Station 1/11

I am of the opinion that the first time one reads a book is a sacred experience. I read Cory Doctorow's "For The Win" with my feet in the frigid ocean and my head in a world of economics and video games. "The Picture of Dorian Gray" was reserved for reading mostly at breakfast, with the spoon lying idle as I consumed words rather than cereal. I turned the final page of the "Art of War" while successfully landing a jet plane who'd quite suddenly lost a wing.

Most books that have a special place in my heart, I can recall exactly where it was that I first read them.

Most books that I was forced to read, however, become utterly forgettable, lost amidst a slough of notes and analysis. So I took pity on Emily St. John Mandel's Station Eleven and read it first for pleasure. I completed the novel a while ago and let it bounce around in my mind for a good while. Alas, now I have come back to dissect the novel. A true tragedy.

Billy Collins humorously mocks this analytical destruction of great works in his poem: "Introduction to Poetry" (which I have taped to my wall):

"But all they want to do

is tie the poem to a chair with rope

and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose

To find out what it really means."

I don't hate analysing literature, as I believe that thinking deeply about things can actually enrich them, but first impressions are everything. I want to give a novel a firm handshake and get to know it casually over a cup of tea, before, as Collins elegantly says, "beating it with a hose".

However, I find myself well acquainted enough with Station Eleven to begin delving a little deeper into this tale of survival, humanity, adaption, and paparazzi. Look forward to many more posts exploring this wonderful novel, if you are the sort who has nothing better to do than read about someone else who has read a book.

- A.M. Ham