A flight from Russia lands in middle America, its passengers carrying a virus that explodes like a neutron bomb over the surface of the earth. In a blink, the world as we know it collapses. No more ballgames played under floodlights, Emily St. John Mandel writes in this smart and sober homage to life's smaller pleasures, brutally erased by an apocalypse. No more trains running under the surface of cities ... No more cities ... No more Internet ... No more avatars. Survivors become scavengers, roaming the ravaged landscape or clustering in pocket settlements, some of them welcoming, some dangerous. What's touching about the world of Station Eleven is its ode to what survived, in particular the music and plays performed for wasteland communities by a roving Shakespeare troupe, the Traveling Symphony, whose members form a wounded family of sorts.

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