to these books. Reading is reading is reading. So, to be clear, these books are awesome.
I’d also say…. it’s quite a stretch from sexual repression to sexual violence. Sometimes people are just assholes.
Like Elissa I’ve read some reference to the cabin in the woods before but never this. This is brave, strong, beautifully written. I admit it. I’m crying.For those so many many girls. I guess including my little girl. But then there were words. There are always words here to get lost in. To save us. Thank you for sharing this most important work.
Thank you for writing this.
“Sometimes, when you least expect it, you become the girl in the woods. You lose your name because another one is forced on you. You think you are alone until you find books about girls like you.”
Thank you for such an incredible piece of reading. In regards to the series, sharing your personal experiences, and your reflections on the power of Young Adult literature in the lives of so many young people: THANK YOU. You’re absolutely awesome.
Roaxanne, your essay floored me. I heard a writer once say we share our hardest stories and our readers help carry them. Terrible paraphrase, but I’ll be carrying your story for a long time. Thank you for this beautiful essay.
Not understanding people who are commenting solely on their perception of The Hunger Games. My only comment on that is that sometimes a story carries such a strong archetype that it resonates with a lot of people (pop culture). Doesn’t make it bad or worthless.
This is the first time I have visited the blog and have been touched in a way no other blog has before. We were all young once and went through the same insecurities as you; I am so sorry that the price you had to pay for it was so big. I really admire your courage for both writing this and moving on in life. I have not read the hunger games trilogy and I definitely will now. I have a two year old daughter. My prayer for her from tonight will be different.
Thank you so much for writing this, I will carry your words with me.
This essay took the breath right out of my body (and when I was able to breathe again, I was filled with such gratitude and awe. Thank you for writing this.)
I just remembered to breathe again. What an amazing essay. Maybe you don’t feel strong, but you ARE brave. It’s not brave to do something if you’re not terrified the entire time you’re doing it. Thanks for this. I’m so sorry for what happened to you. Thank you for sharing your experience because, unfortunately, it’s probably more common than people would like to think. I agree that books that allow teens to see extremes of suffering can be healing for those who are suffering and enduring their own situations. Beautiful.
I’ve always been moved by your writing. Even when you are writing about something that by all rights should be frivolous, it never is. Thank you for sharing your realness, your bravery, your heart. It always shines through.
This is incredible. During the first half of the essay, I was thinking wow, you encapsulated everything I felt about reading The Hunger Games trilogy so brilliantly. And then I kept reading. And I couldn’t take my eyes away. Thank you for sharing this–you’re so courageous to stand up for yourself and for all the young women who struggle this way now, just as you were then.
Roxane, by roping a phenomenon like The Hunger Games and urging it to respond to your personal story, you’ve unleashed power.
Your words force your experiences to bow to a supernatural fire in you and force them to answer to your strength, whether or not you recognize this strength.
The rest of us get to witness this.
And once we do, the army is sparked. Every one of us who absorbs your words—we fearful or lonely or self-loathing people—will soon see that our subconscious will now give us no choice but to be stronger than we ever believed we could be. This is what your words do. That mother a few comments ago is wise to forward this to her teenage daughter. She recognizes this, I’m sure. Thank you for harnessing your power artfully. You are a force, and your existence is so necessary.
Thank you for writing this. I felt stronger after reading it.
i so wish life had been kinder. Thank you for the courage to write your story. For many, many readers it will be a cautionary tale, an injunction to know your children more, and love them, no matter what.
That is my take from your essay–haven’t read the books yet.
Anjali
Thank you for giving us your story, Roxanne, it’s so beautifully articulated, so honest and brave. I’m all caught up in the books, too, maybe because they reminded me of my own childhood cabin and the power stories had to save me, or because they reminded me of the resilience of so many amazing people like you, who’ve been through horrors and manage to not only keep moving, but to do so with grace, intelligence and love. It’s kind of funny and sad how a few of the comments so perfectly illustrated the insights from your last post about failures of the readers. Your words are always a challenge and a blessing, Roxanne, and I’m grateful every time I read them. Namaste.
Roxane, a wonderful essay on this series. In my own personal experience, and also in my experience volunteering with teens, a girl by sixteen has probably been through things more terrible than we imagine for them. The idea of shielding them in books from such things is laughable, if we could shield the in real life I would say yes, yes, but the idea of taking away the sharing of stories seems terrible.
