The Questionable 'Love' of Selfish Men
(The Hunger Games/Star Wars)

December 11, 2023

I've been a fan of both The Hunger Games and Star Wars franchises for a long time -- the latter since I was 10 years old, and the newer series since 2012.

As you are probably aware, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, a prequel to the original Hunger Games trilogy and the film adaptation of the 2020 novel, was released in movie theaters on November 17. Being a fan of the franchise, I read the book for the first time shortly after it came out, and one of the major themes throughout its text, particularly the way it culminated at the end of the book, gave me a lot to think about. And in my opinion, that's exactly what great fiction is supposed to do: make you think. Having finished the book before going to bed, I lay awake for a while mulling over this topic, something that often happens when I've just read or watched a story that I found fascinating, confusing, etc.

Although the Hunger Games characters, situations and overall story are very different, it also didn't take me long to draw a comparison between the main character from this novel and one of the leading men of the Star Wars saga, which is why I'll be discussing both in this article.

For those who don't know, this prequel serves as the villain origin story of President Snow, taking place 64 years before Katniss Everdeen's Hunger Games; back when he was just Coriolanus Snow, a teenager living in the Capitol and later stationed in District 12 as a Peacekeeper.

Now, we all know that President Snow was a terrible person in the original Hunger Games trilogy. Some people, upon the announcement of the prequel, were worried that it was going to somehow turn him into a "good guy" or make people sympathize with him too much since he was the main character. While being told from his own point of view does make him come off slightly more human, I think the book still makes it pretty clear, especially at the end, that he isn't a good person overall. While he perhaps started out trying to be a good person, his tendency to view other people as inferior to himself, his desire for power, and his grooming at the hands of an evil scientist all add up by the end of the book.

(Disclaimer: I am not a psychologist or therapist, just a person interested in human behavior and motivations; so I will try to refrain from using any diagnosis terms such as "narcissist" to describe the characters I'm talking about, because I'm not qualified to diagnose anyone, real or fictional. But I definitely feel like they exhibit traits of said diagnoses.)

With the events of the story fresh in my head again, and now that others have had a few weeks to see the movie, I figured this would be a great time to review my thoughts on the subject.

I won't be reviewing the movie or the book here, but in order to discuss these themes, there will, of course, be some minor spoilers involved. I won't be describing the events, but discussing them as if you're already aware of the events, so honestly, the discussion will make more sense to you if you've already read or seen it. So if you're planning to do that, stop procrastinating and go see the movie. Or if you want a more in-depth look into the character and his twisted motivations, read the book (I recommend doing both, but of course, the movie will be a lot faster). Then don't forget to come back here afterward so you can fully understand the points I make. However, if you haven't seen or read it but don't actually care about some spoilers, you'll be able to follow along well enough.

So, onto the meat of the discussion (I apologize for such a long intro):

One of the most unexpected things about the young Snow in this book is that it shows him falling in love, which might sound really out of character for someone we remember being so heartless in the original series. Due to the presence of his young granddaughter in Catching Fire and Mockingjay, we did already know that he had been married at one point, or at the very least, fathered a child; still, the idea of him actually loving someone seems odd because we know him to be such a cold and cruel person. So when it turned out that one of the major themes in Songbirds was Snow catching feelings for a tribute he was mentoring in the Hunger Games, it sounded like something that might be forced and out of character.

However, after reading the book, I wasn't left with that impression at all. I really have to give Suzanne Collins credit for the way she wrote this "love story" and how perfectly in-character it felt when it was all wrapped up. Ms. Collins knows her characters well, and was perfectly able to capture what I imagined a romance involving Coriolanus Snow would be like. Enough that it made me lie awake after finishing the book, pondering the selfish type of love that he exhibited.

"Selfish love" sounds a bit like an oxymoron, and probably is one. But that's exactly it: I don't think Coriolanus Snow was actually, truly capable of loving. He was too selfish, too caught up in his own experience and viewpoint, and only thinking about what benefited him. By the end of the book, as well as the movie, it's clear that he'll do anything and walk over almost anyone to gain power.

Sure, I think he had feelings for Lucy Gray. Attraction. Infatuation. Obsession. In fact, in the very first chapter of the book, it was written that "a tendency toward obsession was hardwired into his brain" -- something we can see even 64 years later when he's obsessed with Katniss Everdeen. This prequel, by the way, makes it obvious to me that at least part of the hatred he had for Katniss was because she reminded him of Lucy Gray, even more than six decades later. So it's not surprising that as an 18-year-old boy, he would easily become obsessed with an attractive girl who showed an interest in him, but who was also a bit more interesting and intriguing than the ones he went to the Academy with.

