June 15, 2015
Sansa Stark is no superhero. Leave that to the one-dimensional Sand Snakes, who presumably fulfilled their dark mission to avenge Oberyn by assisting in the murder of an innocent girl. From the end of season four, when Sansa walked down to meet Littlefinger in that ridiculous, feathered dress, fans entertained notions about how dark she might go to meet her own ends. But Sansa’s personality didn’t do a 180 as quickly as did her wardrobe and hair color. She remained more complicated.
The eldest living Stark child had always gravitated towards the life of a Westerosi lady. As a highborn woman in Westeros, the only real way to get ahead is through marriage. Littlefinger offers Sansa the chance to do what all Stark enthusiasts hunger for—the chance to put the family back on the map. Vengeance comes in many forms, however. One can make a list of people to kill, then proceed in taking them out, or, like Sansa decides to do, one can bide one’s time. If Stannis is to win his battle with the Boltons, he might name her Wardeness of the North, particularly on the strength of her father’s name in that region. If the Boltons are to win, Sansa could secure her legacy to the north by her marriage to Ramsay Bolton, a man she does not truly know until it is too late.
The concept of “home” has always been integral to Sansa’s narrative both in the books and on the show. “Please, let me go home,” she begs Joffrey after her father is killed. At that time they are still betrothed, but once he dumps her for Margaery, Sansa is naïve enough to hope again. “You mean he won’t let me go home?” she asks Littlefinger at the end of season two. When Baelish finally squirrels her away in season four, she builds a replica of Winterfell in the snow. Finally, this season, back in her family’s stronghold, she’s able to draw some strength. She lights the candles for her ancestors, and makes it plain to the Boltons that they are the outsiders here. “I’m Sansa Stark of Winterfell; this is my home and you can’t frighten me,” she tells Myranda, after correctly reading the other girl’s jealousy and territorial attitude over Ramsay.
So many stories deal with the truth that in the aftermath of huge life changes, the protagonists can’t really “go home” again; they are too changed by their experiences. “Game of Thrones” ups the ante in a brutal way. Sansa’s trauma is not a thing of the past; it only gets worse, where she is repeatedly raped in her childhood home. This was a place where she had been beloved. “I grew up in the shadow of her father’s castle,” Ros tells Shae, back in season three. “The day she was born, they rang the bells from sunrise to sunset.” Quite a harrowing fall from grace.
Sansa’s rape—at least the first one, to which we are privy—is arguably the most controversial scene in the show to date. (And sheesh, I kinda thought I wouldn’t be writing that again after Cersei’s rape last season.) Part of the quandary with that scene is that Ramsay’s role isn’t easily defined—is he a psychopath, even according to the mores of Westeros, or is he just a man demanding his due in a society that doesn’t recognize marital rape? If the former, the audience is already aware of that fact; listening to Sansa moan in pain as he assaults her is superfluous. The latter carries more narrative merit within the entire context of the show. Some people like to argue over how true Westeros is to medieval history, but I see it as more of a commentary on violent patriarchy, and the bigotry, chiefly misogyny, that it breeds.
I accept that the rape scene was inevitable within the narrative of the show, but I think the execution was botched. We didn’t need to see the whole thing (at least then we could have avoided the argument about whether the scene should have ended on Theon’s or Sansa’s face if we cut to black after Ramsay rips her dress…and I also wish the scene didn’t end the episode, as if placed there for shock value.) Patriarchy breeds violence towards women in Westeros, and we got a far less muddled portrayal of that in Cersei’s walk of shame from the final episode of the season. Cousin Lancel, who is complicit in the same crime, gets off the hook while the Queen Mother has to stumble, naked through King’s Landing, with the people yelling gendered insults and pelting her with filth. I imagine Lena Headey’s shuddering performance of this woman—this oft-villainous woman—being stripped of basic human decency will win her a few acting nominations. She was incredible.
