Station Eleven

After this came up in conversation three times in two weeks, I got it from the library and then read it in one feverish burst that caused hours and hours spent traveling to blur into the background. One of those books that just immerses you utterly, and when you have to put it down for brief moments, like to eat a meal or go through customs or board an airplane, it just seems like an unreal dreamlike interlude during which all you can think about is getting back to the story. One of those books where you quietly exult in travel delays because they mean more time to read. The word I keep thinking of to describe the story is “luminous”. It's lovely and vulnerable and hopeful and wistful, all at the same time, and I somehow think it was exactly what I needed to read at the moment I read it. Survival is insufficient.