7 Books To Read If You Like The Hunger Games 📚 (2024)

“On the day the world ended, Lenk Sketlish – CEO and founder of the Fantail social network – sat at dawn beneath the redwoods in a designated location of natural beauty and attempted to inhale from his navel.

The tops of the mountains in the distance were capped with snow, their curves and crevasses kindling the imagination. The trees near at hand were russet on fawn, grey-green on sage. The redwood trunks were solid, corded, patterned like twisted vines, their surfaces soft with mosses and growing grass; tiny insects whirred through the dense mass. The sky was the pale water-washed blue of the late autumn, mottled cloud visible through the spiral-set branches. And yet.

The meditation teacher had a nose whistle.

Each time she took yet another ‘deep belly breath’, the whine cut through the gentle whisper of the redwoods like a chain saw. She must hear it. She surely heard it. She did not seem to hear it. The redwoods shivered, the November leaves were about to drop, and all things must pass, as she could not cease reminding him.

All things were not going to pass from Lenk Sketlish if he had anything to do with it.

‘Let your belly be soft as you inhale,’ the teacher said. Her tongue lingered on the double l in ‘belly,’ as if she were Italian. She wasn’t Italian. Lenk had asked Martha Einkorn, his executive assistant, to check after the first day. The meditation instructor came from Wisconsin, the home of squeaky cheese. She kept saying ‘belly’. He should hold light in his belly, feel the warmth in his belly, crawl inside his own belly, and dwell forever in her adenoidal whine and her infinitely elongated l. What was growing inside Lenk Sketlish’s belly was an acidic roiling, churning wrath.

The redwoods. Back to the redwoods. The majesty of nature, simple beauty. The worn path up the hillside, the tumbling brook. Breathing in, breathing out. The world as it comes moment by moment and he, too, a part of it. Not scattered, not wrathful, not thinking of the Fantail expansion deals in Uruguay and in Myanmar even though someone was definitely going to f*ck something up in his absence.

Be present. Here."

“I hauled my kill over my shoulder and grunted under the weight of it. The cougarin had been a full-grown adult male and was my largest kill to date. He would bring enough meat to feed my mother and little sister for at least two moons, as well as give us something to trade at the market. Winter wasn’t for a while but I wanted to get new furs for both my mother and Adaline.

Stalking the beast over the last week had proved fruitful and I couldn’t help the lopsided grin that drew the corners of my mouth up as I walked into my hometown of Cinder Village.

Being at the base of Cinder Mountain, and the coal mines inside of it, meant that the fine dust from the mountain coated everything in the village, and today was no exception. The rocks that dotted the village road held a thick layer of ash, as did the tips of my hunting boots. I barely noticed anymore; you just got used to it when you lived here. It was in our ears, nose, teeth, and other places not spoken of.

In Jade City, the capital of Embergate, you could spot a Cinder Village resident from a mile away. We puffed dust with each step and we were damn well proud of it. The people of Cinder were a hardworking people. We didn’t sit on our butts all day.

“Nice kill, Arwen,” Nathanial called from his post at the top of the guard gate entrance to Cinder Village. Nathanial was one of the most handsome guys in Cinder Village. Sandy-blond hair, hazel eyes, and a sharp jaw… just looking up at him now made my stomach warm.

I gave him a goofy grin. “Come for dinner later? Bring your parents.”

He nodded, pursing his lips. “Would love that.”

We were twenty winters out from the Great Famine but my parents remembered such a time and trained us younger ones on how to hunt and grow food, and to skin and prepare a kill. Usually it was the men doing the hunting and the women doing the growing, but with my father dead, I didn’t have that luxury. They also taught us to show kindness and give a meal when you had plenty. Times were a boon now, and this cougarin was much more than we needed."

“1906

Marietta Stelle’s mother always said that nothing good came of a rainy day. However, it was a rainy day when the magic came, and once magic has entered your life, you stay in its glittering clutch forever.

A mysterious new neighbour – who Marietta would later come to learn went by the name of Dr Drosselmeier – heralded the arrival of magic and wonder in her life. Though he appeared to be but an ordinary man, enchantment clung to him. It dripped from his voice, seeped out from under his skin and whispered around his eyes.

Marietta was dipping in and out of pliés at her ballet barre when she happened to glance out her window and witness his entrance. A black town hat bobbed along the cobbled street below. The cloaked figure carried a single case, pausing to look up at the sprawling townhouse Marietta called home. He seemed to look straight through her, so Marietta took a step back from the window to study him from a more covert position: his face was clean-shaven, fair and younger than one would expect, considering the sweep of silver hair peeking out from beneath his hat. Creases burrowed into the skin at the corners of his eyes, marking him as a gentleman in his late thirties perhaps, and his irises were an intense frosted blue, lending him a bewitching stare.

