Station brings new take on apocalypse

Emily St. John Mandel’s newest novel, Station Eleven, follows a pack of musicians and actors through a post-apocalyptic world and into the town St. Deborah by the Water, where a cultish leader known only as “the prophet” reigns. The novel centers on this prophet, who creates suspense throughout the story, but the focus is beautifully split between both sides of what one character calls “a line drawn through his life.”

Before a flu epidemic decimated 98 percent of the global population, famed actor Arthur Leander had three marriages, one child and a fatal heart attack; his closest friend judged him for his adultery and condemned his boring job as a fixer-upper of corporate executives; his first wife became savvy, independent and emotionally hardened after their divorce. After, there is the prophet.

The book drifts between the random past and chronological present. As the story progresses, memories of the past unfold from wildly different perspectives, from those of 8-year-olds to married women to a paparazzo-turned-entertainment journalist.

The majority of the “after” chapters follows Kirsten Raymonde, who is 8 years old when the flu strikes. She was an actress as a child and founded the Traveling Symphony – a troupe that travels and performs Shakespeare plays and orchestral music — in adolescence. She carries few mementos of the pre-flu world, a world she can barely remember, which are less than Shakespearean: comics; celebrity gossip articles about a man she remembers perfectly; a beautiful paperweight. Kirsten is passionate about her items as they are the few precious belongings she has.

One night, as the Traveling Symphony bunkers down to rest, two of Kirsten’s dearest friends go back a few miles to ensure no one is following the Symphony, and never return. While searching for them, another member disappears without a sound — her partner turns away for a moment, and when he turns back, she’s gone. Then, as Kirsten and her partner retrieve water, the rest of the Symphony disappears without a trace. And all this after they discovered a stowaway: a child living in fear of the prophet, desperate to escape.

While Kirsten and her partner meander towards their last-hope destination, flashbacks ensue, prompting an analysis of how humanity was before the epidemic and how it is after. Consequently, the novel becomes a character study, exploring the subconscious of different people — those who never survived to see the flu, those who remember only the world after it, and those plagued with recollection of both.

This exploration of the characters allows the reader to conclude that after the flu, material posessions are not as important as personal relationships and how you deal with disaster. Even before the flu, it wasn’t the institutions or inventions that mattered but the people, how they used their instincts — how they reacted to both the everyday and the extraordinary.

That said, though the plot is intriguing, it can be hard to follow. Jumping around between years and months and worlds can get confusing, but ultimately, finishing the book feels rewarding. Mandel incorporates a pervasive sense of wonder into the novel, as if the narrative itself is struggling to keep history straight (much like the characters themselves strain to remember artifacts from the “before,” like the faces or voices of loved ones lost). Information that seems off-hand when initially read becomes vital later. Reality meshes with memory and fantasy to create questions: am I remembering earlier parts of the book right? Am I missing some connection? Am I forgetting something essential? How is everything intertwined?

The author is also successful in creating sympathetic characters and pulling emotions in different directions. Arthur’s first wife Miranda, for example, seems foreign at first, but she evolves to become (spoiler alert) a victim of the formerly devoted man’s promiscuous ways: a bit crazed, stubbornly strong and revitalized for her graphic novel project, also titled Station Eleven. Even if her reaction to dispute is disagreeable, she is more than sympathetic as she looks at herself in the mirror and says, “I repent nothing.” She is a victim of bad fortune, and though it may not feel like she deserves any of it, isn’t that how life tends to be?

Overall, Station Eleven is a interesting read. Don’t strain to remember everything or to make all the connections right away; the story will come together naturally as the plot develops. By diving into these characters’ psyches, Emily St. John Mandel weaves a beautiful piece of literature and a lovely read.