Many people want justice for Sansa—for Ramsay to die, and for the history of his sexual assaults to play a major part. The other controversial issue this season, that of Shireen’s burning by her father, ended on such a note. Instead of ensuring total victory, Stannis’s forces desert him, the rest of his nearest and dearest abandon him in various ways, and he loses his battle against the Boltons. When Brienne comes to seek justice for Renly’s assassination in season two, it’s like coming full circle. Stannis used blood magic to murder his own family members, and it’s only led to his ruin. Surely we want something that harrowing for Ramsay. Though, unlike Stannis, since he’d devoid of any empathy towards others, perhaps we’ll just see him die a painful death.
It’s imperative for a show to focus on well-defined characters, which is the reason why I ultimately support moving Sansa’s story to Winterfell. Although still safely ensconced in the Eyrie in the books, the show brings her into direct contact with her goals—and with those standing in the way of them. I admit, the scene where Ramsay shows her the flayed body of her “northern friend” is wearily similar to season one when Joffrey shows her the heads of Ned and her septa. But I think it’s unfair to claim she hasn’t grown as a character overall, and that she’s just repeating the same victimized steps. Unlike Jeyne, Sansa’s counterpart in the novels, Lady Stark isn’t just present to be a stepping stone in a man’s story. She’s the damsel in the tower, but this time she gets herself out by her own cunning and intuition. Theon doesn’t save her—it’s more the other way around. Then they both get to be active participants in redeeming themselves from Ramsay’s sexual abuse. “I know what Ramsay is,” Sansa is ultimately able to tell Myranda. “I know what he’ll do to me. If I’m going to die, let it be while there’s still some of me left.” (Sidenote about Westerosi patriarchy that Myranda mentions—a woman can be reduced to the body parts needed to produce sons.) The camera pans to Theon, the man the Bolton heir has forced into the creature, Reek. But it turns out there’s still enough Theon left to reclaim his humanity.
But “Reek” doesn’t—and can’t—reclaim his identity on his own. This only happens through Sansa finally siezing what she came to Winterfell to do—to avenge her family. She demands accountability for Theon’s actions against the Starks in this, my favorite scene of the season. In doing so, she receives an unexpected gift—she learns that two of her brothers are still alive. This refocuses Sansa’s perspective, and is one of several goal posts that this usually bleak series puts in place to tell us that her fate extends beyond the sadistic whims of such characters as Joffrey and Ramsay. The other major hints come with Brienne, who doggedly tracks Lady Stark and devotes herself to the girl’s care. I got rather teary at this scene, between Brienne and the northern man outside of Winterfell. Catelyn Stark has been dead for years, but when Brienne says “I serve her still,” it’s more of a testament to the late woman’s legacy than Lady Stoneheart could ever be.
The traditional form of violent vengeance that Lady Stonheart from the books espouses is probably best realized on the show by Arya. Like last year, the Stark girls parallel each other, this time by being placed in sexual positions with people who’ve wronged them, but they diverge from there. This might be my favorite Maisie Williams performance to date, as she embraces Arya’s harrowing sense of mind. I have no sympathy for Meryn Trant, whose defining attribute is getting off on hurting little girls, but as Arya slowly tortures him, I have to wonder at her own psychological well-being. The Faceless Men are almost like an allegory for what’s become of the youngest female Stark, especially in the books where she keeps adding names to her list. Her life is now defined by killing people, to satiate the never-satisfied god of vengeance.
Of course, the Faceless Men are more than just an allegory; they’re a physical—and philosophical—institution to which Arya has pledged her service. And their definition of being “no one” is far different than hers. “No one” is basically a lower-than-dirt punishment that Arya Stark inflicts upon Meryn Trant, but to the Faceless Men, “no one” is a heightened state of being. I’m very fond of the idea that “Jaqen” is not “Jaqen” at all; that Arya met different people in seasons two and five, and yet they are the same because neither have a true identity, or a true face. The ultimate goal of the Faceless Men is to give up all personal desires, relationships and agency—to be mere scepters in service of a higher purpose. Out of all the religious orders in this series, the Faceless Men are perhaps the most terrifying to me—in line with the enslaved Unsullied forces, conditioned to be killing machines who feel no pain; or even the zombie-like wights, servants of the White Walkers. I’ve rambled on for quite awhile now, but I expect to touch upon religion in “Game of Thrones”/ASOIAF quite soon.
