I'm living a lackluster existence amidst marathon training, bridesamaiding, improv-studying, and vagina monologuing.
I'm officially back on the market now that it's Spring, so I anticipate having tales to regale with once I've got some first dates under my belt by May, but in the meantime, here is the only place I find it appropriate to quote blogger Amy Davidson (from The New Yorker)'s piece in The Political Scene today, which summarizes what I think I fell in love with in The Hunger Games:
"Katniss learned to hunt because her father died in a mining accident, and she basically spends three books mulling over the realization all children have that death is real, and irrevocable. (One problem, as Collins makes clear, is that Katniss, for most of the series, hasn’t had the same revelation about the solidity of love.) She is able to be the moral center of the story because, as the plot becomes increasingly political, and the other characters are caught up in tactical discussions and propaganda campaigns and battle plans, she hasn’t been able to get over her amazement at that simple truth. Maybe no one should."
Sigh.
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