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Emily St. John Mandel

Feels like time, melancholy and art.

Start with Station Eleven.

Before turning to fiction, Mandel trained as a contemporary dancer at the School of Toronto Dance Theatre — which may be why her survival story is built around a troupe on tour.

A man buys supplies for a disaster and grieves the ordinary world mid-aisle.

“Laura,” he began. “Laura.” He thought it better to speak to her directly and it was already almost eleven fifty, there wasn’t time for this. Filling the cart with more food, moving quickly through this bread-and-flower-scented world, this almost-gone place, thinking of Frank in his 22nd floor apartment, high up in the snowstorm with his insomnia and his book project, his day-old New York Times and his Beethoven. Jeevan wanted desperately to reach him. He decided to call Laura later, changed his mind and called the home line while he was standing by the checkout counter, mostly because he didn’t want to make eye contact with the clerk.
Excerpt from Station Eleven, Emily St. John Mandel, Vintage 2014. Quoted for discovery. Source Rights & removals

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