I Read The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes and Now I’m Side-Eyeing Everyone Named Snow
Okay, confession time: I didn’t plan on reading The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes. I mean, prequels? Meh. But then I remembered it’s Suzanne Collins we’re talking about, and if anyone can turn me into an emotional wreck over a villain’s origin story, it’s her. And oh boy, did she deliver. I am officially unwell. 😮💨
For those living under a rock (or just avoiding Hunger Games discourse), The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes is the prequel to The Hunger Games. It’s all about Coriolanus Snow—yes, the evil President Snow from the original series—when he was just a teenage boy with questionable morals and a killer jawline. (Or so I imagine. Let me live.)
Let’s be clear: Snow isn’t exactly #BoyfriendGoals. He’s ambitious, calculating, and way too into power plays for someone who doesn’t even have a LinkedIn profile yet. But somehow, Collins makes you root for him…until she doesn’t. (We’ll get to that. Hold tight. 😬)
The story follows young Snow as he becomes a mentor in the 10th Hunger Games. Back then, the Games were less about high-tech arenas and more about, well, barely controlled chaos. His assigned tribute? Lucy Gray Baird, a flamboyant, charming, and slightly unhinged girl from District 12 who sings. Like, a lot. She’s basically Taylor Swift if Taylor had grown up in a dystopian hellscape. 🎤✨
Lucy Gray is the star of the show—literally. She’s everything Snow isn’t: vibrant, authentic, and utterly unpredictable. While he’s plotting 24/7 like some kind of chess master, she’s out here winning hearts and writing ballads. (And yes, you will end up Googling “Lucy Gray Hunger Games songs” because you’ll need to know what they sound like. Trust me.)
Their dynamic? Chef’s kiss. Snow is drawn to her like a moth to a flame, and you can’t blame him—she’s magnetic. But here’s the thing: you’re constantly on edge because, hello, this is Coriolanus Snow! The man whose future hobbies include mass murder and systematic oppression. Watching him navigate his feelings for Lucy Gray while slowly revealing his true nature is like watching a slow-motion train wreck. You can’t look away, but you also want to scream, “RUN, LUCY GRAY, RUN!” 🚨
And let’s not forget the Games themselves. They’re gritty, raw, and downright disturbing. You see the horrifying roots of the spectacle they’ll eventually become, and it’s…a lot. Collins doesn’t shy away from showing the ugly side of human nature, and I spent half the book clutching my imaginary pearls. 😱
But the real kicker? The way this book messes with your head. One minute, you’re thinking, “Wow, Snow is just a misunderstood boy trying to survive.” The next, you’re like, “Oh no. He’s a sociopath. Abort mission!” It’s a masterclass in character development—and a reminder that not all villains are born; some are made. (By bad choices, ambition, and a lot of trauma. 😵💫)
Now, let’s talk about the ending. No spoilers, but let’s just say it left me staring at the wall in stunned silence for a solid ten minutes. It’s brutal, brilliant, and so Collins. She doesn’t give you the ending you want; she gives you the one you need. And honestly? I respect it. (Even if it emotionally wrecked me.)
So, what’s the verdict? The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes is a wild, thought-provoking ride that’ll make you question everything you thought you knew about the Hunger Games universe. It’s darker, grittier, and way more nuanced than I expected—and I loved every second of it.
If you’re a fan of morally grey characters, gut-punch plot twists, and slow-burn existential crises, this book is for you. And if not…well, you might still want to read it just to say you understand the backstory when the movie comes out. (Yes, there’s a movie. Starring Hunter Schafer and Tom Blyth. You’re welcome. 🎥✨)
Now, if anyone needs me, I’ll be side-eyeing snowflakes and listening to Appalachian folk songs while wondering if I would survive the Hunger Games. (Spoiler: I wouldn’t. 💀)
