At some point during the prep, each of them bursts into tears at least twice, and Octavia pretty much keeps up a running whimper throughout the morning. It turns out they really have become attached to me, and the idea of my returning to the arena has undone them.

 Nice thought, but hey.  Remember the last book when these three characters supposedly “adored” her even before the interview began?  So why didn’t they break down crying then?  If you want to have the line of “everyone knows them and that makes this really sad,” okay, but stop forgetting that they went to great lengths to make all the tributes known in all the other games, too!

The idea of being strong for someone else having never entered their heads, I find myself in the position of having to console them.

The idea that the prep team is sub-human is getting really old.  Even when the book wants us to feel bad for them, it wants us to feel bad and then also remember that they’re not as awesome as Katniss.   

Lunch makes me feel a bit better. Pheasant with a selection of jewel-colored jellies, and tiny versions of real vegetables swimming in butter, and potatoes mashed with parsley. For dessert we dip chunks of fruit in a pot of melted chocolate, and Cinna has to order a second pot because I start just eating the stuff with a spoon.

So, we know from earlier chapters that the capitol is suffering from shortages, but here we see Katniss still getting to eat sumptuous, fresh foods.  Are they spending all their reserved on these tributes that are about to die?  Why?  Why not give her the old and the stale; they don’t have to impress her, but  for some reason they want to make sure that their own citizens are kept fat and happy. 

Oh, sorry, I forgot for a moment there that conditions is the center of the world and she gets all the best stuff by default, logic be damned.

Last year he used little so that the audience would recognize me when I landed in the arena. But now my face is almost obscured by the dramatic highlights and dark shadows. High arching eyebrows, sharp cheekbones, smoldering eyes, deep purple lips.

Makeup is bad!  Until Cinna puts it on Katniss, and then it’s okay to just slather it on for dramatic effect. 

But all those other stylists/tributes, psh, when they wear make-up it’s just pitiful and ridiculous, amiright?

He turns me toward a mirror so that I can take in the entire effect. I do not see a girl, or even a woman, but some unearthly being who looks like she might make her home in the volcano

 The number of times that Katniss looks in a mirror to go on about how awesome she looks is really just staggering.  I wouldn’t mind it so much if it wasn’t played so straight.  Katniss never feels strange about all this, never thinks about the amount of attention paid to her looks or about how much time she spends prepping compared to when she’s at home.  Nope, she just is happy to admire herself without a second thought.

 Social commentary requires that comment actually be made.  They don’t have to be out-and-out told to us, but highlighting stuff like this in comparison to her “normal” life, having her view it as odd or wrong or disproportionate, that would go a long way toward actually saying “this is bad/weird/has too much focus.”

 Instead all we get is “Katniss and Cinna are awesome and all those others just don’t know what they’re doing.”

 Katniss, the girl on fire, has left behind her flickering flames and bejeweled gowns and soft candlelight frocks. She is as deadly as fire itself.

I’m getting real sick of this whole “girl on fire” thing.  It was cute enough when it first showed up, but now it’s just getting tortured.  Especially when the book thinks that it needs to “one-up” every instance.  

When you’re on the chariot this time, no waving, no smiling. I just want you to look straight ahead, as if the entire audience is beneath your notice.”

“Finally something I’ll be good at,” I say.

 Well, at least she finally admitted to being a selfish brat who thinks others are non-people and “beneath her notice.”  It’s been clear all along, but wasn’t aware that the author did it on purpose. 

Oh who are we kidding.  She probably meant that to be “humor” and doesn’t realize that it’s actually “dead-on.”  

When he received a silver parachute with a trident — which may be the most expensive gift I’ve ever seen given in the arena — it was all over. District 4’s industry is fishing. He’d been on boats his whole life. The trident was a natural, deadly extension of his arm. He wove a net out of some kind of vine he found, used it to entangle his opponents so he could spear them with the trident, and within a matter of days the crown was his.

ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?

NO, REALLY, AUTHOR, WHAT KIND OF DRUGS ARE YOU FUCKING SMOKING?

BECAUSE YOU HAVE TO BE ON SOMETHING TO REALLY THINK THIS IS RIGHT.

Industrial fishing with a trident?  A TRIDENT OF ALL THINGS?

