Void, imagine with me, if you will, the coziest of places. You have your beverage of choice, some warm lighting in an otherwise dim room, and that blanket that drapes over you (more for softness than for warmth, naturally). In your lap, you have a new book. The story enthralls you; whenever you put it down, the impact of what you’ve just read replays in your head, tempting you—no, demanding you—to pick it back up and keep going. The pieces are laid out, the stage is set, and you are on your way to that big end, that climax, and you know just how it’s going to go. You aren’t upset by this—not every great story needs a twist after all. In fact, knowing how it’s going to play out is satisfying in its own right, it’s exciting, it’s breathtaking, it’s, it’s…
…Not at all how it was supposed to go.
Huh, well, it’s an ending. It’s…huh… It’s a little like a visit from the minutemen if you know what I mean, but, you know…it’s an ending and it ended and I suppose that’s all it had to be…
Enter The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes
This one has been out for a bit. I don’t know if I had originally intended to read it or not. It’s the prequel to The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. I read the first book in the series turned blockbuster several years ago and loved it, but I never got around to getting ahold of the following books. This one was leant to me by a coworker. I think I just needed a reminder of why I loved that first book. The story blew me away.
The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes lures you into a false sense of security before hitting you full force with brutal violence without warning, oftentimes without reason. It was so in-your-face, keeping the reader on the edge of their seat, especially after the reaping. Collins puts a lot of focus on the tribute from District 12, Lucy Gray. As often as she successfully steals the spotlight, there is no separating her from her mentor, a boy from the Capitol: Coriolanus Snow.
Snow Lands on Top
Coriolanus Snow is everything I love in a narrator. He’s unreliable. He’s untrustworthy. He’s bad news shoved in a nice body, and he uses his charms to get exactly what he wants, even at the cost of his fellow classmates. Snow is the kind of guy I would hate in real life (lord knows I know a few Snows), but I absolutely adore on the page. He’s a kind of menacing that’s interesting. He’s fucked up in the head and he plays people with a smile on his face and they are none the wiser.
What I loved most about him was his “love” for Lucy Gray. It’s not true love (thank god; romances make me puke). It’s pure, unadulterated ownership. He wants to use her to win the favor of the Capitol, and when the tingle of her kiss stays on his lips, he wants to own her. He doesn’t want a relationship. He wants a goddamn puppy. He’s jealous of her past affairs and acquaintances. He’s quick to snap when she doesn’t say or do the right thing. He loves her in the same way Eminem loves Rhianna in Love the Way You Lie.
That’s the kind of love that gets my blood pumping. That fucked up, controlling side of love that is horrible, terrible, wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. It’s a whole branch of romance that can turn any book into a horror novel. Maybe that’s why I like it so much.
No Spoils Found Here
I want you to read this book, so I’m not going to delve into all the little plot points and whatnot that made it great. Even if you haven’t read or watched The Hunger Games, you should be aware of the general premise. Kids from different Districts are rounded up for a fight to the death. Only one survives.
That being said…
The One That Could Have Been
What I will tell you, using as small amount of detail as possible to avoid spoilers of the real thing, is my own personal headcannon of an ending. Brace yourselves for huge amounts of vague confusion.
Snow slips Lucy Gray something to help her win the Games. After a long and grueling battle for life, she survives, keeping the something he gave her. Snow reveals to her his plans to keep her with him, not allowing her to go back home to District 12 to be with her self-made little family. Lucy Gray sees the madness in his eyes, understands his crazed obsession with her, and decides to play along. Then, the first moment she gets, she commits suicide. Snow finds her on the ground and holds her, crying at the loss of his girl, his toy. Before Lucy Gray draws her last breath, she tells him that she will never be his, that she is as free as a bird now. Snow, grief-stricken and sick, but most of all pissed off, grows to be the ruler of Panem. He holds onto his hatred of the girl who got away, and uses that hate to fuel the continuation of the Hunger Games.
Dark? Of course. But there’s meaning behind it. It ties up some otherwise loose ends. It’s not cannon, but it’s real in my heart.
You Brought Me Up Just to Let Me Down
Everything up until the last twenty pages or so was phenomenal. You stick with Snow through his ups and downs, his wins and losses. There’s so much emotion in the story that burst through full force in the simplicity of it. When evoking emotion from the reader, I’ve always felt like less is more, and Suzanne Collins is an absolute master of this. The most impactful scenes ended with a short string of words, forcing me to put the book down for a hot minute to fully digest it before itching to pick it back up again to see what happens next. It made me laugh, cry, and feel absolutely disgusted and enthralled. I enjoyed it all the way up to that ending. Ugh.
So, on my arbitrary scale, I’d rate it a solid 9/10. The rest of the book is just too good to downgrade it more than a point.
So here’s the point where I turn it over to you. Have you read The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes? What did you think of the ending? Have you read a fantastic book with a horrid ending that you just can’t get out of your head? Let me know!
Manda Kay Writes 