Art that matters in the sci-fi apocalypse: Station Eleven, by Emily St. John Mandel
Time for another science fiction (ish) book post. Recently, one of my students suggested turning the chit-chat before class into a sort of online book club. I liked the idea, and suggested a book I have referenced a few times lately. Actually, a lot of people have referenced this book lately because it is very good, very timely, and won awards before this whole coronavirus thing got started. Emily St. John Mandel's Station Eleven. Quick note here: I will italicize Station Eleven when referencing the novel, but there is a graphic novel series within the book, called, "Station Eleven," from which the novel gets its name. When referencing the graphic novels (which obviously don't actually exist), I will just put it in quotation marks.
Anyway, a bunch of students already had it on their bookshelves, but none had started it yet, so it seems to be working out. I figure this is as good an opportunity as any for me to make a few comments. Aside from "read it," of course.
Here's the basic "outline" of the book, if that word can be used for a story told non-linearly. In the current time, a variation of swine flu starts in Georgia and Russia, picking up the moniker, the "Georgia Flu." It is extremely deadly. Over-the-top, insanely deadly. Beyond reason, suspend-disbelief deadly. It spreads around the world very quickly and wipes out most of humanity. Twenty years later, a traveling theater troupe that performs plays and music travels around the Great Lakes region to the small towns that have established some semblance of civilization, and you see it through the perspective of Kirsten, who was a child when the Georgia Flu hit, and in fact, a child actor at a performance of King Lear the night everything really went to hell. (If you know the play, you're asking yourself... huh?! Don't ask.)
The troupe mostly performs Shakespeare, and the explanation is that the people who have survived and scraped out a living want what was best about the old world. The dead world. Yet, what Kirsten carries around with her is not merely the collected works of Ole' Bill, but instead, a set of graphic novels whose origins she doesn't know. "Station Eleven." They are about a space station flung off into deep space to escape an alien invasion of Earth. In other words, there's a disaster, and it's about the people who escape. Trying to scrape out an existence, and more. Within the world of "Station Eleven," there is a dispute between the people in the Undersea (it's a huge space station with an ocean, so... "that's no moon"), who want to go back to Earth, and Dr. Eleven, who wants to go off towards something else. This conflict is something that you see as a dispute among parents over how to raise children-- do you tell them about the old world? Do you keep looking back? What do you do? You see pretty clearly why "Station Eleven" appeals to Kirsten. The metaphor is not at all subtle. It isn't intended to be.
And that's my point for today. There is plenty more to say about why Station Eleven the novel is such a good novel, including the way Mandel draws connections between the characters, the backstories, the structure... I'm not going to do my version of a literary critique. That ain't my thing. Instead, I'll make an observation about what matters, what is valued, and what is relevant.
The society that gets reestablished around the Great Lakes region in Station Eleven demands performances of Shakespeare because the audience wants what they decide is the best of old culture. Yet, that is not necessarily what is most relevant. And of course, there is another aspect to Billy-boy. Canon. Everyone with schoolin' reads Shakespeare. The two plays that get any real discussion in the novel are King Lear and A Midsummer Night's Dream. If you are the type to read a professor's blog-- particularly one of the posts on a novel, you probably have at least read these plays, if not seen performances. I'll admit that I don't especially care for A Midsummer Night's Dream, but I actually had a professor in a political science class in undergrad assign Lear. I think that wound up percolating in the back of my head for years, and eventually, that may have been the inspiration for using science fiction novels to teach social science concepts, which I do. (Thanks, John Seery!) And of course, you can't be a proper, pretentious hipster if you don't go around quoting Shakespeare, so I do my part. He wrote some good stuff.
And we've all read it.
That creates a common language, and a common ground for performance, which was what the Traveling Symphony was doing, beyond simply performing what was best. Because if I'm being honest, Shakespeare isn't close to my favorite author. Who is? I don't know that I could name one and only one, but I like modern novels.