But in order to truly love someone, there has to be more than attraction or infatuation. You have to think about what's best for them, be willing to sacrifice for them (within reason, of course). Love is supposed to be selfless, at least to some extent. You should never sacrifice your own wellbeing or sense of self for another person, but you at least have to consider their wellbeing, and not just because it benefits you.

Snow's relationship with his tribute began as selfish, with him only caring about her survival because of his own interests. If he proved himself to be the best mentor in the Games, he would win a prize that would allow him to go to university. Because his family had lost all of their money during the war and was masquerading as rich to keep up appearances, that prize was important to his future. There was a lot riding on it for him, so he would do anything necessary to help Lucy Gray win the interest of the Capitol citizens, or even better, be declared victor. He greeted her at the train station with a rose and made an attempt at gaining her trust, not because he cared, but because he was manipulating her for his own benefit. In fact, it wasn't even his own idea, but his cousin Tigris who encouraged him to let his tribute know that he cared about her. While her suggestion seemed to come from a place of actual caring -- Tigris being one of very few Capitol citizens who actually had compassion for the tributes -- Coriolanus' use of her idea was less than innocent.

I do think there was a mutual attraction there from the beginning, with Lucy Gray calling him "Gorgeous" as a term of endearment, saying that he seemed like a good man, and that if they had met under different circumstances, they could have gone out for a drink or shared a dance together. Since the book is written from Snow's point of view instead of hers, we don't know if she was intentionally flirting in an attempt to manipulate him, but based on their later encounters in District 12, I don't feel like that was the case. Though I'm sure her flirting did influence him and help that initial attraction become something stronger.

However, "something stronger" doesn't necessarily mean love, at least not in the way a person should love their romantic partner. In his case, it was more along the lines of possession. This is made very clear throughout the novel, as it's stated repeatedly that, as his tribute, she belongs to him; that he owns her. Due to the circumstances of the universe these books take place in, this is not something that's presented as quite as alarming as it would be in our own world; those in the Capitol, not just Coriolanus, view the district tributes as property of their mentors, just as their avox servants are their property as well. Lucy Gray, along with all of the other kids in her situation, are considered objects, or animals; in fact, everyone in the districts is considered less than human. When the tributes, who are kept in a zoo, get sick or injured, they are treated by a veterinarian instead of a human doctor. It's a vile situation all around.

So while I do believe that Coriolanus cares for Lucy Gray in some abstract way, it's as a possession, not as an equal being. The way that people can love their cars, their money, or whatever objects they may collect. Things that make their life better, whether it's in a monetary sense, one of convenience or luxury, or even in the sense of companionship or sexual gratification. When Coryo first begins to fall for his tribute, such as when she kisses him goodbye before the Games begin, he describes it in much the same way a normal young man would describe his attraction to someone, and it almost seems as though he might be starting to see her as fully human, to see her as an equal; but later on in their relationship, it's shown that he's always viewed her as a possession and always will.

After they reunite in District 12, he even reflects on the fact that, to him, it was almost better when she was locked in the Capitol zoo, because then he always knew where she was and what she was doing. He almost immediately becomes suspicious of her when she has any ounce of freedom, not trusting her to stay loyal as her ex-boyfriend makes feeble attempts to get her back, even when she clearly shows no interest in said ex; and he's constantly building himself up for "saving her life" by cheating in the arena, as if she owes him for it.

After Coriolanus accidentally admits that he's killed three people instead of just two, things obviously take a turn for the worse. While the movie focuses more on Lucy Gray's suspicions about him, the book ending features his own internal narration, something that was impossible to seamlessly incorporate into the movie. This narration makes it obvious how much he's willing to twist the truth in order to justify betraying the person he supposedly loves. As she makes the decision to flee, realizing how dangerous he is, he does a lot of mental gymnastics so he can make an enemy out of her. With absolutely no evidence to support it but his own twisted thoughts, he suddenly decides that she's the one who's dangerous, acting like it's a total coincidence that he came to this realization right after he found out he could destroy the evidence tying him to a murder and return home unscathed.