The biggest conflict I have had with this series is that Katniss is not allowed to be heroic enough, to take control enough – especially throughout the third book (spoiler alert: I wanted her to take control of the government, not go off to the looney bin – it just seemed like an excuse not to write part of the last book, her transition into a powerful woman-hood.) If we are abused it might make us stronger, more capable, more ambitious, not less. It has repercussions but some of them allow us to lead a different kind of life. At least that has been my experience – the girls who had it the toughest became the most compassionate, the most successful women I currently know.
I also agree with you that Hunger Games definitely parallels a fairy tale narrative; in Japanese folk tales there is a particular trope of a self-sacrificing, adventurous older sister who has to go through a series of trials to rescue a younger sibling.
This was beautiful and you are absolutely are strong. You are still standing, still sane, and still living your life. That is more than others who have been through the same thing. Keep writing!
Thank you for this powerful piece.
I did not see this piece going where it went, but I congratulate you on your authenticity and openness. It’s not easy to tell our own horrific stories, but I too feel comfort in the fact that I’m not alone, in both fiction and real life when I read the stories of others. I’m very impressed.
Roxanne Gay states, “People tend to think I’m strong. I’m not.”
So explain to me how she just ripped me into tiny pieces with her words and insight… and then sewed me back together.
Truth is power, and living in it makes one powerful.
Roxanne, thank you for writing this. What a beautiful essay about your thoughts. From this essay, I know that you are just as beautiful and strong as the Katniss you admire. 🙂
Regarding the Hunger Games, I agree with your perception – loved it, each book was a little less than the first, fairy tales with a real person with flaws. Regarding the girl in the woods, you could have been writing for me, only I got away. Lucky but still scarred.
Less and less often do I read articles that compel me to follow a writer loyally from that moment on. Roxanne, this was so beautifully and honestly written (not in the least because I think the trilogy – especially the first – is badass). Having not read you before creates no barrier whatsoever to the intimacy I feel with you in reading your words. You are truly gifted. Your strength is certainly evident in how you choose to express your meaning and the effortless skill with which you craft your story. I am proud to know you through your work and proud to share it with others.
Much love indeed,
Claudia
This is lovely, strong writing. Just like its author.
I loved The Hunger Games too, and thought the movie was terrific, and I’m so glad you’re digging it so much. It’s the highest outcome of the work, I think–to enthuse and inspire smart people, and to draw them out in new ways. I hope Suzanne Collins reads this someday, and I hope it makes her proud.
“It is disturbing that within the world of The Hunger Games, it is perfectly acceptable for teenagers to kill one another and die or otherwise suffer in really violent ways but it is not at all acceptable for them to act on their sexuality.”
I thought the whole point of the books was that teens killing each other was NOT acceptable? To the Capitol, it is acceptable, but it isn’t supposed to be to us. I don’t know why Collins made the choices that she did regarding her characters’ romantic actions, so I don’t feel qualified to argue one way or the other. The assumption in your first statement as quoted above, however, made me pause in confusion.
That said, thank you for sharing both your thoughts and your story. I was both honored and humbled to read it.
Thanks to you I wrote my first blog post in months. I’ve been wanting to explore the faults I found in the third book of the series – Mockingjay. As I said in a comment to your blog yesterday, the third book was so profoundly wrong to me, that it ruined the whole series in my view.
While we may never agree, I thank you for getting me started writing again.
My post is at http://viewthunder.blogspot.com/2012/04/what-did-i-miss-regarding-hunger-games.html
“Just because you survive something does not mean you are strong.” The truth of that statement produced for me a deafening ring of authenticity and a resounding chorus of Alleluia. “…tempered hope everyone who survives something unendurable hungers for.” As you no doubt understand, for the survivor it becomes important … no, essential … to find a place where hope, impossible dreams, and the goodness of mankind appear more tangible and attainable than in the daily course of life. A periodic infusion of external hope (whether through other’s life stories, books, movies, or even Disney World) is an necessary component to a survivor’s finding the courage to crawl and claw their way through the inevitable days of darkness that awaits them in the aftermath. I so appreciate the incredible courage it took for you to write and share your story. In so doing, you have extended to many others a beautiful bouquet of hope. Roxanne, thank you for your gifts.
That which doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. I’m a firm believer in this and in coming to terms with horrible events that shape us. Reading does help us step into different worlds, feed emotional needs and with a character as strong as Katniss – it lends hope. I’m glad you found hope and strength enough to face your own demons in such a public forum.