And part of the reason is something that has been a through-line in this blog. Relevance, which is the point in Station Eleven anyway. King Lear doesn't really have a lot of relevance to the lives of the people, post-Georgia Flu in the novel. "Station Eleven," the graphic novels, have a great deal of relevance to Kirsten. And from the description? I'd read 'em anyway. They sound much more like Watchmen, or Sandman or the other types of cool graphic novels that have real staying power than some cheesy, old Superman comic anyway. So even the actor who makes the conscious choice to take the more dangerous path of traveling with the Symphony for the sake of performing Shakespeare holds onto those graphic novels, not precisely because they were given to her by Arthur Leander-- although she is obsessed with collecting artifacts about him-- but because those graphic novels have more direct meaning to her, and more relevance for her life.
They have more relevance to the lives of any of them.
Yet, it is Shakespeare that they perform. And not just escapist comedy. Much Ado About Nothing is funny. Lear isn't exactly knee-slappin' comedy, though, and if you want to dig into A Midsummer Night's Dream, there can be some creepy subtext. Gaiman actually dug into that in the aforementioned Sandman. Yes, "comic books" doing Shakespeare. Neil Gaiman.
So, "relevance" or canon? Canon is a very limited set of pieces, by definition. It cannot be broad, and the more time that passes, the more "canon" is dwarfed by continued written output. As circumstances change, the probability that our precise circumstance will be best reflected by something within that limited set of canonical pieces goes down.
Yet, there are a lot of authors out there, and if you look, or turn to others who have looked, there is a high probability that you can find something that does have relevance to any current moment. Whether that is Emily St. John Mandel, Mira Grant, N.K. Jemisin's new book, or whatever, you can find something because the set of endeavors is expanding. Lear, however good a play it is, though, cannot explain everything, nor have "resonance" for every situation.
I am not, of course, suggesting that people stop reading Shakespeare, but merely that where you find relevance is probably not in "canon." "Canon" was not written in anything like a modern circumstance, nor at a time when anyone could have predicted or explained modern circumstances. Whether you enjoy it or find comfort in it is another matter. As the Traveling Symphony made its way around the Great Lakes region, that was its primary purpose, yet is that sufficient?
Painted on the side of the Symphony's lead caravan was the phrase, "Because survival is insufficient." It was actually a Star Trek reference, which is amusing for a troupe that went around doing Shakespeare, but is Shakespeare sufficient? If Shakespeare serves the purpose of looking backward and providing escape and comfort, I'm gonna say no.
It wasn't, for Kirsten. That's why she needed the "Station Eleven" graphic novels. They had more relevance to her. Does there come a point at which Lear is simply sticking your fingers in your ears and yelling, "LA-LA-LA-LA-LA!" Well, which will make you think more clearly about coronavirus, art and culture-- Lear, or Station Eleven?
That's not the same as, "which is a better piece of art?"
There is a place for escapism. There is also a place for art that is not anchored to our time. Also known as, "timeless." (Or perhaps, "unstuck in time?") I suppose if I were stuck with nothin' to read but Shakespeare, Homer, and a library of the canon, that's what I'm reading. Throw in something escapist, and I'll read that stuff before I burden my psyche with the Russians, but at some point, don't you want something relevant?
Shakespeare was. Bluntly, I think that a lot of literary criticism is garbage. However, it is worth understanding some historical context, and Shakespeare wasn't writing in a vacuum. No author does. We can read something like Lear today and there are elements that are "timeless," yet there are also elements of many of his plays that are lost without context. I am far from an expert on this stuff, so I'll simply point out that you can find the people who are. The flip side, though, is that what survives is nonrandom. Yes, Shakespeare's art survived. What didn't? Well, there was a lot of stuff that was likely just garbage. Yet, what else didn't survive? That which people did not bother to preserve. What was the mechanism for that? There may have been any number of mechanisms, but to the degree that any writings were more closely tied to their specific times, there would have been less reason to preserve them past their times.
If some minor playwright wrote a play about the events of his era, however cogent, once the moment passed, the play would have struck the next generation as pointless. Like a really funny joke from a late-night comic. It could be the funniest joke ever, but if it is about a specific moment in time, it won't be preserved because ten years later, no one would laugh. 500 years later? You see my point.
So within the world of Station Eleven, the graphic novels may be the most relevant commentary on their situation, and they are vital to Kirsten, yet audiences just want Shakespeare. There is a disjuncture, then, between audience demands and artistic relevance. Of course, the proportion of the population that has read Emily St. John Mandel, or any truly good novel that helps us understand this moment is quite small.