A final note on the rape—perhaps I’m being too optimistic, but I hope there’s some more aftermath. Just like Tyrion is haunted by his killing of Shae, to the point that he can’t even psyche himself up for sex after her demise, Sansa’s trauma should have an impact on her future as well. To wit, I hope it leads to a confrontation with Littlefinger, considering their own complicated and sexualized history. She’s asserted her power against him before; maybe that can continue into the coming seasons. Littlefinger has desires for her…but Sansa is only growing stronger in defining her own path. A girl can only hope.
May 20, 2015
Would be lying right now if I didn’t admit that most of my mind power is on “Game of Thrones,” and the extremely controversial ending to the last aired episode. Reactions from fans and tv critics have been raining down on the Internet ever since; I’m currently sort of churning in them. But I have yet to form a definitive opinion, particularly because I do think it’s fair to wait and see how the rest of the season will pan out. But a blog post will be forthcoming, yes yes.
So, to focus on the narrative arc of a tv show that is at a resting place, I present my thoughts on season 4 of “Once Upon a Time.” I usually do this as a precursor to a new batch of episodes about to air, but I couldn’t wait this time. Too much to say! :P
Overall, it was a great season of Once. Although the fandom was divided on the inclusion of “Frozen” in season 4a, I thought it worked well. I enjoyed our little foray into Arendelle, and think that the OUAT writers did a fair bit to deepen the famous Disney story. The actors were all enjoyable, and they had great chemistry.
Mostly, it made complete sense to me to combine Emma and Elsa’s stories. Both young women harnessed a great power that first they were afraid of, and then they learned to control. This was an absolutely essential next step in Emma’s overall journey, not to mention how refreshing it was for her to have a female friend—one who wasn’t related to her no less! :P I hope we get something similar with her and Lily moving forward; the actresses who portrayed the girls as teens were superb.
Regina finally ended up being redeemed by the end of this season. Although the mishegas with Robin and Marian/Zelena could get a bit soap opera-y, it was important for her (and by extension the audience) for her to realize that her true happy ending was to feel at home in the world. This is coded talk for the fact that Regina used to play a big part in sabotaging her own happy endings. It’s a lesson that Rumplestiltskin still has to learn, if he even still can, after the death of his son. He spent most of the entire season being the “big baddie,” as fandom calls the primary antagonist of the story, though he ultimately paid a heavy cost for it. My largest complaint about his story is that, despite a few episodic adventures, Belle is still just a glorified assistant cast member in his arc. I’d like to point out how Regina firmly proclaimed that having a man wasn’t a happy ending in and of itself, but I also grudgingly accept that with a cast of characters as large as the group here, only a handful can be primaries.
A few world building details didn’t sit well with me. For the climax of the 4a storyline, Belle found a McGuffin dagger for confronting Rumple, rather than doing so with the knowledge of everything he’d been hiding from her all half-season. Giving Snow and Charming a dark secret was a brilliant move, which made them more complicated than just being one-dimensional heroes, but it came with all sorts of weird conditions. For example, who has “dark” inner potential and who has “light” inner potential, and how can someone retain “dark” inner potential after her parents did a terrible thing to take it out of her, and ugh, my head hurts. :P
I’m a big proponent of the fact that this story is more about the power of hope and faith than the machinations of magic, but for that to work, the “light” vs “dark” potential of each character should be rooted in his or her own conscious choices. And I haven’t even gotten to The Author yet, and his partial ability to mess with free will, oy. It’s at times like these when I think OUAT is losing its focus.
All of that being said, I’m definitely looking forward to season 5. 4b ended with a major shift in power, when magic that had held steady since the beginning of the show found a new form. We’re shaking things up, and so far it seems we’re not adding in a temporary, half-season set of cast members to do it; it’s all intrinsic to our well-established, main characters. I can’t wait to see how they develop next. So see you in the fall, Oncers, and remember—the ability to hope is a powerful thing. :D
April 18, 2015
I had planned to put together my own Seder this year in my brand(ish) new condo, but then my aunts flew in for the holiday and I scratched that. My mom did her usual, preparing the traditional meal with matzah ball soup, gefilte fish, chicken and salad; my aunts brought their signature dishes and the slim Haggadah they use for their normal affair with the rest of my extended family. They take turns reading from the book and then eat; at my parents’ house we ate, and then half-heartedly read a few pages.
