Emily Articulated: Fantasy, reality

By Emily Erickson
Reader Columnist

The Hunger Games, by Suzanne Collins, was released in 2008 to mass appeal. It nearly instantly hit The New York Times Bestseller list, where it remained for more than 60 consecutive weeks. The futuristic dystopian novel chronicles the “74th Hunger Games,” an annual event in which two 12- to 18-year-olds from each of the nation’s 11 districts are chosen as “tributes” for a televised fight to the death — with only one survivor.

In the book, the Games were established 74 years earlier in Panem (a reimagined, post-collapse United States) as punishment for a rebellion against the government’s oppressive regime — a penance to be paid by 16-year-old Katniss Everdeen and her peers. Declared a “reminder” of the price of violence, the Games served as a perfect tool of division, pitting districts against one another rather than uniting them in recognition of their shared oppression.

Like Katniss, I was 16 when the book was released, and remember devouring it. I loved the vivid storytelling, the darkness and the strength of a young, female protagonist whose moral compass stayed true despite impossible circumstances. But, looking back, what made it so compelling wasn’t just the grandeur of the plot or the sweeping world-building. It was the small, believable details.

Such details are prevalent in a scene that feels particularly resonant of late, wherein Katniss leaves her impoverished, working-class coal-mining district for the Capitol — the epicenter of Panem’s wealth and political power. At a lavish party, she’s forced to confront the obscene opulence of those in charge. She, who had known hunger and hunted illegally to feed her family, walks among guests with surgically altered bodies who pop pills to empty their stomachs so they can keep eating past the point of fullness for pleasure. Her anger nearly bled through the page.

It’s not hard to see why that scene comes to mind lately. With SNAP benefits — a cornerstone of support for the country’s most vulnerable, including children and families — on the chopping block amid political gridlock, the parallels are bleak. When a government declares it “can’t afford” school lunch programs yet funds ballroom remodels, it feels like we’re watching the prelude to the First Annual Hunger Games.

According to the Department of Agriculture, about one in eight U.S. residents receive an average of $187 per month in SNAP assistance (coincidentally, an amount that would be more than covered if minimum wage hadn’t been systematically suppressed for years). Though recent court orders have temporarily protected some benefits, reductions and costly delays remain imminent. All the while, people in power insist their “hands are tied” — just not so tied they can’t toast with expensive champagne at their not-so-ironic Great Gatsby-themed Halloween party.

The unreality of it all, the clarity between the haves and have nots, the collective feelings of helplessness, and a yearning for resistance or change, all map on neatly to the recent resurgence of fantasy-fiction sales across the country.

Sales of science fiction and fantasy books skyrocketed in 2024, with the value of the market surging by 41.3% compared to the previous year, all while nonfiction dropped 6.3%. “Romantasy” authors like Sarah J. Maas and Rebecca Yarros top sales charts, alluding to a population that, at large, seems to have had enough of reality — instead turning to the emotional refuge other worlds can offer.

These stories center on the powerless, or those discovering untapped strength. They feature unlikely bands of rebels, misfits and outcasts standing up to inhumanity, taking care of one another despite vast differences in class, race or even species. The resistance isn’t only in epic battles, but in the small choices: the way-finding, the quietly chosen persistence and the return (again and again) to compassion.

I’ve always turned to my favorite characters when the world feels too big or scary. I grew up with Frodo Baggins, Harry Potter, Katniss Everdeen and Eragon, and later found new heroes in Celaena Sardothien, Nahri e-Nahid and Violet Sorrengail. I used to think my love of fantasy was pure escapism (and maybe it is) but perhaps it’s also a kind of preparation. A reminder that when the world starts to feel like fiction, we already know how the heroes behave — and that those heroes might already be inside us, ready to rise when the occasion strikes.

Emily Erickson is a writer and business owner with an affinity for black coffee and playing in the mountains. Connect with her online at www.bigbluehat.studio.