As soon as he realizes there's a future and a path back to civilization for him if he abandons her in the wilderness, he very suddenly views her as an obstacle to his happiness instead of a means to his happiness. He now instantly begins twisting their relationship in his head as an excuse to get out of it, taking little details about her that he had previously considered innocent and instead using them as proof of how dangerous she is so he can feel justified in getting rid of her. For instance, her poisoning of Wovey in the Hunger Games arena instantly goes from something that "had not been targeted" to "a cold-blooded move if he'd ever seen one." He makes an enemy out of her on purpose, simply because she stands in the way of something he wants more than he wants her: a better life for himself. And he's willing to abandon, betray, and even murder her to get what he wants.

People like Snow are, presumably, allosexual and alloromantic, so they are not immune to attraction or feelings of romance. They are perfectly capable of falling for another person, but that doesn't mean they're capable of exhibiting the care and consideration it takes for a relationship to be equal and balanced.

This is what made me draw a comparison between Snow and Anakin Skywalker in the Star Wars prequel trilogy.

While I think it's quite obvious that Snow's "love" for Lucy Gray was very conditional, I don't often see people talking about Anakin's love for Padmé Amidala being equally selfish. Sure, the love story between them has received a lot of criticism, but it's usually focused on things like writing, dialogue, acting, lack of chemistry, etc. Sometimes people will comment that it's not believable that Padmé would have fallen for him after seeing his outburst about the Tusken Raiders, or that he was too young for her despite their age difference being only five years. I guess their criticism of the romance is meant to be a criticism of the movie more than anything -- after all, these are Star Wars fans we're talking about.

But among those who don't mind the romance existing within the context of the movie, I don't think I've ever heard anyone else question whether Anakin actually loved Padmé or not.

If you ask me, Anakin's love, just like Coriolanus', was actually quite selfish and more along the lines of possession than love. I think the fact that Anakin turned to the dark side to save her life has distracted people from this. The fact that he would do anything to save her has some people believing that he was prioritizing her over everything else because of how much he loved her, while I personally feel like that wasn't the case at all.

While Padmé's love for him appeared to be quite genuine and pure (if misguided), I think Anakin only loved her for how she made him feel. And although that's certainly one valid thing to love about somebody, it shouldn't be your only reason for being with them; it has to come with a certain amount of consideration for the other person's wishes and well-being.

Again, you might point to his betrayal of the Jedi as evidence that he considered her well-being, so much that he was willing to join forces with evil just to save her life. Never mind the fact that being willing to betray everyone else in your life and commit cold-blooded murder for your partner isn't a healthy way to have a relationship, but there's also the fact that Padmé never would have wanted him to do those things in the first place. In fact, she begged him not to. So when you think about it, he didn't actually do it for her, did he?

He did it because he didn't want to imagine his own life without her in it. Because of what would be missing from his life if she were gone. His main concern wasn't that she didn't deserve to die or that he didn't want her to suffer. His main concern was, and I quote, "I can't live without her."

Padmé wasn't afraid to die. She made this clear on many occasions. When Anakin told her that he'd had a vision of her dying in childbirth, she immediately asked about the safety of the baby, without any concern for herself. That is a selfless love. It would have been completely understandable for an expecting mother to be just as worried about her own life as the baby's, but she didn't seem fazed at all by the thought of her own death as long as the baby would be okay.

Her husband, however, fell on the exact opposite end of the spectrum. He was thinking of no one but himself. He turned on his own brethren, betrayed his best friend, killed small children... not for Padmé, but for his own desire to keep her around.

Anakin had a ton of trauma, growing up as a slave for the first 9 years of his life, being forced to separate from his mother to join the Jedi (leaving her to rot in slavery for the rest of her life, as far as he knew), being unable to even have any contact with her, and then later having to watch her die in his arms. It's understandable that the idea of losing Padmé would trigger that trauma caused by the loss of his mother. Who knows if the Jedi Order even offered him any kind of real therapy to help him cope with it (probably not). However, that doesn't excuse all of the awful things he did. And while "He did it to save Padmé" might not be intended to excuse him, it does remove some of he accountability that should be placed on him.

If he had truly been thinking of her, he would have taken her own wishes into consideration, and wouldn't have done the things he did even if he was tempted to. Padmé would never have wanted him to hurt anybody else to save her. If she'd had a choice, she would have surely preferred to die than to have her husband murder the Jedi younglings, betray Obi-Wan, or do any of the other unspeakable things he did. She pleaded with him to run away with her and make a life together, help her raise their child, and "leave everything else behind while we still can." That was all she wanted from him, but it was his own selfishness that kept him from following her wishes.

