The Hunger Games vs. Austen

The Hunger Games vs. Austen

The original

The roof is not lit at night, but as soon as my bare feet reach its tiled surface I see his silhouette, black against the lights that shine endlessly in the Capitol.  There's quite a commotion going on down in the streets, music and singing and car horns, none of ehich I could hear through the thick glass window panels in my room.  I could slip away now, without him noticing me; he wouldn't hear me over the din.  But the night air's so sweet, I can't bear returning to that stuffy cage of a room.  And what difference does it make?  Whether we speak or not?

 My feet move soundlessly across the tiles.  I'm only a yard behind him when I say, "You should be getting some sleep."

He starts but doesn't turn.  I can see him give his head a slight shake.  "I didn't want to miss the party.  It's for us, after all."

I come up beside him and lean over the edge of the rail.  The wide streets are full of dancing people.  I squint to make out their tiny figures in more detail.  "Are they in costume?"

"Who could tell?" Peeta answers.  "With all the crazy clothes they wear here.  Couldn't sleep either?"

"Couldn't turn my mind off," I say.

"Thinking of your family?" he asks.

"No," I admit a bit guiltily.  "All I can do is wonder about tomorrow.  Which is pointless, of course."

Collins, Suzanne, The Hunger Games, Scholastic Inc., 2008, p.148

After 20 minutes in the Austen Oven:

The roof was not lit at night, but Katniss could see Mr Everdeen standing against the dying remainder of the sun's rays, watching the commotion of the singing parties, and the crush of carriages, in the street below.  She considered slipping back to her room, as surely he would not notice her above the din; but her room seemed to her to be shut away and without any interest, and if they did have to speak to each other, surely it would not signify.  "Why, Mr Mellark, you should be resting now," she said.  Peeta started but he did not turn around to face her.  "I did not wish to miss the party," he replied.  "It is for us, after all."

Katniss approached the window and saw the dancing throngs for herself.  "Are they in costumes, Mr Mellark?  Can you tell?" 

"I cannot say.  I am not well enough acquainted with this place.  Could you not sleep either, Miss Everdeen?"

"I could not."

"Is it you family that keeps you?"


"No," Katniss answered with some embarrassment. "I can't help wondering about the morrow. Which does not help, I know."

Ophelia, The Austen Oven, 2012

Katniss was bewildered by her emotion; and felt that she must not let Mr Everdeen know.

Austen vs. Shakespeare

A request from a faithful reader: Austen recasts Hamlet's famous monologue scene.  For the original, refer to Hamlet, Act III, Scene 1.

After an hour in the Austen Oven (and now a little overcooked!):

Just Hamlet and she were left in the chamber.  Hamlet stood with his back to her, his face towards the the darkness.  It was a calm night; wickedly so.  In her hand she clutched a small bag of his remembrances;  though she had received them with much joy when they were given, they seemed now to be meagre, and like their intent, without worth.  Hamlet began to speak.  'To be or not to be - that is the question,' he said softly.  Ophelia did not answer; she knew he did not expect, or want, a reply.  He continued to speak for many minutes, much of which she did not understand; but she felt the scent of cruelty, and desperation, that coloured his words.  She recalled what a confidante had said once - 'he suffers an unsteadiness of feeling, of jagged thought, and gloom of mind.'  She had not agreed then, but now she heard truth in Hamlet's unsettled mutterings.

'The fair Ophelia!  It pains me to look at you,' said Hamlet suddenly, breaking his monologue. 

'Good day, my lord,' she answered.  'Are you well?'

'I thank you for asking!  I am indeed well.'

Ophelia thought him to be gazing at her with hate.  His mouth was twisting with terrible words he would not utter.  'My lord, I have remembrances of yours that I have long been wishing to return to you.  Please take them,' she said.

'It was not I that gave them to you,' he answered.

'My lord, you are no doubt aware that you did give them to me, with the sweetest of words, and treasure them I did, but no more.  They have lost their gleam; when the givers prove unkind, they sparkle no longer.  Here,' said she, holding the bag out to him.  Hamlet stared long at his gifts now dimly lit; without light to improve them, they seemed all shadow.

It is a strange torment to be thus, Ophelia

Austen vs. King's Cujo

The King original:
Cujo's head had come up.  His head cocked to one side, and for a moment he bore an insane resemblance to Nipper, the RCA dog with his ear to the gramophone horn.  He got shakily to his feet and started toward the house and the sound of the ringing telephone.

"Maybe the doggy's going to answer the telephone," Tad said.  "Maybe-"

With a speed and agility that was terrifying, the big dog changed direction and came at the car.  The awkward stagger was gone now, as if it had been nothing but a sly act all along.  It was roaring and bellowing rather than barking.  Its red eyes burned.  It struck the car with a hard, dull crunch and rebounded - with stunned eyes, Donna saw that the side of her door was actually bowed in a bit.  It must be dead, she thought hysterically, bashed its sick brains in spinal fusion deep concussion must have-must have-MUST HAVE-


Cujo got back up.  His muzzle was bloody.  His eyes seemed wandering, vacuous again.  Inside the house the phone rang on and on.
Stephen King, Cujo, Futura, 1989,  p235-236.