I enjoyed The Hunger Games in the theater and now that my daughter has finished the books – I’m inclined to borrow them once I meet my next book deadline.
I started reading this article at work yesterday, when I needed to be doing other things. I read pieces here and there, switched to other tasks. It made the day better. Only half through by the time I left at five, I emailed myself a link to read later at home over the weekend. I loved what I had read so far. I told my intern for Luna Park Review about Roxane’s writing, her work, her recent inclusion in the Best American Short Stories. I showed her Roxane’s blog. Her eyes lit up, like nothing I’ve ever taught her or showed her about literary writing/publishing today. It was awesome to see.
At home, I told my wife and daughter about the article; like myself, they both read and loved the The Hunger Games trilogy. They saw the movie; I haven’t yet. I told my young daughter, who wants to be a writer, that I would finish the article and see if it’s something for her to read. She’s very young; not everything on The Rumpus is for her, of course.
I’ve finished reading it now, heartbroken, here in my house, daughter out playing put-put golf. It’s a stunning essay for so many reasons. I’ll read it again soon, probably show it to many people. Still wondering whether my daughter is ready to read it yet. I think she is. Better check with Mom first…
Thanks Roxane for giving us this. I’m sorry for what happened. Your line “Just because you survive something does not mean you are strong” reminded me of a line Art Spiegelman said about his father, who he wrote Maus about: “Suffering doesn’t make you noble, it just makes you suffer.” I kept thinking while reading: “Suzanne Collins should read this.”
I love the connections you make here, and like you, I appreciate that Hunger Games does not romanticize violence or trauma. I am also firmly on Team Peeta (and a huge fan of Venn diagrams). THANK YOU.
Thank you so much for sharing your story and I am so sorry this happened to you. You did nothing to deserve it. I think that you are incredibly strong for sharing this. I believe that in order to foster women like Katniss and like yourself who are strong and brave. We need sisters and mothers who help us along the way, so I wish you many sisters and I know that you have already blessed and inspired many others.
Thank you.
Thank you for sharing your story.
I loved the Hunger Games Trilogy too. And the movies. And the connections you made between dark themes like this and respecting that life can be dark for teens, and fiction like this can be redeeming for such teens. Thank you for sharing your story.
Oh, Roxane. Not only did you nail The Hunger Games, but you also smashed me with your “first love” story. I felt as though you were reading my 14-year-old mind as you described being willing to do anything for him. Though my cabin story luckily (?) only has one (?) man, I, too felt that my body was a tool for him (them?). It was something I had that they wanted, and as long as they showed interest, I was willing to do anything with that body. If only I had known then that it was MY body to do with what I wanted. But… what happened to me (and everyone else) has made me who I am now. I am grateful I am able to realize my mistakes, others’ shortcomings, and your hauntingly honest writing. By the way, I just recently finished “An Untamed State” and cannot get it out of my head… in a good way.
Thank you for all you do.
The comments inspire me almost as much as the writing did. Thank you Roxanne. Because of you, I’ve found for a brief moment people whose thoughts resonate deeply with mine. These crazy self-loath inducing emotions aren’t peculiar to just me. Thanks to people who share their hard stories too.
I’m young and I feel like the worst’s already happened and I have friends who have similar experiences. Youth isn’t as unblemished as some think. Afterall it’s when we’re most careless, adventurous and naively innocent or reckless about all the evil in the world. It’s also when we discover all that evil. Many of us know that girl in the woods cuz we’ve been her too. Thank you so much Roxanne. And all the other commenters too.
Andre Dubus put out a book of loosely related stories. His strongest one, although all were pretty weak, dealt with a girl in a situation like you went through. Do you feel it made you stronger? Affected your future self esteem for better or worse? Strengthened your resolve or any part of you or did you carry away only negativity? What makes me so sad is the young men that do this, and it happens a lot. What did their father’s teach them? What will they teach their sons? How will they ptotect their daughters?
Thank you for you courage.
I love this article. You really understand the books. And I’m so sorry about what happened to you. Even though you do not believe that you are strong, I believe that you are brave.
Lovely and terrible. I am so sorry for what you have endured. Now I will read Hunger Games, too, which I have been avoiding.
This reminded me again why we read and why we write– how stories (and YA stories especially) give readers a mirror to see the world and a lens to better understand it. Thank you.
Thank you for your brave and thoughtful words. Your writing – I was moved to tears.
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