Another well-deserved bow
What this book does offer — and what I relished — is more threads with which Collins weaves her backstory. Whether she always had these details in the back of her mind when she started writing this body of work, or whether she's conceptualised them now as she's expanded the origins of this dystopian world she's built, they are satisfying regardless. They're not spoilers or unnecessary details, but rather what I think of as post-the-hunt Easter eggs that click into place with a nostalgic familiarity.
We're offered more of the Covey, the nomadic, music-loving group-come-family from which Lucy Gray hailed, are given a glimpse into the forming of Plutarch Heavensbee's rebel tendencies, and meet a fresh-faced Effie Trinket. There are also new characters who are tied to familiar names you would remember from Mockingjay.
That said, nothing quite prepares you for what lies in store for Haymitch by the end of it all. But while the ending is one of loss and despair, these are not the feelings readers are left with. The epilogue makes a redeeming save with what gave me the feeling that we've reached the end. I don't think that Collins is going to squeeze out another book — and I certainly don't think she should. This is the final chapter we needed — it's the tiny, neat, red ribbon with which she's tied together a prolific body of work.
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TimesLIVE
a day ago
- TimesLIVE
Another well-deserved bow
This time round, the story manages to take you back to the world Collins initially introduced her readers to, and she has produced a Hunger Games narrative that's closer to the first two books. There's an arena with a cornucopia of vile things devised by the game-makers. There's loss and anger and cruelty and glimpses of humanity through scheming and plotting — both in and out of the arena. It's not quite the mastery of Katniss's Hunger Games, mostly because it's lacking our original heroine, but it gets close, and it offers a hint of that addiction that laced the first three books. What this book does offer — and what I relished — is more threads with which Collins weaves her backstory. Whether she always had these details in the back of her mind when she started writing this body of work, or whether she's conceptualised them now as she's expanded the origins of this dystopian world she's built, they are satisfying regardless. They're not spoilers or unnecessary details, but rather what I think of as post-the-hunt Easter eggs that click into place with a nostalgic familiarity. We're offered more of the Covey, the nomadic, music-loving group-come-family from which Lucy Gray hailed, are given a glimpse into the forming of Plutarch Heavensbee's rebel tendencies, and meet a fresh-faced Effie Trinket. There are also new characters who are tied to familiar names you would remember from Mockingjay. That said, nothing quite prepares you for what lies in store for Haymitch by the end of it all. But while the ending is one of loss and despair, these are not the feelings readers are left with. The epilogue makes a redeeming save with what gave me the feeling that we've reached the end. I don't think that Collins is going to squeeze out another book — and I certainly don't think she should. This is the final chapter we needed — it's the tiny, neat, red ribbon with which she's tied together a prolific body of work.
IOL News
21-07-2025
- IOL News
Joy, hope and life lessons at Mandela Day camp at The Mercury Children's Holiday Home
Independent Newspapers CSI manager Sameera Kareem, centre, Nishi Naidoo, manager of The Mercury Hibberdene Children's Holiday Home celebrate Mandela Day with some of the children who attended a two-day camp. Picture: Doctor Ngcobo/Independent Newspapers Image: Doctor Ngcobo Independent Newspapers CHILDREN from a church group were given a life-changing experience when they spent two nights at The Mercury Hibberdene Children's Holiday Home as part of this year's Mandela Day celebrations. Sherlock Sithole, who facilitates life skills at the home, said the initiative was more than just a holiday camp. 'I plan programmes for visiting children's schools, churches or orphanages. We provide activities and recreational programmes that will help them deal with challenges, but also to be entertained and sensitised, given the fact that all children have different challenges, but each one of them is able in a different way,' he said. Sithole said the holiday home hosts three free camps a year during the Easter, winter and December holidays. 'Today we were hosting a group from Mthwalume and Pietermaritzburg. It was a wonderful experience just to give these children a pleasant holiday experience and also to speak to them about the significance of Mandela Day,' he said. Sameera Kareem, Independent Media's CSI manager, said: 'What an unforgettable time we had at The Mercury Hibberdene Children's Holiday Home! We were thrilled to sponsor and host the incredible youth group from I Am Church for a two-night stay packed with fun, laughter and heartfelt moments. As part of our Mandela Day celebrations, we rolled out a jam-packed day of activities. 