The curtains of rain sheeting down Marietta’s window failed to touch him and, after a momentary hesitation, he continued on his way. Rising up onto demi-pointe, her attention snared, Marietta watched him stride into the equally grand vacated townhouse opposite the Stelles’.

‘We seem to have acquired a new neighbour,’ Frederick announced later at dinner.

‘Is that so?’ their mother asked. She smoothed a hand over her honey-tinted coiffure, as if he were to make an appearance that instant. Ida Stelle’s dark-blue eyes were a mirror of Marietta’s, only hers were accompanied by a delicate nose and pinched chin beneath her lighter hair rather than the firm jaw, aquiline nose and raven hair both Frederick and Marietta had inherited from their father.

‘A former doctor,’ Frederick continued, ‘turned inventor, so I hear. No family to speak of. He must possess a sizeable inheritance to have purchased the entire townhouse for him alone, though I failed to recognise his name. It was rather an unusual one; Drosselmeier.’

‘No doubt he’s of German heritage,’ their father said, shaking a starched napkin out and draping it across his knees. ‘How curious, it has been quite some time since we’ve had a new acquaintance on this street. We shall have him dine with us one evening to take his measure ourselves. An inventor, you say? In which direction do his talents lie? Telephones? Electricity? Is the next Marconi in our midst?’

Frederick gave a polite cough. ‘In children’s playthings, I believe. Toys and such.’

Theodore set his sherry glass down harder than was warranted. A few drops bloodied the ivory tablecloth. He harrumphed, the tips of his ears pinkening.

Marietta met Frederick’s eyes. Theodore Stelle was not a man persuaded of the merit or delights in creative pursuits. Marietta clenched her soup spoon, the familiar argument wearing deeper grooves into her patience each time it reared up."

“Londinium, Imperial Province of Britannia

In the reign of Caesar Magnus XVII

The morning shivered awake grey and wet, putting my hair in danger of severe frizzing ahead of the Mete this evening. I had an early class so caught the gleaming monorail straight to the forum, dashing past the merchants preparing their stalls for the day without a glance to spare for their sundry wares.

As I entered Basilica Varian, my eye was caught by the graffiti on the wall. How anyone had managed to deface the facade of a building inside the forum without either the sentinels or the cameras catching them, I could not begin to imagine. Maybe the graffiti was right, that there really was “chaos in the Code”. There would have to be. I forced myself to look away – there was no point paying it any attention. The sentinels would have it removed in no time. No doubt they were already on their way.

“Good morning, Cassandra,” my locker offered loudly, the door swinging open as I approached. I really did need to change the settings on my utilities more often. Even though it was nearly the end of the course, I just hadn’t gotten around to it yet. I should really; it was such a bonus to even own a locker. One of the perks of having a prominent merchant as a father. Most of my classmates had to carry their belongings around while we attended classes in the basilica, but through his business connections at the forum Papa had somehow arranged it.

“Cassandra,” Ginevra greeted me, swinging off her scooter. Luckily, this part of the forum was quiet in the mornings, but if anyone saw her gliding across the mosaics, there would be Hades to pay. Not that Ginevra ever seemed to care for such rules. I, on the other hand, preferred to stay well within their boundaries at all times. My parents insisted on it, stressing that as my future would be in the public eye, my past must be beyond reproach. My own personal code to live by.

“You have any mid-terms this morning?” Ginevra asked, throwing her exquisitely embroidered jacket into my locker.

“No, just a history lecture on the Reformation of the Province for me, I think.”

Ginevra was examining her nails as I rummaged in my pocket for my mini slate. Hopefully, no tiny smudge was lurking. We had little enough time after class to run home and get ready for tonight. Having to redo nails would completely throw out all our careful planning.

“Schedule,” I said, glancing at the data the slate offered up. “Yep, just a regular class. I’ll see you for lunch after, yeah?”

But she had already gone, not waiting for an answer.One of my favourite morning tunes started to play in my ear as I swayed towards my class. I walked through the gallery, using the portico covering for as long as possible to stay out of the rain. Crossing the corner of the expansive courtyard, I took the side entrance into the central part of the basilica before turning up towards the civics centre where the citizenship classes were held.

My usual seat beside Ambrose was taken, leaving me to weave my way to an empty place. But my attention was caught by a device, a glint of impossible gold from the jacket pocket of a boy in a seat to my right. Distracted, I missed a step and stumbled forward.

I braced myself for impact, but a hand grabbed my arm and steadied me before I could fall in an inelegant heap in front of the entire class.

“Thank you,” I said, looking up at the boy who had restored my balance. My breath caught as our eyes connected, his midnight gaze burning into mine. Magnetism seemed to sizzle in the air between us, the lines of his face becoming sharper, his presence building to a crescendo in my mind like a song… until his lids lowered, cutting me off, and his gentle hands released me.

