That's What She Read

The premise and execution of Station Eleven are perfectly acceptable. The story itself is fascinating, as the collapse of civilization due to something as seemingly innocuous as the flu usually is. The telling of the story in non-chronological sequence adds a layer of interest and complexity. The story itself is well-told. Yet, the entire story may leave readers feeling uninspired.

This is not the fault of the story. As already mentioned, it is well-executed with effective descriptive language and a well-plotted storyline. The characters themselves are interesting in how they handle the collapse and the years afterwards. Yet, there is nothing to build a connection between character and reader. None of the characters create an empathetic bond within readers. Readers cannot step into the story but rather remain firmly outside as an observer.

This removal from the heart of the story is what keeps Station Eleven from being truly excellent. In such post-apocalypse novels detailing the collapse of society, readers want to become a part of the story. They want those blurred lines between fantasy and reality. They want to question how they would react in similar situations. However, none of that occurs with Station Eleven. Readers never lose the sense that it is nothing but a story. There is none of the feel that society is one good flu strain away from similar circumstances. The remoteness that prevents readers from sympathizing with the characters also prevents them from being able to see the novel as nothing more than one person’s imagination in print.

This all means that readers will want to love Station Eleven more than they actually do. On the surface, there is everything there that should make this story difficult to set aside. Instead, readers will be firmly aware of the passage of time while reading and may find other chores that require more immediate attention than the book. Unfortunately, the resulting sense of disappointment lingers long after the details of the novel fade into memory.