I’M STUCK ON CAPSLOCK, THAT’S HOW LARGE MY WTF FACE IS RIGHT NOW.

I KNOW OF NO OTHER WAY TO EXPRESS IT.

LIKE, HOW DOES ANYONE GET STUPID ENOUGH FOR THIS?  I DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW TO TELL YOU HOW WRONG IT IS, BECAUSE I DON’T KNOW HOW YOU BELIEVE IT IN THE FIRST PLACE.

People do not do industrial fishing with tridents!  In fact, no one fishes with tridents at all!  Even if you’re doing spearfishing for sport, you don’t use tridents because tridents suck for that.  You use a fishing spear.  How many of those have three prongs?  That’s right: NONE.

AND THAT’S FOR A TOOL THAT ONLY CATCHES ONE FISH A TIME.

YOU DO NOT DO INDUSTRIAL FISHING BY CATCHING ONE FISH AT A TIME.

And why the fuck would Finnick be part of his district’s industry at the age of 14 anyway?  Isn’t he supposed to be in school?

And why the fuck would Finnick be part of his district’s industry at all?  Isn’t he supposed to be in ‘training’ since he’s from a career district?

There are just so many things that are so wrong in such a small space.

Because of his youth, they couldn’t really touch him for the first year or two. But ever since he turned sixteen, he’s spent his time at the Games being dogged by those desperately in love with him.

So these people have no issues with sending 12 year-olds in to die, but sex, oh, that has to wait until 16?  Why?  What’s the point of having these two different, quite random age standards?  If the idea of the Games is to watch “kids” die, then that means everyone involved or who could possibly be involved is a “kid.”  So it would make sense to have the age of majority be at 18.  Clearly there’s something against hebephilia in this society, but in that case, Finnick was still a “kid” at 16.  So if they’re fine with fucking underage kids, why are they not fine with fucking 14 year-olds?

 The author doesn’t care, just like she doesn’t care about anything else in her book.  She knew that 16 was generally concerned “okay” in our own world and figured that it must be one of those automatic things, so she didn’t give it a second thought.

No one retains his favor for long. He can go through four or five in his annual visit. Old or young, lovely or plain, rich or very rich, he’ll keep them company and take their extravagant gifts, but he never stays, and once he’s gone he never comes back.

 Let’s talk about boys having sex.  Specifically, let’s compare this here to Glimmer in the last book.  Glimmer was highly sexualized, too, and for reasons beyond her control.  There’s no indication given that she had any choice in her outfit, just like Katniss has no choice and it’s implied that Finnick doesn’t either.  Both are pretty much being called whores for things that are beyond their control, things there are in fact forced on them. 

But Finnick gets to be a fandom darling and have a story arc and be an ally and get “saved” by love.  Glimmer, on the other hand, was murdered in a way that destroyed her beauty and then Katniss never bothered to think of her actions as murder or even spare a second thought for the poor girl.

Because this book is feminist, and don’t you forget it.

“You’re absolutely terrifying me in that getup. What happened to the pretty little-girl dresses?” he asks. He wets his lips just ever so slightly with his tongue. Probably this drives most people crazy.

No, what it does is sexualize Katniss’s “little girl” look, which was bad enough when someone wasn’t salivating over it.  But sure, book.  Go on talking about that like it’s all just fun flirting, not borderline pedophilia.  

“With secrets,” he says softly. He tips his head in so his lips are almost in contact with mine. “What about you, girl on fire? Do you have any secrets worth my time?”

For some stupid reason, I blush, but I force myself to hold my ground.

 Finnick is in her personal space, licking his lips at the thought of her dressed as a little girl, nearly kissing her without consent, and just in general being as creepy as he can possibly be, all while nearly naked.  But any given value of the word, he is straight-up sexually harassing her. 

But all Katniss can do is blush and shrug it off. 

Because if creepy boys get all up in your space and make innuendos at you, that just means they are having fun and no harm can ever come from that.  In fact, readers, you should probably get to know them better and learn all about their tortured past.  It’s perfectly safe!  Personal space is just a myth made up by boring people.

This book is feminist!

“What did Finnick Odair want?” he asks.

