Station Eleven
by Emily St. John Mandel
Published 2014 (deckle edge)
Station Eleven is not a perfect book.
At under 350 pages, it never really had a chance to be. The scope of the story is simply too large. There are gaps, and even days after finishing it, I found myself asking questions and wishing some of the answers had been included within its pages.
That might seem like a flaw, and in some respects it is. Yet the fact that Station Eleven had me lying in bed after the nightly CD had played its final track, still thinking about it, speaks volumes about how deeply it captures the imagination.
Many books offer a diversion that lasts only a few hours after the final page is turned. The best books linger. They make you remember. They make you think. They demand your attention long after they are back on the shelf.
Emily St. John Mandel achieves that with Station Eleven.
Much of that reflection centres on the question of “what might happen,” since the novel explores the collapse of civilization. A super flu wipes out 99 per cent of the world’s population. For context, in Yorkton, that would leave roughly 175 people alive.
It is a frightening thought, made even sharper by memories of near-deserted streets during COVID shutdowns. One mutation, and could Station Eleven become all too real?
St. John Mandel sets much of the story years after the collapse, following a nomadic group of actors, the Traveling Symphony, who roam the scattered outposts of the Great Lakes region. They spread art and humanity, performing Shakespeare and music for small communities of survivors.
Of course, not all survivors are interested in rebuilding what might be considered the best of humanity.
At the outpost of St. Deborah by the Water, the group encounters a violent prophet.
This element may feel somewhat familiar, as post-apocalyptic stories often include such figures. However, the blending of religion with humanity’s tendency toward power and control makes this portrayal feel believable, even inevitable, in the wake of a large-scale disaster.
Against this future setting, St. John Mandel weaves in timelines from before the flu. Early on, you may wonder how all the threads will come together, but she brings them together smoothly by the end.
We never learn whether the survivors were immune, simply lucky, or whether the flu eventually burned itself out. Many questions remain unanswered, but that is acceptable.
What we do understand is what survival means. It means coping with a world where cellphones go dead forever. It means explaining to children what an airplane once was.
There are no zombies or aliens here. The fears are grounded and real, which makes the story all the more unsettling. In a post-COVID world, that realism hits even harder, and as a result, this is a book that lingers long after it is finished.
About Author
Calvin Daniels is a Saskatchewan-born, self-taught journalist. He is currently Editor of Yorkton This Week, with 35-years in the newspaper business.
Station Eleven
by Emily St. John Mandel
Published 2014 (deckle edge)
Station Eleven is not a perfect book.
At under 350 pages, it never really had a chance to be. The scope of the story is simply too large. There are gaps, and even days after finishing it, I found myself asking questions and wishing some of the answers had been included within its pages.
That might seem like a flaw, and in some respects it is. Yet the fact that Station Eleven had me lying in bed after the nightly CD had played its final track, still thinking about it, speaks volumes about how deeply it captures the imagination.
Many books offer a diversion that lasts only a few hours after the final page is turned. The best books linger. They make you remember. They make you think. They demand your attention long after they are back on the shelf.
Emily St. John Mandel achieves that with Station Eleven.
Much of that reflection centres on the question of “what might happen,” since the novel explores the collapse of civilization. A super flu wipes out 99 per cent of the world’s population. For context, in Yorkton, that would leave roughly 175 people alive.
It is a frightening thought, made even sharper by memories of near-deserted streets during COVID shutdowns. One mutation, and could Station Eleven become all too real?
St. John Mandel sets much of the story years after the collapse, following a nomadic group of actors, the Traveling Symphony, who roam the scattered outposts of the Great Lakes region. They spread art and humanity, performing Shakespeare and music for small communities of survivors.
Of course, not all survivors are interested in rebuilding what might be considered the best of humanity.
At the outpost of St. Deborah by the Water, the group encounters a violent prophet.
This element may feel somewhat familiar, as post-apocalyptic stories often include such figures. However, the blending of religion with humanity’s tendency toward power and control makes this portrayal feel believable, even inevitable, in the wake of a large-scale disaster.
Against this future setting, St. John Mandel weaves in timelines from before the flu. Early on, you may wonder how all the threads will come together, but she brings them together smoothly by the end.
We never learn whether the survivors were immune, simply lucky, or whether the flu eventually burned itself out. Many questions remain unanswered, but that is acceptable.
What we do understand is what survival means. It means coping with a world where cellphones go dead forever. It means explaining to children what an airplane once was.
There are no zombies or aliens here. The fears are grounded and real, which makes the story all the more unsettling. In a post-COVID world, that realism hits even harder, and as a result, this is a book that lingers long after it is finished.
About Author
Calvin Daniels
Calvin Daniels is a Saskatchewan-born, self-taught journalist. He is currently Editor of Yorkton This Week, with 35-years in the newspaper business.
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