I was trying to think about when post-apocalyptic literature began. I don't know that there is any, that I am aware of, pre-cold war, nuclear-fallout stuff. Maybe some early zombie movies? This dearth of post-apocalypse media is odd given that humanity has dealt with large-scale disease before. How did no one think to write a novel after the great plagues swept through Europe? Were they religiously afraid of tempting God to send them something worse? Was popular literature just not common enough then? Genre and pulp fiction were certainly frowned on, but it's hard to believe no one took the time to imagine what the end of the world would look like. 

Now we have a wealth of such media. The Walking Dead, Fallout, The Road, The Hunger Games even. These worlds have all explored what it means to be a survivor in a world that's collapsed. There is something romantic about this idea that appeals to our current society. I can only speculate here, but I suspect that many people feel that the world is just too much. It's all become too complicated with too many people and too many ideas. Technology has overwhelmed us, and to some, hitting the reset button and starting over from the days of caves has a certain simplistic beauty. 

Emily St. John Mandel explores this idea in her novel, Station Eleven. It would be easy to lump Mandel's work in with some of the other genre tales out there, like ones I mentioned above, but I believe there is something more genuine to her work, and certainly less cynical, that makes it stand out among the pack. 

For one, Mandel's apocalypse hits real close to home by imagining a super-flu, something beyond the swine or bird flus or whatever other deadly diseases some of us have seen in our lifetimes. Station's Georgia Flu is efficient, quick, and wipes out a purported 99% of the population (she gives that figure in the book, but I am unclear how such data could have been compiled post-wipeout). Is it possible? Yep. Probably more possible than any nuclear fallout or zombie apocalypse because it would be almost completely out of human control. Nuclear weapons are continually held back because even the worst politicians seem to understand the devastation. Zombie apocalypses are fantasy. But a disease that worked fast and flew from lung to lung through the air? That has happened, and it would only take a mutated version of flus we currently see every year to see it done.  At least, that is my limited understanding of epidemics. 

What I like about Mandel's vision of the apocalypse is that, like many of these genre titles, it is not the disease or some outside force that survivors have to worry about, but rather one another. This is a common trope of these types of stories. Yes, the zombies may get you, but zombies are dumb. You are more likely to die to another human. Mandel eliminates the outside force completely. Once the flu has done its job, its gone, and society has to figure out how to move on dealing only with one another. Human relationships have always been the backbone of good storytelling, and Station Eleven is no exception. 

That is not to say that there isn't tension, and there are bad people in this book. But Mandel's vision of life post-disaster is one more of hope than it is of dread. Her main characters are musicians and actors in a traveling troupe that wander the northern parts of the midwest bringing joy and music to other survivors. Their motto is, "Because survival isn't enough." Even the bad people in this book aren't bogey monsters with no motive but to rape and murder. They are characters with gradations of morality, often misguided, who simply can't figure out the proper way to survive in a world gone wrong. 

Mandel also takes risks that I can respect from a writing standpoint. She jumps around all over time. One chapter can be post-fall, the next an oral history, the next a series of letters. She doesn't seem to fear any lack of continuity in this method, and her confidence is rewarded because it all meshes together in a cohesive and interesting way. As a writer, this is something I long to accomplish in as deft a way as she has managed. 

I think my only real complaint with the novel is that some of its main characters are not as interesting as I feel they should be. Arthur Leander is one who I think is very well written, which is ironic as his story could be considered the least relevant to the actual plot of Station Eleven. I don't think it is, and in some ways the entire story revolves around him and the people whose lives he touched. But he dies before the flu even hits. It is a testament to Mandel's ability to craft that character that I still wanted to read about him. But, Kirsten Raymonde, the supposed main character and the woman whose eyes we see through the most, is fairly forgettable. I wonder if this is intentional and maybe acts as some type of commentary on someone who has existed almost entirely in the post-apocalyptic world. Is she an every(wo)man? Simply a pair of glasses that we as the reader are allowed to view the world through? She has a personality, no doubt, but there isn't anything that makes me want to remember her or, frankly, even root for her. I wish I could put my finger on what is missing. Other characters in the traveling troupe are similar, and to many Mandel doesn't even give a name. She simply calls them tuba or second cello or something. So maybe there are good reasons for making the post-apocalyptic characters less interesting than those who lived before the fall. Or maybe they're just tougher to write about. 

Despite the potential mis-characterizations, Station Eleven is probably one of the most finely written post-apocalyptic novels I have ever read and does something to elevate the ideas presented above the moniker of "genre," much as McCarthy's The Road did before Mandel. It is a recommended read regardless of whether or not you're interesting in the end of the world. And honestly, if it happens, this feels like the way things might pan out. But that's a big if.