After the dishes were cleared and macaroons put out on the table for dessert, my mom got out candles for me to light for Shabbat, and then we partook in our own little tradition of quickly retelling the Exodus story as a transition into discussing modern day politics and socio-economics. Not in the binary “it’s all Obama’s fault” or “damn all corporate interests” way, but a more detailed look into the Israeli/Palestinian conflict, capital punishment, how human nature effects people in good and bad ways at different times. We covered a lot of ground. :p
This was also my niece’s second Passover, and she greeted me eating a piece of matzah. :p. She didn’t seem to like it much, but like most people she kept chewing anyway. She also seemed to like the broth from the matzah ball soup, so she’s slowly learning the ways of Ashkenazi Jewish food. Hurrah!
And I sang in a Pesach concert with my synagogue’s and another choir in late March. It was so rejuvenating on many levels–the first time I’d sung chamber music with a group in a long while, keeping time with the conductor, the cadence of each stanza. I learned a new harmony for “Eliahu,” which made me very happy. Intrinsically I seem to find music very spiritual, and so does my mother; our relationships to Judaism are very different but we come together to sing. Dayenu!
I still feel like I have a long way to go with Passover, though, as the semi-religious daughter of an assimilated family. I think that’s why I have to claim it as my own home and hearth holiday. Every year my parents host a big shindig at their house for Thanksgiving as a way to reconnect with friends and family, and to embrace the benefits of hospitality. I want Passover as way to connect with my family spiritually. I want to cook them matzah ball soup and a chicken from Safeway, and I want to gather parts of the Haggadah to explore Jewish identity and the broader issues freedom, faith, journeying, and home. And by “family” I mean my parents, because even after some thirty-odd years, I feel confident that they might endure my eccentric tendencies. :p
I hope that everyone had a happy and meaningful holiday. L’shana haba b’Yerushalayim!
March 5, 2015
One of the first entries I posted to this blog centered on J.J. Abrams’ first Star Trek movie, and the complex ethnicity of Mr. Spock. It reminded me so much of my own identity, two parents of different religions/ cultures/ ethnicities…one foot in each world.
Perhaps for Leonard Nimoy, may his memory be a blessing, this might have served as more of a metaphor. Spock’s human heritage could stand for Nimoy’s acceptance into the broader American, Hollywood (or UFP, as it were,) culture, where his Vulcan side, with the salute based off of the Priestly Blessing, signified his parents, Ashkenazi Jewish shtetl immigrants.
I admit, when I first started getting into scifi and fantasy, I didn’t really consider Star Trek and its Jewish lens, although at the time I wasn’t considering anything for a Jewish lens. My gateway drug to this genre was Star Wars, and in the accepted and small minded way, I took sides. I was taken in by Lucas’s space opera, and the struggle of a protagonist who hones his identity and power against a familial legacy. Star Trek, to me, seemed like one of those “day at the office” shows, if your office was a spaceship and your job was either to make sure it ran properly or investigate various aliens. (I’m sorry, Trekkies. Please don’t vaporize me! Is that a thing? *hides*)
What’s worse, as a dummy teen, I was blithely unaware of the fact that some of my favorite new tv shows, like Space Cases and Farscape, were directly inspired by Star Trek. But instead, it was these stories, rather than the original, which made me realize that a crew can be like a family, and alien encounters can shape that one’s trajectory as much as the Force.
I’ve never gotten around to watching any original Star Trek, or any of the franchise before the J.J. Abrams movies. It’s something I’m thinking I should change, now that I’m more aware of creator Gene Rodenberry’s vision to project a future for diversity in humans as well as aliens. Nimoy, who is practically incongruous with his character Spock at this point, is testament to that. More to the point, he could find a seat at the table without giving up his ethnic identity, whether it be Vulcan or Jewish.
