Note: contains spoilers for the original Hunger Games trilogy, but none for the events of Sunrise on the Reaping that haven’t already been revealed in those books. I write about the themes of Sunrise, and if that feels like a spoiler, it’s best to skip this one!
This feels like an homage to my book blogger era, a now-defunct Wordpress page that lived between my Tumblr and my Substack. I shared book reviews, as well as creative writing and personal essays. I wrote about what made me feel, think, and reflect.
This newsletter is a natural progression of that blog, and right now? I can’t stop thinking about Sunrise on the Reaping.
At the height of the Hunger Games hype circa 2011 to 2015, I was a loyal participant. After the announcement of the first movie adaptation, I borrowed the books from a friend, livetweeted my reading reactions (with page numbers attached), and then bought my own box set from a Scholastic book order form (it came with a mockingjay pin).
I’m generally wary of reboots and spin-offs. Nostalgia is profitable. Is art being made because there’s still something to say, or is it just a means to make more money? It doesn’t have to be a definite either-or answer, but it’s clear when it’s mostly the latter. The follow-up work lacks heart and intention, things that make art worth consuming.
I was skeptical at the announcement of The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, the first book released post-trilogy. We’re humanizing the villain? Why would I want to read from his perspective? Only years after its release did I pick up the book, in preparation for the film. My initial hesitation aside, I read it in two days, and remembered that actually, it is important to know your enemy. It wasn’t an attempt to humanize President Snow positively like I assumed—it was to detail how someone chooses evil despite it all, placing the instinct for self-preservation above the greater good.
Despite its depressing subject matter, there’s joy that comes from reading another book in the Hunger Games universe. I hold trust that Suzanne Collins is writing to make a point. Like all good dystopian fiction, the series dissects how humans respond to a sullen future. In a time where the world feels like it’s ending, reading about a fictional world where society has ended, rebuilt, and ended again to save itself somehow does provide comfort. It’s a reminder of the agency we hold.
Sunrise on the Reaping is a prequel told from the perspective of Haymitch Abernathy, who we meet in the first Hunger Games book as a lonely, crass alcoholic. He’s burdened with the yearly task of mentoring the next set of tributes for this televised fight-to-the-death, after he won it himself at the 50th Hunger Games. But the Haymitch we meet in Sunrise is nearly unrecognizable to the Haymitch we already know—he’s a teenage romantic, in love with his girlfriend, obviously bitter at the circumstances he lives under, but mostly accepting of them. To put it simply, he’s just a boy!
The experience of reading Sunrise was much different than reading any of the other books in the series, because to an extent, we already know what’s going to happen. Chapter fourteen of Catching Fire reveals the details of Haymitch’s games, which he won by using a force field in the arena. Chapter twelve of Mockingjay explains that Haymitch’s family was murdered shortly after his win, because he exploited an aspect of the arena that wasn’t meant to be used. Sunrise covers the entirety of Haymitch’s experience, from the reaping, to the Games, to the aftermath. When I started the book, I already knew that all the characters I’m meeting were going to die.
On writing this prequel, Collins explains, “The story also lent itself to a deeper dive into the use of propaganda and the power of those who control the narrative. The question ‘Real or not real?’ seems more pressing to me every day.”
When reading the original trilogy and Ballad, I held my breath for the unexpected—who wins, who dies, who kills. Reading Sunrise was exhilarating for a different reason. The book challenges us to confront the details that are already known. We may think we know the full story, but at the end of the day, history is written by the victors.
The epigraph of the book includes a quote from philosopher David Hume: “That the sun will not rise tomorrow is no less intelligible a proposition, and implies no more contradiction, than the affirmation, that it will rise.”
In Sunrise, the 50th Hunger Games takes place, and years later, the 74th Hunger Games takes place. Reaping day came, and continued to come. The sun rose on the reaping.
But Hume posits that the past doesn’t necessarily lend itself to the future. We assume that the sun will rise tomorrow, because the sun has always risen, but we actually have no proof that the sun will rise. The future is unknowing, despite our desperate attempts to know it.
In Panem, the Games happen, because they always have. But what if they tried to stop the Games? What if the sun didn’t rise on Reaping Day?
The story’s exploration of propaganda and implicit submission is dystopian fiction at its finest. Many criticize the series, and the fans’ desire to read more of it, as a glorification of violence. But dystopian fiction is supposed to be brutal, and we’re to learn how society prevails, in spite of it all.
It was a journey, reading a story about the joy being ripped out of adolescence. But it also sows the seeds of hope that are explored in the original trilogy of the book. It’s a message that we can take into reality—things are not unchangeable, even if it feels fruitless. Even if it takes us beyond our lifetime. Do you choose to close your eyes and submit? Or will you question everything?
Will you let the sun rise on the reaping?
Bonus thought!
I write about music a lot, so an extra musing that didn’t fit up top! I love the use of music in these books. I’m a Rachel-Zegler-as-Lucy-Gray defender till the end.
In the series, one way that class differences are shown is through access to literature. The Capitol rich line their shelves with hundreds of books, while the District poor must burn books to survive the cold.
But in the Districts, the existence of music prevails. Though there’s a lack of physical literature, songs are stories that are passed down through generations. Despite the Capitol’s attempt to quell songs of rebellion, these messages resonate through time.
The showcase of music as a means of oral storytelling shows the commitment to preservation and resilience. Like District 12 sings when Lucy Gray is reaped: “Can't take my past / Can't take my history … Nothing you can take from me / Was ever worth keepin'.”
Some recs:
MainstayPro: “HUNGER GAMES: THE SECOND QUARTER QUELL”
This 2013 live-action short film of Haymitch’s Games, created with only the info we knew from Catching Fire, did numbers on Tumblr, and also, in my household. I never thought we would get something beyond this, but we have to pay homage to where it first started.
I would be remiss to not mention that Zayn left One Direction ten years ago today. That’s what I originally wanted to write about this month, but I couldn’t get the words out! What a time to have been an avid consumer of pop culture in the 2010s!
You can read my previous post here: We Know Too Much About Each Other.
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some great musings! i may not have read Sunrise in the Reaping but i am thankful that ms suzanne collins continues to expand on this universe with intent. the world surely needs it!
Whoa a comment section
“The follow-up work lacks heart and *intention* things that make art worth consuming.” (Emphasis added)
Nostalgia re-hashes and AI slop hurt for a lot reasons but I hadn’t landed on the lack of intent behind the stuff AI generates as a reason I find it so distasteful. Intent. Will be chewing on the concept.