Selflessness and sacrifice weren't something Anakin was very capable of. Even when he did all the brave things he did during the Clone Wars (disclaimer: I am only going by the movies here), it was never selfless. It was made clear that he enjoyed going into battle. And his confidence level was so high that I don't think he ever really considered that he could actually die in battle. So it wasn't like he was actually willing to sacrifice his life as a soldier for the Republic; he simply viewed himself as invincible.

I do think he cared about Padmé, as well as Obi-Wan and others, to some extent -- just as Snow cared about Lucy Gray, his cousin Tigris, and some of his friends to some extent. But when it came down to it, they were both too self-absorbed to prioritize the well-being and even the actual lives of other people above their own desires. And the longer they stayed on that path, the fewer people they cared about, until in the end no one was safe.

Imagine if Palpatine had offered to save Padmé's life, but in exchange, Anakin had to sacrifice his own life. Would he have died to keep her alive? Or for that matter, if he said he could keep both of them alive, but he'd never get to see her again. Would he have been willing to go so far to save her life then, if it meant she could no longer be in his life? I doubt it, because her existence was something he only viewed as important because it benefited him. He wanted her by his side, but that doesn't mean his love for her was exactly as he portrayed it, or even what he thought it was. It's easy for people like him to confuse obsession for love.

Similarly, Snow wanted Lucy Gray by his side (at least until she became an obstacle to him). He was infatuated with her, which led to possessiveness. Maybe he felt that being around her was "intoxicating" as Anakin once said about Padmé.

It's possible to love the way you feel around someone, and want to keep them around for that reason, without actually caring about what's in their best interests, and both of these men are good, albeit extreme, examples of that.

Another thing they have in common is that they were both needlessly suspicious of their partners and immediately accused them of betrayal at the earliest opportunity, with Anakin accusing Padmé of leading Obi-Wan to him so he could be killed, and Coriolanus also thinking that his girlfriend would try to kill him after she figured out the truth of how dangerous he might be. The ending of Songbirds and Snakes left it unclear if Lucy Gray had actually tried to kill him after beginning to fear for her own life, or if he had simply taken a coincidence and jumped to a conclusion in his mind, but it did make one thing very clear: that Coriolanus Snow was loyal to only one person... himself.

After Lucy Gray's disappearance, Snow vowed to marry a woman he hated so she had no power to "manipulate" him, once again placing the blame on her. Presumably, he later went on to do just that, impregnating the woman unfortunate enough to be his wife so he could continue his "legacy" through children and grandchildren, showing again just how little he values other people.

Although these two fictional characters might be extreme examples -- and of course some extreme examples exist in real life as well -- I think a lot of people would be shocked to realize how common it actually is for straight men to view their partners more as accessories to their own lives than as complete human beings with equally-important lives of their own.

And before the not all men crowd hops in my DM's, yes, the roles can be reversed sometimes too. Or the same dynamic can exist between parents and children, and in other types of non-romantic relationships. Any human being who's born has the capability of being self-absorbed or treating others as if they are unimportant. However, the sad truth is that society has given men the space and even encouragement to be this way more frequently by teaching them that they are the most important creatures on earth and that everything else -- including women -- exists to serve them.

This is something I've talked about a lot outside of this blog, and I actually began writing out many examples here, but as I realized this entry was getting far too long, I think it's best to save those for another time and stay focused on only the fictional right now, as beginning to talk about this phenomenon and how it manifests in real life requires too much of an in-depth discussion of its own. So maybe someday you can expect that post to appear here as well.

For now I will mostly leave it at this, but I did want to point out that the idea of loving someone only for how they improve your own life is not limited to fictional universes. Fiction, especially when it comes to character motivations and psychology, is often based on real life, so even when a character is an extreme example, it's usually not that hard to find real-life examples that are similar or have the same motivation behind them. In this case, the selfishness displayed is unfortunately something far more common in real life than we'd like to admit.

Additionally, The Hunger Games and Star Wars are both franchises that speak out, and are even meant to warn us, about fascism and the dangers it presents when we allow these types of people to rise to power. Both of the stories we've discussed were prequels and served as villain origin stories, so while the characters in question were slightly more human at the time they take place, it's no coincidence that these two leading men both became dictators later in life and had no problem killing countless people. These failed relationships don't just exist as tragic love stories, but as evidence that deeply selfish people will always be just that. They will never truly love anyone the way they love themselves, and they will betray anyone who stands in the way of them gaining power.

tags: entertainment, movies, star wars, the hunger games, psychology