'We also took time to reflect on the true spirit of Mandela Day, engaging in meaningful conversations with the kids about kindness, giving back and the legacy of Madiba himself. 'A huge shoutout goes to our fantastic donors and sponsors; your generosity made this all possible. Special thanks to Polar Ice Cream for the cool treats that lit up everyone's faces and to Baking Pan for the scrumptious cake that was the cherry on top of an amazing day.' Video Player is loading. Play Video Play Unmute Current Time 0:00 / Duration -:- Loaded : 0% Stream Type LIVE Seek to live, currently behind live LIVE Remaining Time - 0:00 This is a modal window. Beginning of dialog window. Escape will cancel and close the window. Text Color White Black Red Green Blue Yellow Magenta Cyan Transparency Opaque Semi-Transparent Background Color Black White Red Green Blue Yellow Magenta Cyan Transparency Opaque Semi-Transparent Transparent Window Color Black White Red Green Blue Yellow Magenta Cyan Transparency Transparent Semi-Transparent Opaque Font Size 50% 75% 100% 125% 150% 175% 200% 300% 400% Text Edge Style None Raised Depressed Uniform Dropshadow Font Family Proportional Sans-Serif Monospace Sans-Serif Proportional Serif Monospace Serif Casual Script Small Caps Reset restore all settings to the default values Done Close Modal Dialog End of dialog window. Advertisement Next Stay Close ✕ Ad Loading Children from a church group were given a life-changing experience when they spent two nights at The Mercury Hibberdene Children's Holiday Home as part of this year's Mandela Day celebrations. Image: Doctor Ngcobo Independent Newspapers Kevin Chetty, a pastor from the International Association of Missions, which brought the group of children from Pietermaritzburg, said working with young people had always been at the centre of their ministry. Chetty said the opportunity to partner with the holiday home was 'about changing destinies'. 'A young boy told me yesterday, I was talking to him while he was in the pool and he said it was the first time he had jumped into a swimming pool. He's six years old. That just blessed my heart,' he said. 'We're changing destinies, adding atmosphere, experiences and dreams. Later on, they must not look at someone else and think, 'I don't deserve that.' They must feel they do.' Chetty said initiatives like these must continue beyond Mandela Day. 'We have too many people complaining. It doesn't take anything to take one step forward. A house is built one brick at a time. If we can change one child's destiny at a time, we don't know... that one child could be the next rocket scientist.' Pastor Judith Chetty said she was moved to see children being treated with such care and dignity by The Mercury Hibberdene Children's Holiday Home staff. 'It is everything they could ever dream of and we're not doing it, we're watching it get done,' she said. 'I lift my hat for the love and dedication they have. Every activity had a life skill, how to believe in themselves (and) how to stand up for themselves. Everything here has been like that.' THE MERCURY
Daily Maverick
13-07-2025
- Daily Maverick
In the Walkman revolution we lost shared listening in an ever-narrowing world
I catch up to things late, always have done. I went, by way of example, from my transistor radio and those finickity cassettes that needed cumbersome cassette recorders to the smartphone with its ability to play music. I skipped over that breakthrough era of the Walkman and evaded the time of the Discman and the portable CD player. I even missed out on MP3 players. I still shake my head: what was I thinking? Why did I never acquaint myself with the latest technology and get myself a device that would have allowed me to hear music inside my head through those spindly, non-earpod but serviceable headphones? Probably the most important thing about the Walkman was that it revolutionised how we listened to music, changing the consumption of music – and all things auditory, such as audiobooks and podcasts. How? By giving us the chance to have a private listening experience, laying down the pathway for individual listening choice. It was a heady breakaway from the 'before' listening times, and took away the constant carping and complaining about whose turn it was. My teen years were hell, an endless negotiation around the inexplicable (to a truculent pre-adult) concept of sharing. I grew up in a family of six, all with particular musical tastes, all needing airtime. My mother liked classical music with religious themes: hymns, Gregorian chants, Handel's Easter music; the Ave Marias (the Bach and Schubert versions). 