The Hunger Games: My Take

I just finished reading The Hunger Games trilogy for the first time. And for the past week I have had hundreds of thoughts swirling around in my head as strong emotions churn throughout me. Needless to say, Suzanne Collins is a powerful writer.

If you have not read the trilogy, you should go find a summary online since the rest of this post won’t make sense if you don’t know the story. There are quite a few opposing opinions on this series in Christian circles: Is it merely an exciting story full of gore, or is there anything redemptive? What about the violence? Today I simply want to offer some of my insights and reflections. And…I will be the first to admit that my reading of The Hunger Games is colored by my worldview. So with that in mind, here we go.

WARNING: Spoilers abound.

Throughout the series, we journey with Katniss as she struggles to separate her feelings for 2 important boys in her life: Gale and Peeta. In the end, she chooses Peeta because she realizes that “…what I need to survive is not Gale’s fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise the life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that.” (Mockingjay, 388) Read an excellent article on this very topic here.

I think that there is a part of every girl that longs for someone like Peeta in their life – solid, sacrificial, loving, life-giving. As I contemplated, I realized…I DO have that already in my life! And no, I’m not talking about Jonathan (though I love him dearly and am VERY thankful for him!). I have Jesus Christ. HE is the Bread of Life. He is my solid foundation. He is the Lover of my soul. He gave His life for mine! Though it is probably not the author’s intention (and maybe I’m reading too much into it), I can’t help but think that in many ways, Peeta acts as a Christ-like figure in the trilogy. Think about it:

Peeta is a baker’s son and once saved Katniss’s life by throwing her bread.

Christ is my Bread of Life.

Peeta loves Katniss unconditionally, even when she doesn’t love him back.

Christ loves me unconditionally, even when I am unfaithful to Him.

Peeta experiences the Games with Katniss and is able to empathize because he knows exactly what she’s been through.

Christ empathizes with us because He was fully man and has been tempted in every way that we have. (Heb. 4:15)

Peeta calms and comforts Katniss during her nightmares.

In the same way, Christ wraps His arms around me and calms my fears.

Peeta is the groom. Katniss is the bride.

Christ is my Groom. I am His bride.

Peeta represents life and goodness and hope.

Christ IS life. He is the Giver of good things. He is Hope.

And the biggest of all:

Peeta is willing to sacrifice his life to save Katniss’s life. Katniss talks a lot about “owing” those around her, especially Peeta.

Jesus Christ actually gave His life for mine. Do I not owe him my life?

Of course, Peeta is only human, so the analogy breaks down after awhile. But you get the idea.

In the books, we are forced to confront the hopeless reality of human depravity. In Mockingjay, Katniss – the heroine and antagonist – even recognizes it in herself: she describes herself as “Violent. Distrustful. Manipulative. Deadly.” (232). In the end, it comes as no surprise (to me) that she votes “yes” to a Games using tributes from the Capitol. Or that she kills President Coin. Or that she is driven to the point of suicide. Because ultimately, her actions mirror my own deadly, avenging heart. As part of our human nature, we long to repay death with death, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. But Christ has a better way – outlined in Matthew 5:38-48.

Maybe it’s just me and I’m too sensitive to pain and loss, but I was overcome by a sense of darkness and despair that I couldn’t shake after finishing the series. I wept the night that I finished the 3^rd book because of the enormity of hopelessness and darkness that I felt. While the ending of the series was as “happy” as it could have been without Christ, I still longed for so much more!

J.W. Wartick says it well in this reflection:

“I long for that comfort of the Redeemer. There seems to be no hope in the [Hunger Games] that things will be made right, only that eventually, the nightmares may get better. Having the comfort of redemption and hope, I can’t help but wish for that in the world of Panem–a Redeemer to come and wash away the tears. And so, because there is no such Redeemer, I see the stories as a reflection of the brutal reality of a world without God. In such a world the best that can be hoped for is that the nightmares may one day end; that children may have a better life than their parents. But ultimately, it is a hard reality, one in which there is no true hope, no way to atone for past wrongs.”

Ultimately, Collins is successful in setting up the problem without giving us the solution. I think The Hunger Games is an excellent catalyst for discussion; however, I would not recommend this for younger readers. The books are violent and dark. I am old-fashioned – I don't think it is appropriate for middleschoolers or even highschoolers necessarily unless there is someone who can talk through the complex moral and ethical issues that the author deals with throughout the story. You could see it as a commentary on poverty, war, government, where our society is headed…but ultimately, Collins dives into the depths of what really makes us human – what is it that makes us more than animals? Anything? What is love? What is sacrifice? What is the proper response to death and violence? Where do we find hope?

