Article contributed by Madalena Daleziou
When it was announced that Suzanne Collins was preparing a Hunger Games prequel, the responses were mixed, especially since it was going to focus on President Coriolanus Snow, the main villain of the trilogy and arguably one of the most despised characters. When this prequel finally came out in May 2020, it received equally mixed responses. One thing is certain; The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes is an interesting and relevant, if polarising, book. It’s enjoyable, but very different from Collins’s other works and the way readers feel about it is a matter of personal opinion.
We all remember President Snow from The Hunger Games trilogy as the intimidating face of Capitol’s dystopian government. Snake-like, smelling of blood and roses, hiding his ruthlessness behind a pleasant demeanour, possessing seemingly endless wealth and power, he seemed unbeatable until we came close to the end of Mockingjay. But now we know this had not always been the case.
In The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, we are introduced to 18-year-old Coriolanus Snow. With his family’s wealth lost due to the recent war between the Capitol and the Districts, Coriolanus lives with his grandmother and his cousin, Tigris, in the family manor they can barely afford to keep, almost always hungry but carefully hiding his financial circumstances. Being a promising student, his only hope to save his house and advance socially, is to secure a prestigious scholarship for university studies. This scholarship, however, becomes almost unattainable when Coriolanus and his classmates are implicated in the 10th Hunger Games.
At this early stage, the Games are very different from the pompous, televised events of the original trilogy. Viewing is not compulsory, and most Capitol citizens are not fans. The tributes are brought to the Capitol and thrown into the arena soon after. In the meantime, they are kept in cages, they receive little food and no training, and there is no attempt to make the audience invest in them. Coriolanus and his classmates are the ones expected to change that: each of them is assigned a tribute to mentor and present to the Capitol, in an attempt to create a connection between them and the disinterested audience. Moreover, they are invited to come up with ideas to increase the then unpopular Games’ viewings. Some of the students are reasonably horrified at the idea of actively participating such a cruel institution, but others, including Coriolanus, see their participation as an opportunity for advancement.
But Coriolanus’ enthusiasm is short-lived; soon, he finds out he is going to be the mentor of the female tribute from District 12, which is considered the most unattractive assignment and the least likely to have a winner, just like in the original trilogy. To everyone’s surprise, Lucy Gray Baird (named after William Wordsworth’s poem, “The Ballad of Lucy Gray”), looks like she might actually stand a chance. She’s a travelling singer until being trapped in District 12 after the war, experienced with snakes and poisons, and she soon becomes a fan favourite, and Coriolanus finds himself attracted to her. As he works to give her the best possible chance of survival, the two become close, but it is impossible to forget that what he is doing for her, he is doing for his own gain as well. The narrative constantly reminds us their unequal power dynamic, and it’s impossible not to think that this is going to end badly. But for whom?
The book is divided in three parts; before, during and after the 10th Hunger Games. At about 600 pages long, depending on your edition, this is a rather slow story with too many uneventful chapters, followed by very fast developments that are hard to keep up with. Knowing that – no matter what happens – Snow will end up a tyrant, makes some chapters feel too long and almost pointless, as there is no real suspense about his fate.
But perhaps this is not the point. Perhaps the point is to make us wonder why this book feels dull compared to the main trilogy. Is it really dull? Is it because, deep inside, we are complicit to the spectacle culture the Capitol slowly develops, at the suggestion of its most gifted students? After all, it is them that come up with the idea of betting for one’s favourite tribute and offering sponsorship in the form of food and medicine. The way even reluctant students accept their complicity in the Games, and the consequences for those who don’t, are very disturbing, warning us that dehumanising power structures are very much possible in real life. Like many dystopian stories, the narrative raises questions about human nature under pressure and this makes the book hauntingly relevant.
When picking up The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, I was worried about the way Collins was going to handle her villain’s early years. Would she justify his actions too much? Would his point of view be too alienating? In the end, the reading experience was quite interesting, if hard to get into. Some readers might enjoy the third person limited more than the first person of the initial trilogy. The style was different, and perhaps more polished and lyrical. With Snow’s viewpoint being the only available one, I wouldn’t go so far as to say his actions are condemned, but they are not glorified either. The implication seems to be that villainy does not happen overnight. That perhaps there is not one specific point at which someone becomes evil. Rather, a series of small bad choices when better ones had been possible, becomes an avalanche (you might understand the pun when you read the book). In that sense, spending time in Snow’s head is interesting, if not pleasant. Given the book’s length, however, the ending felt a little abrupt and it could have been benefited from a better build-up. At least, Snow’s bad choices were not usually presented as justifiable by the narrative, unless, perhaps, by himself and those like him.