After 10 minutes in the Austen Oven:
Donna watched the dog.  His head had risen from groggy sleep, and now it was cocked to the side; it looked as though he was listening to a sound no-one else could discern, but somehow Donna could see the noise the dog heard was one that jarred and bothered him intensely.  Cujo rose to his feet uncertainly and headed towards the house.

"Perhaps the doggie needs a drink," said Tad hopefully.  "Perhaps someone is calling him."

Then the dog turned, and ran at them, tumbling and fierce, with no stagger or uncertainty, as if he had been playing a trick on them, and now he was slyly triumphant, eager to show them how wrong they had been.  Cujo did not bark, but growled as he ran; the growl became a vicious roar, and his eyes narrowed into pockets of red as he neared.  Donna and Tad crawled further up into the shrubbery; the sharp twigs snatched at their clothes as they sought to climb out of the dog's reach.  Cujo crashed into the tree below; he had not slowed, so he hit hard, and fell back, looking up at them in what seemed angered frustration, as they clutched the branches in horror.  Cujo walked in a circle, shaking his muzzle, so that ribbons of saliva and blood flew everywhere, spattering the leaves; then suddenly he turned, and ran at the tree again, and again, as they shrieked and moaned.  Why did not anybody hear their cries?
Ophelia, 2012, all rights reserved.

Trust: the faithful dog guards his little mistress till she wakes

Austen vs. Meyer

The original

The meadow, so spectacular to me at first, paled next to his significance.

Hesitantly, always afraid, even now, that he would disappear like a mirage, too beautiful to be real ... hesitantly, I reached out one finger and stroked the back of his shimmering hand, where it lay within my reach.  I marveled again at the perfect texture, satin smooth, cool as stone.  When I looked up again, his eyes were pen, watching me.  Butterscotch today, lighter, warmer after hunting.  His quick smile turned up the corners of his flawless lips.

"I don't scare you?" he asked playfully, but I could hear the real curiosity in his voice.

"No more than usual."

Stephanie Meyer, Twilight, Atom, 2009, p.229. 

After 30 minutes in the Austen Oven

The meadow dimmed next to Edward; even though it had been spectacular at first, it seemed dull and washed out, with Edward at the centre, as bright as evening's first star.

Even though she was afraid, frightened should he disappear back into the mist like something she might have imagined, Isabella reached out her hand to touch his; it was cold as if marble and smooth like stone.  When she raised her eyes to his, he was watching her intensely.  She saw satisfaction in his eyes, languid and sated; she observed too they were a playful tortoiseshell colour, but the colour was rolling without settling, like gentle waves in the sea.  Edward smiled gently.  Isabella thought he seemed just like the statues of Greek gods she had read about, eternal and perfect, yet somehow frightening.  Her mind whirled with thoughts of the impudence of her actions.  "Do I scare you?" he asked softly.

"I am always frightened when you are near, Mr. Cullen," answered Isabella, as her fingers trembled in his hand, and her eyes dropped from his.

Her goodness tamed his tendencies to the wild; her succour fed him strength
(Painting by Edward Savage, 1796)

Austen vs. French's chooks

The original:
If you have bought day-old chicks, or hatched them in an incubator, you can provide a hot-water bottle (if you can bear to get up in the night and replenish it) or place a light bulb in thr box. If the chicks are too cold, they will huddle round the light; if they are too hot, they will go to the edge of the box. Make sure you put a blanket arund the boxand over it to insulate it and keep the heat in. If they are too confined, chicks can become aggressive and peck each other badly. They grow quickly, so gie them plenty of room. Put a little sand on the bottom of the box.

Jackie French, The Chook Book, Manna Press, Melbourne, 2010, p. 39.

After a few minutes in the Austen Oven:
Chicks that are but just a day in age require warmth; this may be from a hot water bottle, which necessiates getting up through the night to replenish it, or light from a bulb within the box, around which the chicks will huddle. You must also place a coverlet atop the box, as this keeps the heat inside; and do ensure the box has room enough as they grow, to stop them quarrelling, and has sand on its floor, for cleanliness.

A chook is so restful; I adore to watch it caper and scratch, roll cheerfully in the dust, and gather what it can from its meagre existence.

Austen vs. Rowling

I'm first going to take on a literary giant amongst children and adults: J.K.Rowling.  Rowling is heavy on description but less so on thoughts and feelings, so this will be interesting at least.

The Rowling Original 

Harry had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place.  It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles which were floating in mid-air over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting.  These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets.  At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting.  Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them.  The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight.  Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver.  Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looked upwards and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars.  He heard Hermione whisper, 'It's bewitched to look like the sky outside, I read about it in Hogwarts, a History.'

 J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Bloomsbury Publishing, 1997, p.87

After Roasting in the Austen Oven

Harold had never even imagined such a strange, splendid place.  It was lit by thousands upon thousands of candles, which were floating over four long tables, which were laid with glittering goblets, and golden plates that caught the light.  The students were seated at these tables; at the top of the hall was yet another long table facing the students at which the teachers presided.  Professor McGonagall led the new students up to the teachers' table, and turned them so they could see the faces of hundreds of the other students, and even those of the ghosts, which drifted around as their mood took them.  Harold looked up to avoid all those eyes, and saw a velvety black ceiling, dotted with shiny stars; Miss Granger whispered beside him, 'It is bewitched to seem like the sky outside; I read so in the book 'Hogwarts: a History.'

Ophelia, 2012

Which is the preferred version?