I suppose it is overly optimistic for Mandel to suggest that the survivors would want Shakespeare. In Tom Stoppard's Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead, the traveling theater troupe do somewhat more lowbrow performances, "times being what they are."
Eh. Read a good book. A modern one. They matter. Times being what they are.
Anyway, a bunch of students already had it on their bookshelves, but none had started it yet, so it seems to be working out. I figure this is as good an opportunity as any for me to make a few comments. Aside from "read it," of course.
Here's the basic "outline" of the book, if that word can be used for a story told non-linearly. In the current time, a variation of swine flu starts in Georgia and Russia, picking up the moniker, the "Georgia Flu." It is extremely deadly. Over-the-top, insanely deadly. Beyond reason, suspend-disbelief deadly. It spreads around the world very quickly and wipes out most of humanity. Twenty years later, a traveling theater troupe that performs plays and music travels around the Great Lakes region to the small towns that have established some semblance of civilization, and you see it through the perspective of Kirsten, who was a child when the Georgia Flu hit, and in fact, a child actor at a performance of King Lear the night everything really went to hell. (If you know the play, you're asking yourself... huh?! Don't ask.)
The troupe mostly performs Shakespeare, and the explanation is that the people who have survived and scraped out a living want what was best about the old world. The dead world. Yet, what Kirsten carries around with her is not merely the collected works of Ole' Bill, but instead, a set of graphic novels whose origins she doesn't know. "Station Eleven." They are about a space station flung off into deep space to escape an alien invasion of Earth. In other words, there's a disaster, and it's about the people who escape. Trying to scrape out an existence, and more. Within the world of "Station Eleven," there is a dispute between the people in the Undersea (it's a huge space station with an ocean, so... "that's no moon"), who want to go back to Earth, and Dr. Eleven, who wants to go off towards something else. This conflict is something that you see as a dispute among parents over how to raise children-- do you tell them about the old world? Do you keep looking back? What do you do? You see pretty clearly why "Station Eleven" appeals to Kirsten. The metaphor is not at all subtle. It isn't intended to be.
And that's my point for today. There is plenty more to say about why Station Eleven the novel is such a good novel, including the way Mandel draws connections between the characters, the backstories, the structure... I'm not going to do my version of a literary critique. That ain't my thing. Instead, I'll make an observation about what matters, what is valued, and what is relevant.
The society that gets reestablished around the Great Lakes region in Station Eleven demands performances of Shakespeare because the audience wants what they decide is the best of old culture. Yet, that is not necessarily what is most relevant. And of course, there is another aspect to Billy-boy. Canon. Everyone with schoolin' reads Shakespeare. The two plays that get any real discussion in the novel are King Lear and A Midsummer Night's Dream. If you are the type to read a professor's blog-- particularly one of the posts on a novel, you probably have at least read these plays, if not seen performances. I'll admit that I don't especially care for A Midsummer Night's Dream, but I actually had a professor in a political science class in undergrad assign Lear. I think that wound up percolating in the back of my head for years, and eventually, that may have been the inspiration for using science fiction novels to teach social science concepts, which I do. (Thanks, John Seery!) And of course, you can't be a proper, pretentious hipster if you don't go around quoting Shakespeare, so I do my part. He wrote some good stuff.
And we've all read it.
That creates a common language, and a common ground for performance, which was what the Traveling Symphony was doing, beyond simply performing what was best. Because if I'm being honest, Shakespeare isn't close to my favorite author. Who is? I don't know that I could name one and only one, but I like modern novels.
And part of the reason is something that has been a through-line in this blog. Relevance, which is the point in Station Eleven anyway. King Lear doesn't really have a lot of relevance to the lives of the people, post-Georgia Flu in the novel. "Station Eleven," the graphic novels, have a great deal of relevance to Kirsten. And from the description? I'd read 'em anyway. They sound much more like Watchmen, or Sandman or the other types of cool graphic novels that have real staying power than some cheesy, old Superman comic anyway. So even the actor who makes the conscious choice to take the more dangerous path of traveling with the Symphony for the sake of performing Shakespeare holds onto those graphic novels, not precisely because they were given to her by Arthur Leander-- although she is obsessed with collecting artifacts about him-- but because those graphic novels have more direct meaning to her, and more relevance for her life.