In another blog post, I may have to focus on my quest for Jewish fiction from the viewpoint of the children of interfaith marriage (a small sidenote—is the story of Esther, commemorated last night at Purim holiday megillah readings, our first major depiction of an interfaith union? :P); I’m assuming Spock doesn’t ruminate too much on his dual heritage. But science fiction continues to provide a creative avenue into progressive, empathetic thinking—where we can meet new people, or species, from different walks of life, and realize that they’re not so alien after all.
Live long and prosper (LLAP).
February 5, 2015
As a disclaimer, I have yet to watch “Selma” which is up for Best Picture in the Academy Awards this year. But some of the “factual” criticisms levied against them remind me of being a fan (or sometimes not so much of a fan) of novel adaptations for TV or film. For example, one of my biggest disappointments with “Mockingjay, Part 1″ was that they excised a conversation between Katniss and Haymitch working through their anger and guilt over failing to protect Peeta–as if this were an actual historical event. (In my defense, it would have made the story stronger. :p)
With “Selma,” some of this criticism comes from historians, claiming that the movie painted President Johnson in too negative a light. Director Ava DuVernay responded that she didn’t want to make a film about “a white savior,” aka she wanted to focus on some of the African Americans, namely Martin Luther King, Jr., I assume, who were at the center of the Civil Rights movement. I might add that, be the source material a novel or actual history, a movie is too contained to give much dimension to non-main characters. But another argument is–this isn’t a documentary, it’s art. DuVernay–or Francis Lawrence of the final three “Hunger Games” films–aren’t contractually bound to stay true to “the source material.”
The natural follow-up question might be–does that make the movie less “true”? This might be where my fiction-oriented/spiritual brain trumps whatever I have of a facts and figures science brain. :p. I think the truth contained in novels and other fictional media are that they can go deep into characters, and explore the complex questions of identity, history, politics, relationships, etc, etc, etc from a uniquely emotionally resonant perspective. The “truth” about life is more than a ledger book of physical actions. “The truth” is about several different narratives and experiences, but who has the time to watch a movie as long as life? :p
But to be hypocritical (another component of the complexity of “truth,”) I feel disappointed that Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel was omitted from the movie, even as he marched to Selma amongst other white clergymen who were depicted, so I’ve read. When a group one identifies with is part of the larger narrative (particularly a positive narrative like joining together with diverse communities to stand for civil rights,) I suppose it’s natural to want to see that validation. And again, perhaps a short scene of Dr. King and Rabbi Heschel shaking hands might’ve made for a stronger story. But either way, this is one small component of a work that belongs to art, not history. I’d rather judge DuVernay’s movie on what’s there rather than what’s not.
Just because there is a commercial component to some art doesn’t mean that we, as consumers, require a say. This transaction isn’t about buying a pair of pants, after all; it’s about exploring the world in new ways. Part of that, in fact, requires us to give up personal control. No movie, or book, or etc is perfect, but I hope that people leave their personal biases at the door, insofar as is possible; and that they also take into account what the creator was trying to accomplish (and how well he or she succeeded at that) before offering critique.
Tangentially, I’m always on the lookout for films that portray a variety of Jewish characters and experiences in the driver’s seat (currently I’m having trouble narrowing down my selections for the 2015 Washington Jewish Film Fest). But that feeds into my empathy for the perceived goal of the movie, “Selma”–to depict African Americans as the center of their story rather than as the supporting cast. It’s a perspective we don’t often get to see in Hollywood, though with recent successes like “12 Years a Slave,” hopefully it will become more normalized.
Sticking to judgement, though, I don’t really care how the Academy considers something to be a good or bad movie; they have their own issues to work out. But since we are still relatively close to the beginning of the year, allow me to offer my best and worst novel reads from 2014. :p
January 5, 2015
Continuing in my annual tradition of looking back at Jewish news that came out of Italy in the past year. I picked what I consider to be an eclectic mix about Italian people and situations. Several revolve around culture or altruism, to offset those that deal with antisemitism.