A weakness, in terms of characterisation, lies on the fact that, apart from Snow and Lucy Gray, few other characters were developed enough for the reader to care about them. Apart from the 24 tributes, there were 24 mentors, many of whom are understandably only mentioned a few times but even those who stayed around for longer almost felt interchangeable or disposable. Given the nature of the series, it is expected that many will die, but I felt that many minor characters in the original trilogy were much more memorable. Lucy Gray herself was quite interesting and, although never giving her viewpoint is a narrative necessity, it would have been nice to see more of her. She is a survivor, singing many songs we haven’t seen before (and some we have, bringing old memories and new fan theories). Although this artistic, weird character type is by no means new, there is more to her than meets the eye.
The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes is not another The Hunger Games. It is part character study, part political philosophy, inviting the reader to think of human nature, the desire for control and how bad choices escalate, with horrific results. The pacing and build-up could have been much better, and Snow’s old experience with District 12 did not feel entirely plausible, but the book is still relevant for the questions it explores. It is not an extension or a replica of the original trilogy; it is what it was meant to be.
The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes is available from Amazon, Book Depository, and other good book retailers, like your local bookstore.
Will you be picking up The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes? Let us know in the comments!
Synopsis | Goodreads
It is the morning of the reaping that will kick off the tenth annual Hunger Games. In the Capital, eighteen-year-old Coriolanus Snow is preparing for his one shot at glory as a mentor in the Games. The once-mighty house of Snow has fallen on hard times, its fate hanging on the slender chance that Coriolanus will be able to outcharm, outwit, and outmaneuver his fellow students to mentor the winning tribute.
The odds are against him. He’s been given the humiliating assignment of mentoring the female tribute from District 12, the lowest of the low. Their fates are now completely intertwined — every choice Coriolanus makes could lead to favor or failure, triumph or ruin. Inside the arena, it will be a fight to the death. Outside the arena, Coriolanus starts to feel for his doomed tribute… and must weigh his need to follow the rules against his desire to survive no matter what it takes.
I adored the book. Some chapters were slow, but not boring. I honestly feel it was more about my attention span than the quality of writing. But what basically happened is that I quickly read through to him being sent to district 12, and then I took a pause of several days, and then I read the rest of the book in one go.
I think that Suzanne did a brilliant job with his “villain origin story” it is believable and his actions are understandable, but not excusable. The book doesn’t judge him, neither does he at the end feel corrupted or at wrong, in fact, by the end of the story, he really comes into his own as a monsters. But the way Collins writes it, it is clear that she isn’t making excuses. He is in unfortunate circumstances a lot, but he doesn’t get a reverse redemption arc or a sob story. His villainy isn’t watered down.
Which is actually impressive considering that he was both an underdog, and went ahead and had a sad romance. Those two factors are perfect for watering down villains “oh, poor man, he didn’t have a choice, his life was crashing down!” and “oh, poor man, that girl broke his heart!”. But it isn’t like that. Things happen around him and to him, and he is the one who makes the decision. No one else.
I also liked that the romance between them was clearly infatuation and young “love”, but nothing at all like what Katniss and Peeta had. Coryo doesn’t leave the stage as a man with a bleeding heart, a hurt lover underneath the facade of tyranny. He leaves ANGRY at the girl that “made” him lose control. He doesn’t suffer because he lost love, his pride is wounded because he lost control, both of himself and the girl that he /thought/ he loved. The sad thing is that even though their romance wasn’t true love, the one you choose for life, were he a better man it still could have ended up better- them just going their separate ways, him making due with his lot in life. But instead it ends with him chasing her with a riffle.
I love how easy it is to read his perspective, and yet to just look at it at go “you deserve this. you’re bad. you’re despicable and disgusting” because that is what he IS. For all the power we know he managed to acquire, he underneath it all was a ratty, evil man too weak mentally to enjoy anything that he couldn’t control.
I could speak for days how much I loved the book, but this is the main take. I just hope that his friend died thinking that he had a friend, a brother, who will mourn him and be there for his parents as a son, not a leech. His passing was so sad and it would make it even sadder if he died broken hearted knowing that he was betrayed by someone who he considered a brother.