 […] “I’ll tell you more when my skin stops crawling.”

 Wait, crawling?  When was your skin crawling? 

Okay, revised message:  If a boy is in your personal space and seriously freaking you out, you should flirt back and give no indication that you find any of this wrong.  Because nothing bad will come of that!  

“Do you think we’d have ended up like this if only one of us had won?” he asks, glancing around at the other victors. “Just another part of the freak show?”

What freak show?  So far, all anyone has done is stand around in small groups and chit-chat.  They’re in costumes, yes, but so are you.    

“Because you have a weakness for beautiful things and I don’t,” I say with an air of superiority.

Says the girl who can’t stop looking in a mirror, thought her costume was “just what she needed” to be brave, and who simply gushed with praise for all the ridiculously expensive gowns she got to wear last book.  

I can’t help catching glimpses of us on the huge screens along the route, and we are not just beautiful, we are dark and powerful. No, more. We star-crossed lovers from District 12, who suffered so much and enjoyed so little the rewards of our victory, do not seek the fans’ favor, grace them with our smiles, or catch their kisses. We are unforgiving.

And I love it. Getting to be myself at last.

Of course you do.  Acting like you’re the center of the fucking universe and finally not having to pretend like you actually notice other people, staring at yourself in screens, reveling in how awesome your costume is; I’m so glad you can finally admit to all your short-comings. 

What?  We’re supposed to see her as awesome here?  But, but, but she’s being such a self-centered brat!  

Uhg.

But what are the livestock keepers from District 10, who are dressed as cows, doing with flaming belts? Broiling themselves? Pathetic.

The very idea of putting on an overdramatic costume and showing off for a crowd isn’t wrong.  Nope.  It’s just that those other idiots didn’t do it right.

The anthem plays, and as we make our final trip around the circle, am I wrong? Or do I see the president fixated on me as well?

Who the fuck knows.  I’ve given up on trying to figure out when you’re being self-centered and when the world really does revolve around you.  

I know Chaff by sight […] He’s dark skinned, about six feet tall,

Really, book, I want to know why every character from the ‘agriculture’ district is black.

Chaff throws his good arm around me and gives me a big kiss right on the mouth. I jerk back, startled, while he and Haymitch guffaw.

Drunk, middle-aged men kissing teenaged girls without consent:  Funny!  Who knew?  

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

Girl talk. That thing I’ve always been so bad at. Opinions on clothes, hair, makeup.

Shut up.  We’ve spent most of the last chapter listening to you talk about your awesome clothes and hair and make up and how “empowered” it makes you feel and about how everyone else looked so “pathetic” for not dressing as awesome as you. 

Katniss, you are the thing you’re complaining about.  

So I lie. “Yeah, he’s been helping me design my own clothing line. You should see what he can do with velvet.”

What part of that is the lie?  

“I have. On your tour. That strapless number you wore in District Two? The deep blue one with the diamonds? So gorgeous I wanted to reach through the screen and tear it right off your back,” says Johanna.

I bet you did, I think. With a few inches of my flesh.

What on earth makes you think that, Katniss?  This girl has been nothing but polite so for, and for the record you can’t even call her insipid, because all she knows about you is that you supposedly design clothes for a hobby.  She has every reason to think this is a topic you’d actually like.  

Let’s review:  Finnick flirts with her and makes blatant sexual suggestions – a bit creepy, but ultimately harmless.  Chaff forces a kiss on her – funny.  Johanna chats idly about a topic she thinks Katniss likes – “OMG WHAT A BITCH!”

“They’re playing with you because you’re so … you know.”

“No, I don’t know,” I say. And I really have no idea what he’s talking about.

“It’s like when you wouldn’t look at me naked in the arena even though I was half dead. You’re so … pure,” he says finally.

Pure?  By what standard?  No, really, I want to know where this comes from because we don’t see her acting any more or less “peer” than anyone else.  It hasn’t come up, for us or for them. 

Also, what, so the fact that she’s clearly uncomfortable about all this makes it funny and acceptable?  “Hey girls, are you upset that people tease you for being a prude and sexually harass you for it?  Well, get over it!  It just means they’re jealous of your awesomeness so you have nothing to be upset about, really.”