Killer Kids

(Spoilers for THG through to MOCKINGJAY, and GONE.)

Harry Potter draws the line. Artemis Fowl wouldn’t dare. Even Draco Malfoy won’t go that far.

But Katniss Everdeen? She’ll shoot you straight in the heart.

(Or eye. Wherever.)

The golden rule of characterisation seems to be going out the window with your heart. Where once kids and killing were like gun-powder and soft-serve ice cream – an unsavoury and, frankly, unheard of combination – current YA sensations like THE HUNGER GAMES and Michael Grant’s GONE series have illustrated a rising trend of murderous teens in juvenile fiction. Here, kids – and not just any kids, but the protagonists themselves – the heroes – are directly and increasingly responsible for the deaths of other children.

THE HUNGER GAMES is easily the leading contender of this growing theme. Its premise necessitates slaughter, and its character’s ages – and its audience – declare the series’ determined portrayal of kids forced to kill. But other novels are following/mirroring THG’s lead with unflinching portrayals of teen violence. The GONE series is one example of this, with its LORD OF THE FLIES-meets-FRINGE-type premise a provocation to serious burns, (multiple) amputations and even unprovoked – if accidental – deaths. In a town that suddenly finds itself empty of everyone over the age of 15, the death toll by the first novel’s end stands around 20.

There are, of course, reasons given for the atrocities these teens commit: self-defence (the big one); uncontrollable powers; and faceless totalitarian governments demanding a televised teen bloodbath. For many of these killer kids, the choice is often kill-or-be-killed: assassination or survival. Like many real-life teens, adolescence ensures their worlds spin largely out of their control; in dystopic worlds, the measures these kids are forced to are not just believable but often understandable. The will to live trumps all – except, maybe, the need to save those we most care about: something Katniss Everdeen knows well.

For Katniss (at first), killing is about nothing more than self-defence and survival. Her kills in the initial Games are rarely self-initiated; most often she is returning fire to another tribute who is or has already threatened her own life. Her role in the Quarter Quell of CATCHING FIRE is even less pronounced (with only one death at her hands), though Katniss, now initiated into killing, speculates easily on which of her fellow tributes she could take when it came down to it. But by MOCKINGJAY, Katniss is ready for war, and the casualties that come with it; she demands the right to kill President Snow, but instead takes out Coin. Perhaps the most controversial moment of the series, however, comes as Katniss shoots an unnamed woman in the Capitol during the final attack; her kill is sudden and seemingly indiscriminate, born less out of self-defence than precaution and ease of motility. The kill marks a turning point for Katniss, and highlights an intriguing moral ambiguity over the blood on her hands. After all she’s been through and been forced to do, is it understandable – forgivable – for Katniss commit such an unprovoked act? Has she been ‘desensitised’ to death, and do we, as viewers of her journey, accept and understand this? Can we still be on her side after watching her kill without the shield of self-defence?

Katniss isn’t alone. Throughout THG series, almost every single character kills (or is at least responsible for the death of another). Katniss declares Gale’s role in Prim’s death – however indirect – has driven a chasm through their relationship forever. Intriguingly, though, Peeta is rarely positioned as responsible for another character’s death, even inside (either) arena: he only “finishes off” a tribute Cato has already mortally wounded, and Foxface dies accidentally, having eaten the poisoned berries that will later save both his and Katniss’ lives. Even in the Quarter Quell, Peeta only kills Brutus after seeing Brutus kill Chaff. Certainly, he has less blood on his hands than Katniss or even Gale. Does Peeta’s relative purity within the Games’ world emphasise certain unbreakable conceptions of male love interests – of heroism, of incorruptibility – that audiences continue to demand? Are these traits irreconcilable with murder – especially at the hands of a child?

For the latter question, the popularity of THE HUNGER GAMES seems to suggest otherwise. As does the growing number of books following (or mirroring) Suzanne Collin’s lead. Killer kids are no longer inconceivable, or even a deal breaker, especially in the surge of dystopia’s popularity. What we can take from THG, then, is the necessity of the discriminating kill – something performed only out of desperation, self-defence, or justified vengeance (a tricky topic). The controversial reception to Katniss’ MOCKINGJAY murder of the unnamed woman is a testimony to this.

Though Superman and Batman – and even Harry Potter – might disagree, YA lit and its readers are increasingly receptive to teens with a taste for blood. Do these protagonists, like Katniss and Peeta, redefine standards of heroism? Or does their reasoning behind the kill save their hero status to begin with?

And as a reader – do you ‘enjoy’, or are you intrigued by, this killer trend? Is its inclusion in young adult-aimed literature justified? Is it becoming ‘okay’ for kids to kill – when necessary?

The Utopian Moment of YA Dystopia

YA is having a golden moment – and so is the dystopia genre. Dystopian novels are burning up the bestseller list, scoring seven-figure advances and captivating (or perhaps terrifying) readers, young and old alike. The question of what is driving the genre’s success is inevitable; its answer, however, is less certain.

Dystopic worlds, in their simplest form, are about the dispersion of power and its inherent inequality. It’s no surprise, then, that today’s teens – so often at the mercy of parents, teachers and the dominant ideologies of their societies – are connecting with the characters inhabiting the controlled, oppressed worlds of their favourite books. As they recognise elements of our own world within these societies – from an overreliance and acceptance of invasive technology to political, social and environmental instabilities – they also recognise their own adolescent struggles in the trials of these characters. It’s such struggles that both shape dystopian YA and form the basis for its popularity.

What is it teenagers want? At a time when they are beginning to explore life outside the world childhood has confined them to, as they become better aware of politics and world affairs and the environment and The Man, teens desire a voice to express their own perspectives. (And they will take it any way they can get it; social networking is the new soapbox, and teens have rarely been more empowered.) As advertising and the internet offers them everything and nothing, they want real choice, and not just between sneakers and heels, or Facebook and Twitter. They crave, above all, freedom.

And so they see themselves in dystopia’s creations: in Katniss’s struggle for freedom from the Capitol’s control throughout THE HUNGER GAMES; in Cassia’s complete deprivation of choice in MATCHED; and or the suppression of dissenting voices in THE SILENCED. Real-life teens may not undergo the operations, bloodbaths, pre-arranged marriages and various other tortures of their favourite protagonists, but in dystopian YA, ‘what-if’ becomes window to a new (and perhaps potential) world – one where choice is often demanded of the MC, even if physical freedom doesn’t seem to be on the cards. And, crucially, teens get behind their protagonists because they fight. Dystopian worlds are never static; the protagonist endures the trials of their own dystopic world because they choose to fight for a new one. Dystopian encompasses despair and hope, choice and coercion, submission and rebellion, depicted via characters who (in slightly-altered circumstances) undergo many of the same basic struggles as us.

Teens don’t just see themselves; they see their world. Dystopia holds the pull of something all too real. In our global society, where technology is omnipresent and seemingly omniscient, and the word reality demands inverted commas, teens can find the world at their fingertips and inside their heads. It’s accessible and controlling both. Reading affords an escape and, in the dystopian genre especially, is often a reminder that our world is not as bad as it has the potential to be (just ask 1984). It is a narrative of warning, and of optimism. And it highlights that indelible truth: no world ever exists without some discontent, some unequal power dispersion, least of all our own. Dystopia emphasises the perfect imperfectability of independent thought, and hence of people, as well as the price we – and our characters – can pay for it.