In that one slight motion, I see the end of hope, the beginning of the destruction of everything I hold dear in the world. I can’t guess what form my punishment will take, how wide the net will be cast, but when it is finished, there will most likely be nothing left.

It’s rather amazing how, even in a situation with this much importance riding on it (if we go by the book’s logic) she can still manage to sound melodramatic. 

It’s a toss-up between what’s worse: the fact that she starts composing bad poetry the moment she’s told ‘you failed,’ or the fact that she thinks of herself instead of the war that’s about to start.

So you would think that at this moment, I would be in utter despair. Here’s what’s strange.

Book, are you talking to me again?  Because this is only the second or third time so far in the whole series, and it really breaks with the tone.

I add Haymitch to the list. These are the people I must take with me when I escape into the wild.

Katniss is convinced that she has to run and hide, but for no reason.  It’s sort of like the marriage thing; she just assumes shit and then runs with it.  There was never a hint that anyone would be in danger if she failed, and he’s already outright stated that he can’t kill her for some reason.  True, Snow threatened Gale, but he threatened her into doing the kissing routine.  It was a threat to get her going.  She did what he asked, it didn’t work.  Snow now has a rebellion to spend his time on and nothing to gain by killing Katniss’s loved ones.

I pull off girl-almost-catatonic-with-joy without a hitch.

[…] “Maybe if the whole country puts its mind to it, we can get you married before you’re thirty.”

“You’ll probably have to pass a new law,” I say with a giggle.

So, Katniss can’t act, as we’ve been told again and again.  Also, she has no reason to keep performing.  She has reason not to spit in his face (she wants to go home and run before she gets ‘killed’) but there’s no reason to be putting forth any great amount of effort, which is already hard for her.

Except, wait, no, she’s still dancing for her masters and doing it flawlessly.

Because fuck continuity.

The party, held in the banquet room of President Snow’s mansion, has no equal. The forty-foot ceiling has been transformed into the night sky, and the stars look exactly as they do at home. […] About halfway between the floor and the ceiling, musicians float on what look like fluffy white clouds, but I can’t see what holds them aloft. Traditional dining tables have been replaced by innumerable stuffed sofas and chairs, some surrounding fireplaces, others beside fragrant flower gardens or ponds filled with exotic fish, so that people can eat and drink and do whatever they please in the utmost comfort. There’s a large tiled area in the center of the room that serves as everything from a dance floor, to a stage for the performers who come and go, to another spot to mingle with the flamboyantly dressed guests.

God, even your fancy dinner parties are boring.  This is on par with The Selection serving ‘pancakes and bacon’ at the palace.  I’ve seen high school proms get more inventive than this.

Everything you can think of, and things you have never dreamed of, lie in wait. Whole roasted cows and pigs and goats still turning on spits. Huge platters of fowl stuffed with savory fruits and nuts. Ocean creatures drizzled in sauces or begging to be dipped in spicy concoctions. Countless cheeses, breads, vegetables, sweets, waterfalls of wine, and streams of spirits that flicker with flames.

No, this is on par with pancakes and bacon for breakfast.  Seriously, this is the best the author could come up with?  Do you have any idea the number of strange things people will eat in the name of being fancy?

Well, she gets vague enough, maybe there’s some lark’s tongue on the buffet somewhere.

“I want to taste everything in the room,” I tell Peeta.

Katniss dives into all the nondescript bounty, apparently without a second thought for the starving masses in District 11 who worked under a whip to bring these foods to harvest.  Seriously, not even a murmur of a thought for them or anyone else.  Just ‘yay food,’

I act delighted, but I have zero interest in these Capitol people. They are only distractions from the food.

In addition to having no second thoughts about all the waste and indulgence at the buffet table, Katniss doesn’t have any thoughts about the people she’s treating with, the very same people who continually support and delight in a practice that kills 23 kids every single year.  She’s perfectly willing to smile pretty for them, and while she doesn’t like them, she’s not put off by them either.  They’re just…there.  Just set dressing, like every other bit character in the novel, whose existence is only to prop up her awesomeness. 

There’s a sense, in this scene, that the excess of the Capitol is completely divorced from the poverty of the districts. Even though the latter is because of the former, that’s never acknowledge by Katniss.  She’s too busy taking in the delights to care about where they came from, or to condemn the people who support this lifestyle.

But I make Peeta eat the remainder because I want to keep tasting things, and the idea of throwing away food, as I see so many people doing so casually, is abhorrent to me. After about ten tables I’m stuffed, and we’ve only sampled a small number of the dishes available.

She abhors throwing away food, but she has no problems with stuffing her face? 

Katniss, dear.  Eating that much food is still wasteful.

You do not need to eat that much.

The food is not doing any more good in your fat cells than it would in the garbage heap.

I’m not saying she can’t eat until she’s full, but she’s intentionally stuffing herself beyond the point of ‘full’ just for the sake of having a bite of everything in the room.

