Again, thank you for leaving such a thoughtful and satisfying comment! I really, really appreciate the time and effort you put into your comments and that you think that deeply about something I wrote. :)
Anyway, I'm pleased that you think that trovia and I have made a seamless universe together. We spent so much time talking about our stories and our versions of Haymitch and other characters, that I think it was inevitable that there would be bleed-through and that we would just decide to consider it a shared universe. The Spin Control universe has become fairly real in my head, so who knows what might eventually come of that too.
I think that's a great takeaway from the Avox scene that you made. My Haymitch indeed is moved to help people with his newfound privilege, in large part, I think, because he felt very abandoned by his society in the Seam as a kid and wants to give others a better life than he had, but also on some subconscious level, he wants to matter, to feel visible to others in a way he didn't as a kid. That's why he was so shocked when his teacher back in the tailor shop admitted that she had noticed what was going on with the domestic violence in his home. He had subconsciously assumed that she just hadn't really noticed him enough, or else she would have surely done something.
But yes, as Haymitch goes about trying to be visible, he's starting to realize that because of who he is now, every effort leads to people being in danger or hurt, and it's immensely frustrating and paralyzing to him. That indeed is my take on where the Haymitch we see in the first book comes from, someone who has learned the hard way that it doesn't pay to try (even if he very quickly comes to change his mind upon meeting Kat and Peeta). But yes, he definitely turns a lot of anger inward, the only place it can safely go.
I'll admit Lucilla was kind of a cliche when I first thought her up, kind of a carbon copy of Effie. But the longer this story got, the more I wanted to explore what it would be like to live a life constantly suppressing cognitive dissonance, which is what tends to happen when you're smart enough to realize that you are going along with something that in theory goes against your sense of self. Lucilla is at heart not a deliberately, consciously cruel person. You're right. She has a lot of privileged cluelessness. But I think she's smart enough to know subconsciously that she has to suppress and compartmentalize everything about her life in order to continue being happy in her job and not question the regime she lives under. She picks her moments to be compassionate very carefully, and really only when her brain can't hide from itself any longer. That's what makes her both intriguing and utterly creepy to me.
Her touchy-feely nature to me is meant to be both an evocation for Haymitch of his mom and a statement about her privilege. It's by no means a perfect analogy, but I like the comparison of Haymitch's mom living under the thumb of an abusive husband, and Lucilla, living under the thumb of an abusive regime. Haymitch's mom is a lot more sympathetic, obviously, but I like what the comparison says about Haymitch's own particular POV about his mom - that she refused to even acknowledge the violence of their father - and about his perspective on Lucilla - who refuses to acknowledge the violence of the Hunger Games. While I don't mean to say that an abused spouse has the same kind of responsibility as someone like Lucilla and all her privilege, I found it intriguing that for Haymitch, there would be some blurring of the lines between the two women, because neither protect him from the abuse he is suffering, and indeed, go to great lengths to pretend that it isn't even happening.
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Anyway, I'm pleased that you think that
I think that's a great takeaway from the Avox scene that you made. My Haymitch indeed is moved to help people with his newfound privilege, in large part, I think, because he felt very abandoned by his society in the Seam as a kid and wants to give others a better life than he had, but also on some subconscious level, he wants to matter, to feel visible to others in a way he didn't as a kid. That's why he was so shocked when his teacher back in the tailor shop admitted that she had noticed what was going on with the domestic violence in his home. He had subconsciously assumed that she just hadn't really noticed him enough, or else she would have surely done something.
But yes, as Haymitch goes about trying to be visible, he's starting to realize that because of who he is now, every effort leads to people being in danger or hurt, and it's immensely frustrating and paralyzing to him. That indeed is my take on where the Haymitch we see in the first book comes from, someone who has learned the hard way that it doesn't pay to try (even if he very quickly comes to change his mind upon meeting Kat and Peeta). But yes, he definitely turns a lot of anger inward, the only place it can safely go.
I'll admit Lucilla was kind of a cliche when I first thought her up, kind of a carbon copy of Effie. But the longer this story got, the more I wanted to explore what it would be like to live a life constantly suppressing cognitive dissonance, which is what tends to happen when you're smart enough to realize that you are going along with something that in theory goes against your sense of self. Lucilla is at heart not a deliberately, consciously cruel person. You're right. She has a lot of privileged cluelessness. But I think she's smart enough to know subconsciously that she has to suppress and compartmentalize everything about her life in order to continue being happy in her job and not question the regime she lives under. She picks her moments to be compassionate very carefully, and really only when her brain can't hide from itself any longer. That's what makes her both intriguing and utterly creepy to me.
Her touchy-feely nature to me is meant to be both an evocation for Haymitch of his mom and a statement about her privilege. It's by no means a perfect analogy, but I like the comparison of Haymitch's mom living under the thumb of an abusive husband, and Lucilla, living under the thumb of an abusive regime. Haymitch's mom is a lot more sympathetic, obviously, but I like what the comparison says about Haymitch's own particular POV about his mom - that she refused to even acknowledge the violence of their father - and about his perspective on Lucilla - who refuses to acknowledge the violence of the Hunger Games. While I don't mean to say that an abused spouse has the same kind of responsibility as someone like Lucilla and all her privilege, I found it intriguing that for Haymitch, there would be some blurring of the lines between the two women, because neither protect him from the abuse he is suffering, and indeed, go to great lengths to pretend that it isn't even happening.
It made me so happy to respond to this comment!