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The Tragedy of Primrose Everdeen: A Hunger Games Analysis
In another world, she might have been the heroine.
When I first read The Hunger Games, it was 2009. My mom, a type-1 diabetic, had just been admitted to the hospital with an infection that culminated in one of her legs being amputated below the knee. I found The Hunger Games one late night at Target, and something drew me to that golden bird on a black-and-gray cover.
It was the first time since reading Twilight by Stephenie Meyer that I fell head over heels for a book.
I could imagine Katniss’s dystopian world so easily. In my head, District 12 was the kind of backwater place no one would ever visit, and even wild nature could not seem to encroach upon the starkness of the little district with all its stone-glazed tones. It was a sad place drained of all color. It was a place where rainbows went to die.
It was also easy to fall into the footsteps of Katniss. I could have channeled her anger, her depression, her utter lack of hope. I understood her reasoning about not wanting to love anything or anyone — how can you when losing it all could come so easily? — but I also envied her spark, her stubbornness, her personality as bright as a fire on the verge of becoming an inferno.
