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I finished Sunrise on the Reaping by Suzanne Collins last night, and honestly, I’m still processing it. The prequel — this time about Haymitch Abernathy’s experience in the 50th Hunger Games, also known as the Second Quarter Quell — was exactly what 12-year-old me had been waiting for. A stunning, gut-wrenching addition to The Hunger Games library, with just as much nuance, brutality, and social commentary as its predecessors.
It’s Dark — Maybe Darker Than You Remember
Let’s get one thing out of the way: Sunrise on the Reaping is gruesome. The violence feels raw, unrelenting, and disturbingly personal. Some of the deaths are absolutely horrifying, and the consequences for those left behind are just as bleak. I’ve seen some people online saying this might be the last Hunger Games book because of how grim it was — that Collins was “punishing” us for romanticizing Coriolanus Snow or glorifying Capitol behavior by clamoring for more content.
But let me ask you this:
Do any of you actually remember The Hunger Games?
Because The Hunger Games has always been this dark. The original trilogy wasn’t some lighthearted YA dystopia where the good guys win and everything works out. It was brutal — and not just in terms of the body count. The emotional trauma, the psychological toll, the dehumanization of the tributes, and the ruthless propaganda machine of the Capitol were always central to the story. And if you’ve forgotten how disturbing it was, maybe it’s because the movies, despite their best efforts, softened some of the roughest edges.
The Movies Left Out the Worst Parts
Take the muttations from the first Hunger Games. In the book, they weren’t just genetically engineered monsters — they were designed to look like the fallen tributes. When Katniss, Peeta, and Cato encounter them, it’s not just a fight for survival. It’s psychological warfare. The Capitol resurrected the dead in a twisted mockery, forcing the tributes to confront their own friends in monstrous form. And while Cato’s death is agonizing in the film, it’s even worse in the book. The mutts don’t just kill him — they torture him for hours, and Katniss is forced to mercy-kill him to end his suffering.
That detail, like many others, was left out of the films. And let’s not forget that in the book, Peeta loses a leg after that encounter. Another painful consequence erased on screen.
The Horror of the Avoxes
The films also glossed over the horrifying fate of the Avoxes — the slaves whose tongues were cut out by the Capitol. Katniss recognizes multiple Avoxes throughout the series, including one from District 12, someone she once tried to save but ultimately couldn’t. Their silent presence is a chilling reminder of the price of defiance and the cruelty of the Capitol. In the books, the Avoxes serve as a symbol of lost humanity, stripped of their voices, their identities, and their agency.
Mockingjay Was Trauma on Every Page
And then there’s Mockingjay. People forget just how unrelenting that book was. Katniss’ mental state deteriorates rapidly under the pressure of being the symbol of a revolution. She’s haunted by the deaths of her friends, traumatized by what she’s endured, and at one point, even contemplates killing both Peeta and herself to prevent them from being used by the Capitol. She suffers debilitating PTSD, severe burns, and is emotionally shattered by the end of the series. Her story doesn’t conclude with a victorious sense of triumph — it ends in a quiet, uneasy peace, where the scars of war linger long after the final battle.
Honestly? Sometimes I wonder how I was reading those books in middle school.
‘Sunrise on the Reaping’ Just Continues the Legacy
So, if Sunrise on the Reaping felt disturbingly dark to you, it’s not because Collins has suddenly decided to turn up the intensity — it’s because the darkness was always there. The new prequel just strips away the gloss and forces us to confront that truth again.
Haymitch’s story was never going to be easy to read. We already knew he won the Second Quarter Quell by using the force field around the arena as a weapon, but Sunrise on the Reaping gives us the devastating context behind that victory. Haymitch wasn’t just another victor — he was a survivor who played the game so well that the Capitol made sure no one would ever follow in his footsteps. And as we see the horrors unfold from his perspective, we’re reminded that no one wins the Hunger Games. Not really.
A Story That Was Always a Warning
The Hunger Games series was never just a dystopian adventure for teens. It was a warning — about the dangers of unchecked power, the exploitation of the vulnerable, and the seductive nature of desensitization in the face of violence. Sunrise on the Reaping doesn’t change that message. It amplifies it.
So no, Collins isn’t punishing us with this book. She’s reminding us.
And maybe we needed that reminder.
