Because Survival Is Insufficient

   Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel was *almost* enough to soften my dislike for post-apocalyptic dystopian narratives.  Almost.  And that "almost" is no negative reflection on Station Eleven, but rather speaks to my intense dislike of dystopian stories and settings.  This, though - this book was a brilliant, shining diamond in a world full of gray, bleak, and dusty rocks. 
   
   Now, here's what's different about Station Eleven, what sets it apart from all those other survivalist, the world is burning narratives: the world hasn't been destroyed  by zombies.  The apocalypse wasn't caused by nuclear fallout.  Aliens didn't take over the planet.  It was something completely believable - a flu virus - one that originated in Russia, spread like wildfire, and within a month killed 99.9% of earth's population.  Additionally, people aren't continually struggling to survive.  People are alive, and aside from the stray marauder and a delusional religious Prophet, things are fairly calm.  In that way, I would call this a quiet dystopia.  This book isn't about the survival of humanity, it's about the survival of arts and culture.  The characters are actors and musicians and artists, and they continue to keep their craft alive, even when some question its appropriateness.  And it forces readers to think about the question: if I had the responsibility of preserving human history for those who have no idea what life was like before, what would I save?  
  
   The book is set in multiple times, oscillating between the time before and twenty-five years after the collapse of civilization, with a few touch points  in between.  It's not difficult to follow the non-linear arrangement, though.  Mandel has no intentions of losing her readers.  Rather, she weaves together the stories of a few prominent characters, revealing information only when needed, and only in perfect amounts, allowing readers to become invested in the continuation of the story.  At the center of the narrative is a graphic novel, a two-book series created by one of the characters, and whose story line and themes mirror those of the novel, providing a living example of how art imitates life.  Or, in this case, vise-versa.  

  Technically speaking, the narrative is beautifully written.  It is spare, contains nothing extra or gratuitous, and every word seeks to advance the narrative.  There are no ambiguous statements, no mysterious ellipses - Mandel means what she says, and says what she means.  And as she pulls the threads of the narrative together, as the reader starts to become aware of the connections between the characters, each word becomes increasingly important.  And what I particularly loved about this book is it doesn't end in the bleak, hopeless way a lot of dystopian books end; Station Eleven ends resolved, and on a concrete note of hope. 

   Rarely when I close a book do I feel like I need to sit and contemplate what I've just read.  When I finished Station Eleven I said aloud, and to myself, "Wow, that was a really fantastic book."  And it is.  A really. Fantastic. Book.  I would recommend it to anyone who is interested in reading about the preservation of culture, those who like survival stories (though, as I said, this is survival of a different type), and those who like books with strong female characters (this book has plenty).  For read-alikes, Stephen King's The Stand also has an ensemble cast of flu survivors, though it is more graphic and action-packed for those of you who like a little faster pace.  Another choice would be The Gracekeepers by Kirsty Logan, which is a post-apocalyptic narrative told from multiple perspectives, and also features a traveling band of entertainers.  Finally, The Dog Stars by Peter Heller is another excellent choice, as it also chronicles a decimated population following a flu outbreak, and features ordinary people surviving in a bleak world. 

  In the wake of reading something futuristic, I feel a pull to look to the past for my next selection, so I will be reading a historical fiction title next.  Years ago I picked up People of the Book by Geraldine Brooks in an airport bookstore, and by the time I'd reached my destination I was so engrossed in the story I wished my flight was another three hours.  (I know, I know, who does that?)  I loved Brook's writing style, her attention to detail, and her ability to make me care about characters who lived hundreds - even thousands - of years ago.  I hope to have a similar experience with her newest novel, The Secret Chord.  I'll let you know how it goes.