Station Eleven, by Emily St. John Mandel

When the Georgia flu runs rampant, killing ninety-nine percent of the world's population, society falls apart, as anyone who has read a post-apocalyptic novel or seen a post-apocalyptic movie can tell you.  In Emily St. John Mandel's novel Station Eleven, there are no zombies or motorcycle gangs terrorizing the countryside.  This is far from the worlds of World War Z or Mad Max.  Instead, we meet a gang of musicians and actors who travel from town to town performing classical music and Shakespeare's plays.  As St. John Mandel tells their story, flashing back to the time just before the flu and the early years after the collapse, this post-apocalyptic world seems much more believable than most.

St. John Mandel's style is much more artful than action-packed.  Her timeline jumps around, which was distracting at times, but by the time the end rolled around, I had grown to appreciate the way she pulled together the disparate stories of the characters.  Station Eleven strips down American culture, exposing the banality of celebrity worship and focusing on lasting beauty.  In the absence of modern technology and communication, the high art and timeless essence of King Lear and the simple beauty of a glass paperweight recall the great achievements of mankind and give hope for a renewal of humanity's greatness.