'Cross yourself music,' my brothers called it, mostly because my God-fearing mother often made the sign of the cross when she heard a particularly stirring liturgical piece. My father liked Elvis Presley, Nat King Cole, Buddy Holly, Frank Sinatra, Louis Armstrong, Ella Fitzgerald… played loudly (which annoyed my mother) so he could hear it while he cooked. There was only one turntable built into a cabinet with an open rack that held the long-playing records, or vinyl as they were known, and a radio with a fabric or mesh-fronted speaker and a large knob for a tuning dial. This was in a pride-of-place position in the lounge. Remember, there was no television set, so it was where we sat to listen to whatever was being played – record or radio. Antonette, my six-years-younger baby sister, listened to David Frost narrating fairy tales, The Pied Piper of Hamelin, Beauty and the Beast, Cinderella. She'd happily sing along with the complaining Hamelin rats, resentful about being unloved, bitter about their treatment from humans. Anton came home from boarding school, superior in his new knowledge of the hip music scene, bringing with him the music of Jethro Tull, Shawn Phillips, Pink Floyd, King Crimson, Deep Purple, Black Sabbath… all the colours, my mother used to say. My musical choices included Elton John, Joni Mitchell, James Taylor, Phil Collins, Billy Joel, Rod Stewart, Queen, Fleetwood Mac, the Bee Gees… And, embarrassing to the Naidoos, a deep love of country music: Patsy Cline, Dolly Parton, John Denver. My brother Shaun, learning how to play the piano in those years, listened to everything – it is necessary, he'd say, to hear it all. Necessary, it seems, for the brilliant composer he would become before his untimely death at 49. Everyone had to have a turn. We had to listen to each other's choices – we had no choice. It was communal listening. My hero, John Denver, wrote a song about his grandma's feather bed that could 'hold eight kids and four hound dogs, And a piggy we stole from the shed' on which they 'didn't get much sleep but had a lot of fun'. It was a bit like that in the Naidoo family master bedroom. After dinner, when our teeth were brushed, our faces scrubbed and pyjamas donned, we – along with Timmy, the dog – climbed into my parents' bed to listen to the radio on my dad's bedside table. As the Lost Orchid from a print of Tretchikoff's famous weeping painting looked down on us, we feasted on programmes like Squad Cars, in which the police prowled the empty streets at night, waiting in fast cars and on foot…; The Creaking Door; Test the Team; Inspector Carr Investigates; No Place to Hide with Mark Saxon and Sergei Gromulko; The Mind of Tracy Dark. Family time, a sharing time. Happy squabbling time. And then came the Walkman and everything changed. We no longer had to share. We could plug in our music and listen to whatever we chose. It was always our turn. Over the past 50 years, individual choice has replaced things communal. On a visit to my family in Los Angeles I got sick enough to spend the day in bed. To make sure we still had family time, my sister-in-law, Ann, and nephew, Joe, piled onto my bed. Only each of us had our laptops, each our Airpods, each watched a television series (me), documentary (Ann) or music video (Joe) of our own choosing. In the end, nobody shared what they'd been watching or listening to, I think because we each had such specific personal taste that nobody thought our choice would interest the others. It struck me that because it's always our turn, the algorithm can track us and give us more and more of what it thinks we like or want to see or listen to. And so our world gets narrower and narrower, as do the chances of getting to know arcane religious tracts or becoming familiar with the songs of Bing Crosby or being able to sing along with the rats of Hamelin. You are left with a repertoire of only what you like. As I said, I come late to things and seem to catch on and catch up only when the trend is deeply entrenched. Embarrassingly, I have just discovered podcasts and am listening to a host of views and opinions with which I agree, to which I nod along. A case in point is The Rest Is Politics, hosted by former journalist-turned-strategist and spokesperson for Tony Blair and New Labour Alastair Campbell and British academic, broadcaster, writer and former diplomat and politician Rory Stewart. In a determined attempt to confuse the algorithm, I have resorted to forcing myself to listen to the extremely right-wing views of Donald Trump-supporting Joe Rogan, whose ravings are liberally interspersed with racist epithets. It's a grim business and I find myself vacillating between rage and despair at some of the things people (such as Kash Patel, Trump's director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation) say. But I genuinely believe that the only way to form opinions is to have the views of all sides. DM This story first appeared in our weekly Daily Maverick 168 newspaper, which is available countrywide for R35.