They lead us over to a table that holds tiny stemmed wineglasses filled with clear liquid.

These are, of course, the infamous vomit-inducers.  And they’re not even subtle, or something only a few people do.  They’re set out on a table for everyone.

Book, I can’t believe I have to tell you this, but VOMITING IS NOT A FUN ACTIVITY.  The average person will avoid doing it.  Especially since you can just wait a while, digest a bit, and then go back for more that way.  And if you got this from that ‘vomitorium’ myth, then shame on you, because there was no special room for vomiting in ancient Rome.

“You go along, thinking you can deal with it, thinking maybe they’re not so bad, and then you —” He cuts himself off.

All I can think of is the emaciated bodies of the children on our kitchen table as my mother prescribes what the parents can’t give. More food.

So, Katniss finally remembers the starving kids, but not until her prep team comes up with the vomit-glasses.  And it’s not that she’s uncomfortable until the vomit-glasses, no, she’s perfectly fine marveling at all the food and stuffing herself past full.  But THROWING UP?  Oh my, no, that’s just crossing a line!

They steal all the food for themselves to throw lavish parties, where everyone eats all night long, but apparently that’s just fine as long as no one vomits!

I don’t want to dance with Plutarch Heavensbee. I don’t want to feel his hands, one resting against mine, one on my hip. I’m not used to being touched, except by Peeta or my family,

You’ve been doing this all night and just called it a ‘distraction,’ but now that we’ve got an actual character in the mix you’ll react? 

I rank Gamemakers somewhere below maggots in terms of creatures I want in contact with my skin.

Nice of you to say so.  I never would have guessed given the way you seem to completely exempt them from blame.

I want to point out that twenty-two dead tributes will never recover from the Games he helped create, either. But I only say, “Good. So, you’re the Head Gamemaker this year? That must be a big honor.”

Why don’t we get more of this in the books?  There’s a serious lack of any thoughts about the dead kids throughout their time in the capitol, except for when the author wants to introduce this new character.

I’ve already arranged for the necessary notes and gifts to be sent to him tomorrow. There you are!” […]But Effie has this all down to a science, and at exactly one o’clock we are back on the train and it’s pulling out of the station.

But don’t let that stop you from making fun of her, Katniss.  After all, she wears wigs, and wigs are stupid.

“It’s not necessary. My nightmares are usually about losing you,” he says. “I’m okay once I realize you’re here.”

“I have no lingering trauma from that girl I helped brutally murder, or from the one I accidently murdered, or from nearly dying multiple times.  Nope, my entire being revolves around you, which is why I’m so willing to manipulate you into a relationship.  It’s romantic!”

He’s not pressing me to reply in kind, to make any declaration of love. But I still feel awful, as if I’ve been using him in some terrible way. Have I? I don’t know. I only know that for the first time, I feel immoral about him being here in my bed.

I don’t know; I think the kind of comments Peeta’s been making are pretty full of pressure.  They’re not direct, but he’s clearly being forward with his feelings to the point of making her guilty and uncomfortable.  Plus, he’s about to marry her, which means he’ll have years and years and years to continue with these guilt-trip games.  So it’s not like there’s a rush on his end.

And I’m not sure about the rest.  I mean, she shouldn’t feel guilty for letting him sleep there, they both want and benefit from it.  But at the same time, it’s natural for her to feel bad, because feelings sometimes suck that way.  But also at the same time, yick, you can totally see that Peeta’s guilt-tripping is working.

We always celebrate the Harvest Festival on the final day of the Victory Tour, but usually it means a meal at home or with a few friends if you can afford it.

Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy you have nothing to harvest!

After I got home, we started spending time together. It turns out Madge has plenty of empty hours to fill, too.

And again I ask, why? 

So far, all of the kids we’ve seen have helped their parents work or support the family, but not Madge.  I know it’s probably because they’re ‘so rich’ compared to the rest, but that doesn’t change the facts.  The only child not working is a girl child who gets out of doing political/administrative work.

This book is feminist!

Other girls our age, I’ve heard them talking about boys, or other girls, or clothes. Madge and I aren’t gossipy and clothes bore me to tears.

Clothes?  Really?  Clothes?  You live in a district where people routinely starve to death and you yourself only had one or two outfits, but you’re still going to pull out that tired old line?  They can’t talk about work, or share tips on how not to die, no, instead you’ve got to display every other girl in your town as a vapid airhead, regardless of the situation or circumstance, because all girls except the main characters are of course useless and stupid?

This book is feminist, and don’t you forget it!

Her father has District 12 to run and her mother gets fierce headaches that force her to stay in bed for days.

Oh, look, another useless mother.

There’s only so many times I can mock the book with the same line within a single paragraph.

Instinctively I know this is not for my eyes but something intended only for the mayor.

Did the TV give off ‘stay away’ pheromones?  Or did you maybe use basic reasoning skills to determine that the odd news report playing in the mayor’s office is meant for the mayor?