Q

Read on 10th July 15

“I stood looking over my damaged home and tried to forget the sweetness of life on Earth.”

The world is afflicted with a pandemic, and 99% of the population is wiped out. In Year Twenty, a handful of survivors has settled into a makeshift, life post-apocalypse. The almost trite summary of Station Eleven belies a beautiful, profound exploration of what it means to be human on Earth.

The narrative structure is ambitious but successful, selecting an interesting mix of protagonist whose lives are subtly linked along a wide timeline, reaching far back pre-apocalypse and decades after.

One of the most poignant aspects of the novel is the contrast of its central themes. Characters before the virus struggle for an identity in modern society; deal with the urban depression of dead-end careers and iPhone zombies.

In the post-apocalyptic world, skeletons of modern technology lie in plain view; nonfunctional. There is the sweet, pressing desire for a once powered world that is but a fantastical dream. It is this melancholy of a world lost that most strongly draws me to this novel.

Mandel accurately, almost eerily, writes the yearning of man who has experienced and lost Earth as we know it. It’s fascinating how she can reach into such depths of longing while we still live in an age thriving with modernity. This desire of Earth and home is amplified through a tasteful metafiction of Dr Eleven.

Beyond that, Mandel’s writing is on point. She does not just tell a story, but creates a scene. I leave the novel with vivid images in motion. Her word-crafted cinematics are seamless, not excessive enough to tax the imagination. She also does deaths stunningly, strips it of its melodrama and honors them with a grace. And yes, there are plenty of deaths. What did you expect?

The most striking reflection I had was on the human will to survive. In the months following the sudden endemic, the stranded survivors were still waiting for a rescue team to arrive, as it always had. Decades after, even, there is the hope that makes one look up and anticipate an aircraft.

I wonder, in the first few years post-virus – all your family (and most of humanity) gone, what makes one want to live on? When it feels like you’d be the only one left on Earth, or else live threatened by nature and other feral survivors, isn’t death a more desirable choice?

I guess at the core of it, it’s really blind hope that keeps us going. Optimism contradicting all rationality, a human fallacy that propels us to survive beyond good reason.