What just happened?"

“There is one mirror in my house. It is behind a sliding panel in the hallway upstairs. Our faction allows me to stand in front of it on the second day of every third month, the day my mother cuts my hair.

I sit on the stool and my mother stands behind me with the scissors, trimming. The strands fall on the floor in a dull, blond ring.

When she finishes, she pulls my hair away from my face and twists it into a knot. I note how calm she looks and how focused she is. She is well-practiced in the art of losing herself. I can’t say the same of myself.

I sneak a look at my reflection when she isn’t paying attention—not for the sake of vanity, but out of curiosity. A lot can happen to a person’s appearance in three months. In my reflection, I see a narrow face, wide, round eyes, and a long, thin nose—I still look like a little girl, though sometime in the last few months I turned sixteen. The other factions celebrate birthdays, but we don’t. It would be self-indulgent.

“There,” she says when she pins the knot in place. Her eyes catch mine in the mirror. It is too late to look away, but instead of scolding me, she smiles at our reflection. I frown a little. Why doesn’t she reprimand me for staring at myself?

“So today is the day,” she says.

“Yes,” I reply.

“Are you nervous?”

I stare into my own eyes for a moment. Today is the day of the aptitude test that will show me which of the five factions I belong in. And tomorrow, at the Choosing Ceremony, I will decide on a faction; I will decide the rest of my life; I will decide to stay with my family or abandon them.

“No,” I say. “The tests don’t have to change our choices.”

“Right.” She smiles. “Let’s go eat breakfast.”

“Thank you. For cutting my hair.”

She kisses my cheek and slides the panel over the mirror. I think my mother could be beautiful, in a different world. Her body is thin beneath the gray robe. She has high cheekbones and long eyelashes, and when she lets her hair down at night, it hangs in waves over her shoulders. But she must hide that beauty in Abnegation.

We walk together to the kitchen. On these mornings when my brother makes breakfast, and my father’s hand skims my hair as he reads the newspaper, and my mother hums as she clears the table—it is on these mornings that I feel guiltiest for wanting to leave them."

“The sky over the Hunting Lodge was ominously dark and the air smelled of snow. Twelve gazed up at the scudding clouds with storm-grey eyes and huddled deeper into her furs, stamping her feet to stay warm. Her classmates’ chatter steamed in the air around her and Twelve watched them moodily, trying to swallow her impatience.

‘For goodness’ sake!’ shouted Weaponsmaster Victory, her eyes sweeping the group. ‘If you can’t even lift it, how on earth are you going to swing it? Anyone who can’t raise their weapons over their head, return them to the armoury for something lighter at once!’

Several students scurried away and Twelve’s scowl deepened. Losing her temper in battle class never paid off though. Victory was more likely than any of the other Hunters to punish students with night watches or the dreaded dungeons. Plus, the lesson looked interesting if they could get to it: upright wooden stumps covered the snow-dusted training ground, promising something out of the ordinary.

‘By the frost!’ cried Victory as the students trickled back. ‘If you can’t move faster than that, every creature from here to the Frozen Forest will make an easy meal of you.’

A nervous silence fell over the assembled class.

‘The brighter among you might have identified today’s aim,’ Victory continued, her disbelief obvious as she spoke. ‘You’ll be sparring in pairs while standing on the stumps to improve your balance and footwork. I don’t want to see any feet on the ground.’

Twelve almost smiled as anticipation fizzed through her. This would be a challenge.

‘If you haven’t mastered last week’s exercises, then you’re going to struggle,’ Victory said, her eyes lingering on a few of the younger students who were looking distinctly anxious. ‘Now, form up in pairs and begin yesterday’s attack sequence. Remember: constant vigilance!’

As usual, everyone scrambled eagerly away from Twelve into their pairs. She rolled her eyes. If they were too frightened to spar with her, that was their problem, not hers. Her gaze wandered over the familiar buildings around her instead. The kitchen, dining hall, stables, armoury and resthouse surrounded the octagonal training ground where she stood. All of them were sturdy structures that had withstood the elements for centuries, but all were dwarfed by the defensive walls soaring above them. Even the council house, by far the grandest building with its beautifully carved pillars, appeared little more than a toy beneath those walls. High above Twelve’s head, the two skybridges arced gracefully between the ramparts, quartering the distant octagon of sky and allowing patrolling Hunters to see for miles.

‘Twelve –’ Victory frowned – ‘partnerless again?’ There were a few snigg*rs. The weaponsmaster scowled and stepped closer, lowering her voice. ‘Practising alone will only take you so far. You need a decent sparring partner to challenge yourself.’ Her blue eyes scanned Twelve’s face, piercing and expectant.

Twelve’s reply was halted by a hand squeezing her arm."