I’ve included links to the stories and dates below; please feel free to add anything I may have missed. I think it’s important, on a macro level, to gain insight into Jewish communities that exist outside of Israel and the United States. Our Tribe has made a long, distinguished mark on the world! I am glad, in however crooked a way, to be connected to the Italian Jewish community.
December 31, 2014
I admit, I feel a little irritated every time someone (including relatives and ASOIAF author George R. R. Martin) gets on a bender about this whole “The Interview” business. Yeah, yeah, no one should trample on our freedom of speech to watch whatever movies we’d like. And it’s certainly abhorrent to threaten anyone with the atrocity of 9/11. But this all seems a bit trite in comparison to other ills plaguing our country and our world. Folks are pretty fucking lucky if their biggest grievance in life revolves around their inability to see a movie starring two of my tribesmen who embrace their poop humor, and Lizzy Caplan’s cleavage. (I’m assuming that low-cut top that she’s wearing while on duty as a CIA official doesn’t have much to do with character development. :P)
Granted, people don’t just have to be upset about the worst things that happened to them, or to society as a whole. I’m certainly disappointed by the rotten tomatoes score of “The Mockingjay: Part One”—and even though I full-heartedly believe that it explores complex social and political issues that “The Interview” wouldn’t even think to graze, lower ratings certainly don’t impact any real world issues of poverty and injustice. An interesting contrast between these two movies is that “Mockingjay”’s clout is within the story itself, whereas “The Interview” is all about external context—these hackers conceivably could have gone after any movie.
The rotten tomatoes score for “The Interview” is pretty abysmal—not that I always put a lot of stock into those, but I have little reason, given what I’ve read and seen in trailers, to believe that this movie really lifts its head from the sophomoric. I’ve read one or two defensive reviews that claim the movie educates people on the despotic regime that is in North Korea, but even without seeing the film I feel confident in saying that you could definitely find more thorough and reliable information elsewhere.
To a degree, “The Mockingjay” has an unfair advantage over “The Interview,” because it doesn’t chronicle a specific, contemporary issue. Though that also makes it easy to commandeer for any agenda—a slippery slope. Personally, my calm is affected when anyone ascribes the words “Capitol” and “Rebellion” to something like “Republican” and “Democrat,” or any international conflict. (Which beyond over-simplifying real world politics and history, also over-simplifies the Capitol and the Rebellion.) I appreciate more specific examples of poverty and oppression—eg Americans who use the hashtag #MyHungerGames to talk about how economic inequality has affected their lives. And speaking of movies being banned, Thailand did so for “Mockingjay” after some Thais used the story’s iconic three-fingered salute to protest their militarized government. Similarly, “The Mockingjay, Part One” opened in the US around the same time that the Ferguson protests against police aggression were heating up, prompting someone to spraypaint Katniss’s words “if we burn, you burn with us” in town. This was the bit of “movies meet reality” news that caught my attention before “The Interview” hoopla exploded in everyone’s faces.
Not to say that The Hunger Games is the only franchise that has inspired such deep thinking; it’s just one that speaks prominently to me. I hope that these books and films may inspire us to think about the world, and the type in which we’d like to live. Something I didn’t mention in my last post about “Mockingjay,” but in terms of Judaism the book, and movie one, make me think of tikkun olam, healing the world. Things may be broken, but we are surrounded by shards of goodness, if only we have the will to try and bring them together.
Wishing you all a happy and fulfilling 2015.
December 30, 2014
The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog.
I plan to be back again before the new year (or at least soon thereafter,) but in the meantime, here are my stats! Thank you all for reading, and hope you’re having a great holiday season.
Here’s an excerpt:
A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 2,100 times in 2014. If it were a cable car, it would take about 35 trips to carry that many people.
November 3, 2014
“This is where the meaning of the entire series comes into play. The answer to why these books exist exists in “Mockingjay,” and that’s really been exciting to me. That’s been kind of what I’ve hung on to through these stories.”
