Constellation of Connection: Station Eleven

This week has been a slow march towards the weekend. I feel that, even in my free moments, I’m at a loss for how I want to spend my time. Maybe I used up all my time cravings in July. I’ve been working a mishmash of jobs and reading on my train rides and trying to avoid thoughts of Delta among the occasionally unmasked passengers. 

As you may have expected, I come bearing book recommendations. Station Eleven by Emily St John Mandel was pitched to me as a “story about a theater troupe at the end of the world.” While that’s what convinced me to pick it up at my local McNally Jackson, I would argue that it’s much more nuanced and multifaceted than that.

I wasn’t told, however, was that the end of the world (at least in Station Eleven) comes about because of a pandemic. Even though it’s usually exciting to read something that you have a personal connection to, I’ve been avoiding pandemic literature. (I’m a little overstimulated with pandemic news at this time, ya feel?) Even if the whole ~pandemic lit~ throws you off though, I would still recommend putting this title on your reading list. The triumph of Station Eleven doesn’t lie in its premise but in its characters and in the deftly woven storyline. 

I would argue that this is an ensemble book, but one of the linchpins of the story is Kirsten Raymonde. When the Georgia Flu hits the world, and wipes out most of the population within a week, Kirsten is a child actor, playing King Lear’s child alongside famous movie star Arthur Leander. Twenty years later, Kirsten travels with a company of instrumentalists and actors to the small outposts of survivors, performing Shakespeare. When they arrive at one of their regular performance spots, the town has been taken over by The Prophet, a murderous leader that changes the traveling symphony’s course, and all of their lives. Kirsten, who has lived in the dark about her past life and the things that connect her to the living, slowly puts pieces together about her world and the people in it.

Mandel’s storytelling is honestly masterful. Her prose is understated and feels like a soft and certain hand on your shoulder. This book left me thinking about the mystery of connection, grateful for the smallest details of current life, and got me noticing the importance of what we leave behind.

I read this by a pool in Long Island, and my reading was bookmarked by big friend dinners, hot sun, swimming, and amaretto. Reading this book on vacation was a delish juxtaposition that really hammered everything home, but I think this is an all-season book and might recommend it for summer or winter specifically. Mandel is also out with a new book, The Glass Hotel, which you can read about here. It’s been getting quite a lot of buzz, and I think the publishing world is set to pay attention to her for a while, given the trend in understated and emotional prose. ( I love u Sally Rooney <3)

If this little review didn’t give you enough of a vibe, then check out the little playlist I made for you all, and let me know what you think.