They have more relevance to the lives of any of them.
Yet, it is Shakespeare that they perform. And not just escapist comedy. Much Ado About Nothing is funny. Lear isn't exactly knee-slappin' comedy, though, and if you want to dig into A Midsummer Night's Dream, there can be some creepy subtext. Gaiman actually dug into that in the aforementioned Sandman. Yes, "comic books" doing Shakespeare. Neil Gaiman.
So, "relevance" or canon? Canon is a very limited set of pieces, by definition. It cannot be broad, and the more time that passes, the more "canon" is dwarfed by continued written output. As circumstances change, the probability that our precise circumstance will be best reflected by something within that limited set of canonical pieces goes down.
Yet, there are a lot of authors out there, and if you look, or turn to others who have looked, there is a high probability that you can find something that does have relevance to any current moment. Whether that is Emily St. John Mandel, Mira Grant, N.K. Jemisin's new book, or whatever, you can find something because the set of endeavors is expanding. Lear, however good a play it is, though, cannot explain everything, nor have "resonance" for every situation.
I am not, of course, suggesting that people stop reading Shakespeare, but merely that where you find relevance is probably not in "canon." "Canon" was not written in anything like a modern circumstance, nor at a time when anyone could have predicted or explained modern circumstances. Whether you enjoy it or find comfort in it is another matter. As the Traveling Symphony made its way around the Great Lakes region, that was its primary purpose, yet is that sufficient?
Painted on the side of the Symphony's lead caravan was the phrase, "Because survival is insufficient." It was actually a Star Trek reference, which is amusing for a troupe that went around doing Shakespeare, but is Shakespeare sufficient? If Shakespeare serves the purpose of looking backward and providing escape and comfort, I'm gonna say no.
It wasn't, for Kirsten. That's why she needed the "Station Eleven" graphic novels. They had more relevance to her. Does there come a point at which Lear is simply sticking your fingers in your ears and yelling, "LA-LA-LA-LA-LA!" Well, which will make you think more clearly about coronavirus, art and culture-- Lear, or Station Eleven?
That's not the same as, "which is a better piece of art?"
There is a place for escapism. There is also a place for art that is not anchored to our time. Also known as, "timeless." (Or perhaps, "unstuck in time?") I suppose if I were stuck with nothin' to read but Shakespeare, Homer, and a library of the canon, that's what I'm reading. Throw in something escapist, and I'll read that stuff before I burden my psyche with the Russians, but at some point, don't you want something relevant?
Shakespeare was. Bluntly, I think that a lot of literary criticism is garbage. However, it is worth understanding some historical context, and Shakespeare wasn't writing in a vacuum. No author does. We can read something like Lear today and there are elements that are "timeless," yet there are also elements of many of his plays that are lost without context. I am far from an expert on this stuff, so I'll simply point out that you can find the people who are. The flip side, though, is that what survives is nonrandom. Yes, Shakespeare's art survived. What didn't? Well, there was a lot of stuff that was likely just garbage. Yet, what else didn't survive? That which people did not bother to preserve. What was the mechanism for that? There may have been any number of mechanisms, but to the degree that any writings were more closely tied to their specific times, there would have been less reason to preserve them past their times.
If some minor playwright wrote a play about the events of his era, however cogent, once the moment passed, the play would have struck the next generation as pointless. Like a really funny joke from a late-night comic. It could be the funniest joke ever, but if it is about a specific moment in time, it won't be preserved because ten years later, no one would laugh. 500 years later? You see my point.
So within the world of Station Eleven, the graphic novels may be the most relevant commentary on their situation, and they are vital to Kirsten, yet audiences just want Shakespeare. There is a disjuncture, then, between audience demands and artistic relevance. Of course, the proportion of the population that has read Emily St. John Mandel, or any truly good novel that helps us understand this moment is quite small.
I suppose it is overly optimistic for Mandel to suggest that the survivors would want Shakespeare. In Tom Stoppard's Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead, the traveling theater troupe do somewhat more lowbrow performances, "times being what they are."
Eh. Read a good book. A modern one. They matter. Times being what they are.
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