–Francis Lawrence, director, in Entertainment Weekly
(Warning for spoilers about the end of The Hunger Games series)
When I was 11 years old, my mother bought a copy of my favorite book, wrote an inscription and packed it into my Camp Moshava trunk. No, the book wasn’t “Mockingjay,” though I kind of wish I were that young now. :p. It was 1995, and the book was “Daphne’s Book” by Mary Downing Hahn.
“Daphne’s Book” is my favorite novel, and my go-to for understanding life. Written by a fellow Marylander, a librarian, and published the year I was born, it’s a coming-of-age story about an adolescent dealing with various, difficult changes that mark the passage of time in life. I’ve been writing a short story for years based, in part, on the protagonist, Jessica’s, difficulty in losing once-close friends; I completely blame this book for my enduring fear of relationships. :P Another of the novel’s story arcs involves titular character, Daphne, attempting to hide her grandmother’s dementia from authorities, something that felt much more visceral to me in later years once my own grandmothers came down with the disease.
But the real message of the story, what my mom referred to in her inscription, and what came back to me when reading “Mockingjay” is the theme that there isn’t always such a thing as a happy ending; sometimes you can’t get back what you lost, but there is always such a thing as hope.
A lot of people don’t like the closer to The Hunger Games series, or at the very least, it’s a bit divisive among fans. It breaks the mold, a little bit, from the more action/adventure-paced plots of the first two, where Katniss was too focused on surviving the immediate threat of the Games to give much thought to the larger politics. In “Mockingjay,” she’s forced into that world. More to the point, she’s largely unwilling, not your archetypal heroine who goes full throttle into her badass destiny. She’s a major player of the war, not out of some personal political drive, or special, revolutionary superpower, but because of the exploitative nature of her society to propagandize the lives of normal people.
I very viscerally remember reading “Mockingjay” for the first time, pausing to send frenetic texts to the friend who indoctrinate me into the series, and ending it by pacing around my apartment while listening to the “Jane Eyre” soundtrack, my insides churning as I thought about Katniss’s nightmare of being buried alive by the dead. Another one of my favorite authors from adolescence, Tamora Pierce, linked to this post about “Mockingjay,” the crux of which is this:
It’s not an adventure series about justified vengeance. It’s about the consequences of violence, and the personal and social toll it takes on everybody. [Collins] fashioned an intense anti-war story and suckered the audience into it with her thrilling dystopia tales. What a great trick.
I find I’m pretty much in total agreement, although I’m not entirely sure I’d call author Suzanne Collins’s message dogmatic enough to be anti-war. But “Mockingjay” is certainly about the horrible effects of war. Even the most just wars (because honestly, what is more just than stopping child sacrifice,) have horrible repercussions. Katniss escapes to small, enclosed spaces in order to scream, swaddle herself in clothes and shut out the world when her emotions become overwhelming. Peeta is left with fractured memories and violent PTSD after being tortured as a prisoner of war. Gale, responding to power after a lifetime of state-enforced poverty and hard labor, embraces martial extremism with his us vs them mentality. The rebellion and it’s leaders, ostensibly created to be a safe haven from the Capitol’s sadism, falls victim to similar corrupting influences. Bombs fall, everyone is terrorized, and innocents like Prim, who catapulted the series when Katniss saved her from a senseless death, is killed anyway. This is not a happy ending, where “the Mockingjay” can reclaim what was lost.
In “Daphne’s Book,” Jessica and Daphne attempt to write a short story for a middle school competition, based upon some toy mice Jessica owns, one of which has gone missing. In Jessica’s first version, the mouse ultimately comes home, but in Daphne’s version, mirroring real life, the mouse never returns but the family doesn’t give up hope. In “Mockingjay,” Katniss turns hope into a game. From the final paragraphs of the epilogue:
My children, who don’t know they play on a graveyard.
Peeta says it will be okay. We have each other. And the book. We can make them understand in a way that will make them braver. But one day I’ll have to explain about my nightmares. Why they came. Why they won’t ever really go away.
