All Alone, Alone Again

“The beauty of this world where almost everyone was gone. If hell is other people, what is a world with almost no people in it?” In the Georgia flu collapse, the entire world suffers enormous losses. Additionally, modes of communication like phones, television, and the Internet along with quick transportation have disappeared. The world that was been slowly becoming more connected than ever is suddenly gone. As if the ropes pulling us close together have been cut. We are alone in the aftermath.

But despite all the technology designed to draw us together, were we not always lonely?

This is the question that I, along with some other agen- *AHEM* peers, discussed. Station Eleven provides two contrasting worlds. For simplicity’s sake, let’s call them the pre-collapse and the post-collapse (I trust that you can identify which is which).

In the pre-collapse world, we have several lonely characters, Miranda being one of the most prominent. She has no friends except a Pomeranian and feels that she doesn’t truly fit into the world in which she lives: “These are not her people. She is marooned on a strange planet.” [p92]. As a counterpoint, we have our post-collapse heroine, Kirsten. She lives in a strange sort of family with The Traveling Symphony; roaming musicians and actors (as their name implies). Despite the land being barren and hostile, the Symphony is her home, the aforementioned actors and musicians, her family. The connections she shares with fellow Symphony members are shown to be a lot more genuine and heartfelt than those that Miranda or even Arthur have in the pre-collapse world.

So we asked why.

In my opinion, the answer lies in the final line of Chapter 6, which is devoted to detailing what was lost in the collapse. Almost oddly, it ends with these lines: “No more reading and commenting on the lives of others, and in doing so, feeling slightly less alone in the room. No more avatars,” [p32]. Of all the things lost, why focus on these?

An avatar is an icon used to represent someone - a layer between the outside world and the individual. It is these kinds of layers that, onion-like, make up the pre-collapse world. Miranda, after her divorce, creates more of a barrier between herself and the world, “because she’s come to understand that clothes are armor,” [p107]. Arthur, too, hides his true self behind a shiny public persona, something that becomes particularly evident during his dinner with Clark. These barriers are protection, perhaps, from the judgements others would make on our true selves.

Yet after the collapse, none can afford to worry about things like appearance or reputation. Society has a sudden, drastic shift in its values, and as ‘real’ things like survival and friendship are given priority, connections are no longer about social status or simply being polite. Bonds are formed for real, valuable reasons. This is how the post-collapse world is less isolated.

And now the important part of the analysis: why does it matter?

Well, we are living in Mandel’s pre-collapse society. Ask yourself: are we isolated? Do we bury ourselves in pointless things, only to have that deathbed realization that nothing ever meant anything? Is technology bringing us closer or driving us apart? Why do I ask so many more questions than I actually answer?

Many bitter old folk are of the opinion that technology impedes our ability to socialize, while many young whippersnappers argue that it is bringing us closer than ever. Perhaps both can be right. We are able to make many more connections than ever and to interact more frequently, but these interactions become more and more digitalized. Is liking a Tweet equivalent to waving “hello” across a crowded room?

And on the same note, is the importance that society places on appearances impairing our ability to show our true selves and putting up a barrier between us?

In conclusion: desolate, perhaps, see below, see below, yes, hopefully not, a bit of both, because I think it’s funny, probably not, and I believe so.

- A.M. Ham