The Hunger Games Trilogy

Okay, so I'm a little late to come to The Hunger Games, by Suzanne Collins, seeing as the first two movie adaptations have already been released but excuse a person who up until now has only read Tim Winton's young adult fiction.
     Prior to reading The Hunger Games I read the first book in the Dexter series. And the subject matter was less volent and not as well written for an adult audience as The Hunger Games was for a young adult audience.
     I'll spare everyone from too much of a plot summary except for this. Katniss Everdeen is a sixteen year old girl living in District Twelve of Panem. This appears to be the remnants of the USA after an apocalypse. The Districts 1-12 (13 was supposedly destroyed after an uprising) are kept under control by the cruel hand of the venomous President Snow from The Capitol. Every year, every single 12-18 year old from the districts goes into the draw for The Hunger Games. One girl and one boy are chosen from each district and sent into a grand-scale arena and the winner is the last child alive.
     And so begins the epic story.
     The writing is pitched at a young adult audience so it is easy to read. But what impressed me most was the planning. No plot detail was there by accident. This could not have been conceived of and written in any other way than with a trilogy in mind. Not like the movie Godfather III which could never have happened if you read the book. This was an heroic project planned to the finest detail. The world created was believable and intricate and as all good other-worldly books should do, had a lot to say about our current world and our places and behaviour in it. The universals are the same no matter what time period something is placed within.
     So, do I recommend The Hunger Games? Indeed I do. I am not an avid reader of young adult fiction, except for the as yet unpublished work of a couple of notable rising YA writers. Not for any other reason than it just hasnt crossed my mind except in the case of Winton. And you'll forgive a Winton fan of reading every single thing I can get my hands on.
     The Hunger Games has enthused me enough to read The Harry Potter books.
     Enter the wizard. After I finish The Unknown Terrorist by Richard Flanagan.

Epitaph

Now that he is gone and this poem has lost its immediacy and therefore any relevance for a contemporary publication, here is my epitaph for the former member for Griffith, June 2013.

The Honourable White Knight

(Epitaph to the member for Griffith – June 2013)

It’s warm now

His bright white hair sheens in the camera flashes

Black and beady eyes strobe blank as the light reflects off his specs

For milliseconds he appears blind

His hand gestures all extravagant and Lady Macbeth

Lips pursed in sincerity at the gravity of his deed, or trying to retard the grin

When the eyes are visible they shift and shunt but are always focussed

His whole body stiff in movement and faintly robotic - except for those bloody hands

It was cold

He rode on with a dagger in his back

He sabotaged and bored in and spoiled and refused to help

Some were lost coming to his aid

But it was never cryogenically frozen enough to thaw The White Knight

Only when the horizon was the only landmark did he bounce to the rescue

To knife and drown the damsel

Riding high again and drilling out opposition

This Honourable White Ant 

A Priivate Man - by Malcolm Knox (A brief review)

I have now read three novels by Malcolm Knox. Summerland, Jamaica and now A Private Man. And I am glazed by awe.

His style reminds me of the engaging minutiae of Ian McEwan, but more engaging for me I think because of the Australiana. Complex sentence structure that flows so well in the brain. Thought-processes crafted to appear like stream of consciousness.

His choice of words and erection of sentence build a complete picture of character such that everybody is full to bursting with traits that others would gloss over or ignore completely. And yet it drew me in so completely.

The plot centres around several characters from the same family. One a father who had died and is a GP. The other four are his wife and three sons. The three sons are a comfortable registrar, an estranged pornographer and an Australian Test Cricketer horribly out of form.

Every aspect of life is examined down to the space between husband and wife prior to sleep in their double bed.

I highly recommend Malcolm Knox's intricate brand of character analysis. I will be seeking out a copy of The Life, his fourth novel. I thank him for his work.

Tom

Convenience

Walking through the city I came across a convenience store advertising banner. I am reluctant to say that advertising had an effect on me. I pride myself on the unlikely outcome that this form of spiritual diminishment has no effect on me at all.

But I will admit to this one. As I walked past this banner ad I was drawn to it. Convenience stores have proliferated and provide succour to the sugar junkie craving the wonderful hit of sucrose or the similar craving of the faux-sweetness of phenylalanine or sorbitol (that excellent disclaimer on the sides of packaging: excess consumption may have a laxative effect - of course products containing sugar dont have to add that they may raise insulin to levels that may facilitate diabetes later in life).

Back to the advertisement. Somebody walking past the convenience store was asked to make a rather unusual impulse purchase. The common chocolate bar or confectionary bag or soft-drink special - no there will be none of that. Damn those cliches of modern living. Death to those lowly snack foods. Perish the thought of providing minimal income to the manufacturer who would have to sell many thousands of packets to make a shareholder-pleasing profit.

Now I really have raised the expectations of this item of food that could be popped in for.

So it is time to say what it was. To reveal the final piece of the puzzle. To tell the secret that made me sit in front of my computer and write my first blog entry for months.

It reminds me very much of the time I sat in front of the computer and spent hours searching for the terra cotta colour on a drawing program. Then I created a series of parallel lines that overlapped each other. Some vertical and others horizontal. Then I coloured the gaps in between that terra cotta colour. But that seemed cheap.

So I expanded the width of the lines shaping the rectangles and searched again for the appropriate colour to shade those lines. A sort of non-descript grey colour. The mortar was complete and very unlifelike. A brickwall. Two-dimensional. Like most brickwalls. And like every other virtual brickwall I have ever seen, it felt exactly the same when I banged my head against it. It had the plastic feel of a laptop screen but the same effect.

Meanwhile, back in Mawson Station Antarctica, I got back to the point. Banging my actual head against a virtual brick wall even though most brickwalls are two dimensional like my computer screen and should realistcally feel much the same has nothing to do with what I saw but I thought riffing on something would feel good.

Turns out, it isnt. It feels like self-indulgence of the purest kind.

So, what was the item of food that caused this abuse of the time of my band of loyal followers?

A 24-hour convenience store offered by a banner advertisement:

Black Forest Cherry Gateaux.

And I didnt succumb. How could I not? Why I didnt slide it inside my pocket and consume it whilst on the bus trip home? Cannot explain that really.

And before anybody asks, no they were not selling slices. Convenient whole gateaux. $14.95 I believe.

A Queen and a Pavarotti for a log of heaven.

Tom