The Hunger Games

Okay. If you are out there anywhere you've probably heard of it.


The Hunger Games.

A wildly popular young adult novel by Suzanne Collins, about to be released in film around the world. If you know nothing more than this one thing, know that the premise of the book is a televised fight to the death between 24 youth aged 12-18. And only one can survive.

Disturbing. On every level.

I absolutely hate this idea. Kind of like The Titanic. I don't even know why I saw that movie. I mean, honestly. Everybody knew there was no good way for it to end. Including me. And it was not happy. This is not okay with me.

So two years ago it was with great reluctance and much prodding from very Hunger Games enthusiastic friends that I reserved a copy of the book at my local library. I knew reading this was going to be painful for me. In many ways. I have a very soft heart. I hate kids in danger. And I hate to cry. (I realize this part about me is not so evident in my most recent posts.) But after about fourteen weeks of waiting, and just in time to be on a trip where no one would know me, I put on all my emotional protective gear, and opened it up.

And thus began my experience with The Hunger Games.

To say it was a difficult read would be downplaying it. More than a little. And to say that I cried about it would be an understatement. A lot. But this was not at all for the reasons I expected. It was not because of the battles; it was not because of the conflicts; it was not because of the cruelties or the injustices. Nope. It was because of...

Compassion.

And this is how it went.

Me.
And the book.
By the pool.
In full protective gear.
Reading along trying NOT to be disturbed by all the disturbing things I listed above.
And then BAM! Out of nowhere.
An act of compassion.

Then Me.
And the book.
By the pool.
Protective gear completely disarmed.
Tears streaming down my face.
Pathetic.

Gladly, I was wearing sunglasses when the poolside server came to ask if I was doing alright.

And a few minutes later I went back to my room where it was quiet and I could be alone.
I cried.
The Ugly Cry. Which is really a Visceral Sob.
Until I was all cried out.

This cycle happened again and again as I worked my way through the book. It was compelling.  It was stunning. And it completely unraveled me.

I honestly don't remember much more about this book, besides how it felt. And I am pretty sure there are plenty of Hunger Games fanatics reading this and wondering, "What the fudgesicle is she talking about?!?!"

But this is what the book brought to me.
Learning. About compassion.
How I need it. How you need it. And how we all get too little of it.

This weekend I will go see the movie. As will millions of others. Screen adaptations rarely, if ever, offer the full story or character development that a book brings to the table. Especially when it comes to important underlying nuances.

But I will be watching carefully. For compassion.

After all, isn't that what each of us are really hungry for, anyway?