The Fatling’s CBR7 Review No. 5: Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel
More of a pleasure than she remembered.
I've been meaning to read this book for a while on the recommendation of a friend. I tried to buy it at my favorite local bookstore, and they were sold out. Now, having finished it, I understand why they have difficulty keeping it on their shelves.
This is one of the most beautiful, lyrical books I've read. It's possibly supplanted Atwood's Maddadam trilogy as my favorite post-ap fiction, and in fact, it strips the ham-handed satirical elements from society's collapse and adds the technical literary ability of a David Foster Wallace (again, leaving the broad strokes satire behind). There were passages in Station Eleven that moved me to tears despite not describing anything particularly emotional.
The novel tells the story of a pandemic (IMO, the most plausible doomsday scenario), the Georgia Flu, which guts the human population in record time. But, naturally, it's far more than that. The hub connecting the many different characters throughout the initial panic and aftermath is actor Arthur Leander, a boy from a rural Canadian island who made good, first in Toronto, then in New York, and finally in Los Angeles. That the post-apocalyptic interactions between an EMT who tends to him, his child co-star, his son, two of his ex-wives, and his best friend never feel overly coincidental is a testament to Mandel's talent and restraint as a writer.
I didn't quite appreciate the third-act reveal of a major character's sexual orientation, but it's possible it was alluded to earlier and I missed it. The only other thing I found to be less than superb (and I wonder if it was this that cost the novel the National Book Award) is the explanation of the phrase "Because survival is insufficient." It's a line from Star Trek Voyager, and it's inked on erstwhile protagonist Kirsten's arm, as well as painted on the side of the caravan of the Travelling Symphony, the Shakespearean acting troupe/orchestra Kirsten throws in with following the death of her brother. The scene feels like something that insipred Mandel at some point early in the process, and no editor could convince her to kill that particular darling. Of course "survival is insufficient!" That's why postapocalyptic fiction exists in the first place--to reassure us that some things, the good things, about humanity are hard-wired in somehow.
My favorite moments in the book were spent with Miranda, Arthur's first wife. She leaves behind an artistic inclincation to work in shipping, marry a film star, and then work in shipping again. She does, however, spend her spare time working on the titular Station Eleven, a story of refugees from Earth trapped on a space station that has become little more than a prison. While her attitude toward the Spaceman Spiff-inspired comics is somewhat dismissive, Miranda herself is the character I felt most drawn to, if for no other reason than her quietness and dedication to her work (both artistic and not) with no desire for huge recognition. I don't understand it, but it seems attractive. Her arc is one of my favorites, and I only wish I could get my hands on a copy of Station Eleven (the comic).
Book Feel: This book feels phenomenal. The jacket feels almost micro-pebbled (is that a thing?) for maximum grip, and it doesn't feel oily or slick in any way. It feels water-repellent. The book is printed on medium weight paper, so it's not too heavy, and the small size is ideal for travel reading. This is the one to beat so far in 2015.