I’ll tell them how I survive it. I’ll tell them that on bad mornings, it feels impossible to take pleasure in anything because I’m afraid it could be taken away. That’s when I make a list in my head of every act of goodness I’ve seen someone do. It’s like a game. Repetitive. Even a little tedious after more than twenty years.
But there are much worse games to play.
I’ve read a lot of great fiction since “Mockingay,” much of it literary, with strong prose, and compelling characters in intriguing situations. But this is the last one I’ve read that has deeply influenced my worldview—about the nature of war, of depression and trauma, and the need for personal human connections. The “Mockingjay” epilogue is also my favorite of all time (I still cry whenever I read it)—it’s short and cagey, due to Katniss wanting to protect the privacy of herself and her children; it also refuses to give the story a happy ending, instead insisting that the characters have to keep dealing with what was lost, but in embracing this connection to each other, they are able to forge a hopeful future. Yes, you can call me an “EverLark shipper” (granted, they have both a doctored, public relationship, and their more complicated, private relationship, which changes greatly over 20-plus years)—but more to the point I’m staunch on having people realize that just because they are teenagers and just because this is YA doesn’t mean that the relationship is automatically stupid or shallow. In fact, I believe that a focus on fictional relationships in general gets a bad rap for being “feminine” or “soap operish,” when really it’s about the fabric that makes us human. Or allegorical toy mice. :P
My mom wrote in my 20-year-old copy of “Daphne’s Book”: “Daphne might not believe in happy endings, but I do.” However, “Mockingjay,” where the protagonist doesn’t only battle depression, like I do, but also the effects of war, reveals the complexity of the “not happy, but hopeful” ending. We can’t right all the wrongs and forget all trauma, either individually or as a society. There is no one, revolutionary fix. But there is, as Katniss found, small, personable ways to count up the goodness in your life.
I feel like I’ve only touched on a fraction of what this series has to say about war and other themes, but at least I have one movie to go, and I’ll probably sneak in a few more posts. :P I’ve been attempting to rewrite this one in my head for months, in order to explain why November 21, when the first “Mockingjay” adaptation comes to the big screen, is such an important event for me. Given F. Lawrence’s quote at the beginning of this entry, I am extremely hopeful. It seems like we come from the same school of thought with “Mockingjay,” so I’m just going to re-watch this tv spot about the devastation of war, and continue to count down the days until I can use my premiere ticket. :D Fire is catching.
October 6, 2014
Just before High Holidays this year, I experienced a barrage of change in my life–from social to professional to health-related. Some of it was good change, some not so much. I felt the push, more than ever, to set things right in the Days of Awe–to fortify the good and to make positive changes to the bad.
It had the desired effect, I think. Things that burdened me on Rosh Hashanah felt lighter by Yom Kippur. My week of reflection and change paved the way for me moving forward.
I love the High Holidays. They speak to me most poignantly out of all of the holy days. I love being part of the crowd in synagogue–where it doesn’t matter as much how often you do or don’t attend throughout the rest of the year. (This year, I was honored to be asked by the gabbai to wrap the Torah during the mincha/afternoon service). I love the liturgy about humility and renewal. I love the feel of a good bagel settling in my stomach at the Yom Kippur break fast.
Yom Kippur brought some interesting, sensory associations between the Jewish and non-Jewish worlds as well. At Kol Nidre, we were outside for part of the service, hidden by a tall fence and only seeing each other, but we could hear the noise of the city continuing to bustle outside as well. The next day, I walked to the local library between services. Rabbi Steinlauf had just given a sermon about Otherness to Kittel and Tallit-wearing fasting Jews; outside the non-Jews ate in restaurant windows and lounged in casual clothes in the library. Was a strange juxtaposition, and a reminder about belonging to two worlds. I have to find a better balance between these two parts of my identity–Jewish and secular.
If there’s any indication about what can be accomplished in a year, surely it exists through my niece, Grace. Last Yom Kippur she wasn’t even born yet; by this one, she is babbling, mimicking hand motions, and attempting to walk, amongst other things. More than anything else, perhaps, she is my light, my inspiration for all the goodness that is possible in life. She teaches me every day, and I love her so much.