There is so much more I could write about, but I would probably just be repeating what has already been said. Instead, you should just read the articles that are linked throughout this post (and here’s one more on Christian themes found in the trilogy). Many of them were influential in my thinking as I tried to sort out my thoughts.

For those of you who are wondering, I do think that this is a worthy read (I only speak for the books, not the movie since I haven’t seen it). Might I suggest that if you do decide to read them (or already have), read them more than once. The first time you’ll just be so caught up in the story that your mind won’t really dwell on the deeper issues presented.

Finally, I came across this just today:

What do you think? Do you agree with Sheldon, or do you think that in order to truly appreciate our salvation we should delve into the depths of sinful humanity? Is reading something like The Hunger Games unnecessary because we already see so much of human depravity in real life and we should dwell on “whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, etc.” (Phil. 4:8)? No doubt, the books are dark. But is there enough eye-opening truth in the books that makes it redemptive reading? You tell me. I welcome your thoughts.

Playing "By Heart"

A couple of weeks ago I read this thought-provoking article by Anthony Tommasini for the New York Times. In it Tommasini suggests the convention of pianists playing solo repertoire and concertos by memory should be optional rather than a “requirement” for pianists nowadays. Reading this article (as well as performing two recitals within the past month) have gotten me thinking a lot about performing. Below are a few of my thoughts.

I found Tommasini’s arguments fascinating, but I disagreed with a few of his main points. Mainly, Tommasini says, in reference to whether or not a pianist uses music while performing, “What matters, or should matter, is the quality of the music making, not the means by which an artist renders a fine performance.” On the surface, I would agree. But then I began thinking, maybe the means is part of the performance. A few years ago I saw Menahem Pressler perform at James Madison University. It was a truly amazing performance in which he used a score. Years of mastery at the instrument were evident in Pressler’s wonderful performance, but I couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed that the music wasn’t played by memory. Maybe it’s because I always associate using a score with sight-reading and it’s only after I’ve mastered the piece that I no longer need to read the music. I feel, as a performer and an audience member, that performing by memory makes the music more personal. Maybe when I see a performer use a score I am made aware that the music is some kind of historical relic by a composer from the past. When no score is used, the music seems to "live" more, making me more aware that the live performer is active in the creative process.

I think performing, particularly by memory, is far more difficult than non-performers realize. It requires a mind of steel. After months of hours-a-day practicing, a performer presents his music to an often critical audience completely focused on him. After working so hard on the music, it's hard not to tie self-worth to how a performance goes. When performing from memory, I’ve found that there is a mental balance that must be reached and maintained throughout the performance to keep it from falling apart. Too much nervousness results in a shaky performance, not enough nervousness means I am not focused and can have memory issues. How to find that balance is difficult, and it isn’t always predictable. There’s no way to guarantee you’ll have that balance. Usually when I have that balance throughout a performance I feel completely immersed in the music and thoroughly enjoy myself. In these times I recognize that this is what God made me to do.

I am terrible at acting, but I find that when I perform the piano, I’m really an actor. I don’t consider myself an overly emotional person, but when I perform I am called to convey emotions that I may not be feeling on that given day. Performances that really reach the heart of audiences are those where a performer “bares his soul” and holds nothing back. I feel this is much more difficult to do if there were a score in front of me. Tommasini writes that it used to be considered the height of arrogance to play music by other composers without a score. It would almost suggest that the performer composed the music himself. But when I perform I want to feel like I am taking part in the creative process with the composer. I need to be fully convinced that my interpretation is far better than any other performance of the piece, that I'm playing it just the way the composer would have wanted it. That’s what can make the music of old, dead composers come alive today.

Part of me yearns for a world where performing by memory isn’t expected. I definitely could learn pieces much faster and they would be “ready for performance” much quicker. But wouldn’t that allow for more performances of music without musicians really knowing the music backward and forward? Maybe there’s something to the phrase “knowing the music by heart.”

The only way I might agree with Tommasini’s argument is performing concertos by memory. We perform chamber music with a score, and concertos are also a collaborative experience. Also, concertos allow no room for error. I can’t repeat a measure I mess up. I can’t “fake my way out of it." Performing a concerto with orchestra is both one of the most wonderful opportunities and the most nerve-racking experiences because of this very fact.

What do you think? Are you a pianist who wishes we didn’t have to memorize everything? Do you think memorization is an important part of learning music? I'd love to hear your thoughts.