A return to the emotionally charged vortex of the original novels, we get the Hunger Games story of Haymitch, the man we loath loving, but do so somewhat begrudgingly because it’s so hard not to see his big heart beneath the filthy bastard on the surface. 

 

I didn’t love the last one of these (I say, though still deeply-like-liked it a lot more than other stuff out there), probably because my level of empathy for Snow was … well, nil. But this one recaptures all the deep feels we want from Collins as she says what she wants to scream from the tower-tops of The Capital… in all the imagery of her stunning modern allegory…