Emily St. John Mandel smiling slightly while standing outdoors in a casual jacket, with trees and foliage blurred in the background, suggesting a walk in Prospect Park.
“Will you take my picture?”
The request came from a woman on a bicycle, dressed in spandex, who held out her phone to my walking companion, the acclaimed author Emily St. John Mandel. Always gracious, Emily happily agreed.
“Take it wide,” the woman directed, “I’m trying to capture how many people are enjoying the park today.”
It was the day after New Year’s, and despite a grey and somewhat dreary sky, the weather was unseasonably warm. Snow was predicted later in the week, a fact yet unknown to us as we strolled through Bartel-Pritchard Square, heading into the welcoming expanse of Prospect Park.
Emily St. John Mandel, known for her compelling narratives and particularly her prescient novel Station Eleven, skillfully snapped a few photos and returned the phone. The cyclist, beaming, rode off, blending into the throng of people populating the park – walkers, runners, cyclists all taking advantage of the mild weather. Emily St. John Mandel and I continued our walk, joining the flow of park-goers.
A close-up shot of Emily St. John Mandel and the interviewer, Isaac, walking side-by-side on a paved path in Prospect Park, surrounded by bare trees and winter foliage.
Isaac: When I asked you where you’d like to walk today, you mentioned, “The Prospect Park Loop saved me.” Could you elaborate on what this walk and this space mean to you?
Emily St. John Mandel: This loop became my lifeline to the outside world during the lockdown. It was the place where I could safely meet friends, and crucially, where my daughter could interact and play with other children.
There’s something inherently restorative about being surrounded by nature—even if it’s somewhat curated nature like Prospect Park. I consistently find myself in a better frame of mind after spending time here. During the pandemic, I started running in Prospect Park, a habit I’m incredibly grateful for. It’s far more beneficial to me than any gym ever was. Each visit here effectively resets my day. For Emily St. John Mandel, Prospect Park is more than just a park; it’s a sanctuary and a vital part of her routine.
I: Do you find a sense of comfort in the unchanging nature of the loop itself?
ESJM: Perhaps partly, but I also deeply appreciate how the loop transforms with each season. This year marks the first time I’ve truly recognized the subtle beauty of what we might call the “winter park.” I used to avoid Prospect Park during this season, finding it oppressively bleak. However, having experienced it so regularly over the past months, I’ve begun to see a different kind of beauty in it, a beauty that emerges from witnessing its gradual transformation. Observing the park through all seasons has given Emily St. John Mandel a new perspective and appreciation for its ever-changing landscape.
I: Speaking of the past months, what was your experience like as your 2014 novel, Station Eleven, became unexpectedly relevant, almost the pandemic book?
ESJM: My initial reaction is to describe it as incredibly surreal, unsettling, and disorienting—but in truth, that’s how everyone felt in the spring of 2020. I’m not sure if my personal experience was objectively stranger than anyone else’s during that period.
What was genuinely uncomfortable was the sudden perception of me as a pandemic expert. In reality, I am a literary novelist who happened to write a book with a scientifically improbable flu scenario. I constantly found myself clarifying, “Please consult an epidemiologist for real expertise.” The unexpected surge in popularity of Station Eleven placed Emily St. John Mandel in an unusual position, navigating public perception and media attention.
I: “Not a scientist, just a novelist. Thank you.”
ESJM: Exactly. I don’t even play one on television! What felt truly awkward, however, was receiving numerous requests to write op-eds from publications I deeply respect. It felt exploitative, almost like leveraging the pandemic to boost sales of Station Eleven, using a global crisis as a marketing opportunity. I strongly resisted those offers. Maintaining ethical boundaries was crucial for Emily St. John Mandel during this period of heightened attention.
I: Which must have been quite surreal—for many reasons, especially considering Station Eleven was published back in 2014.
ESJM: Precisely. Suddenly, I was being asked to comment on a book that had been out for over half a decade. The resurgence of Station Eleven years after its release caught Emily St. John Mandel by surprise.
I: So, all of this is unfolding in the spring of 2020, and concurrently, you have another book being released at that exact moment, The Glass Hotel. Looking back, what was that book launch experience like?
ESJM: It was surprisingly better than I initially anticipated, to be honest. I was amazed by how quickly and effectively my publisher, Knopf, adapted to the unprecedented situation. They seamlessly transitioned and pivoted to ensure a book launch during such a challenging and confusing time. The adaptability of her publisher during the pandemic was a positive aspect of the The Glass Hotel release for Emily St. John Mandel.
I: We’re talking about March 2020, right? The very beginning of lockdowns. Were virtual events via Zoom even commonplace then?
ESJM: It was all Zoom, very quickly. What’s poignant in retrospect is the collective failure of imagination we all experienced, the assumption that the disruption would be short-lived. I recall my book tour was originally scheduled to begin right after The Glass Hotel’s release on March 25th. Around March 12th, I had a conversation with my publicist, realizing, “This isn’t going to happen in person.” We decided to cancel the first three weeks of events, optimistically thinking, “Perhaps by late April, things will be different.” Looking back, of course, that wasn’t the case. The initial underestimation of the pandemic’s duration is something Emily St. John Mandel remembers vividly.
I: Everyone was saying, “Oh, we’ll just postpone things a little.”
ESJM: Remember all those books initially slated for spring release that were pushed to the fall, because everyone assumed, “Well, by September, we’ll be in the clear.”
It’s quite poignant now. We cancelled the tour incrementally, week by week. The UK events were next, followed by the Canadian events. The entire tour transformed into a series of Zoom events. However, the silver lining was that these virtual events were significantly better than I had expected. Despite initial disappointments, Emily St. John Mandel found unexpected benefits in the shift to virtual book events.
I: That’s good to hear.
ESJM: I was genuinely looking forward to the in-person tour, but also, I have a young child. The prospect of being away from her for extended periods was daunting. In a way, it was actually quite lovely to have dinner with my four-year-old and then simply step into my office to conduct a virtual event. Objectively, it was much easier than spending 36 hours in Milwaukee, or wherever the equivalent live event would have been.
Furthermore, during the initial isolation of the pandemic, connecting with people via Zoom to discuss books became a vital lifeline for me. It was crucial for maintaining my sanity, providing connection and distraction. My husband is wonderful, but ideally, you want to interact with more people than just your spouse. Virtual book tours offered unexpected advantages for Emily St. John Mandel, allowing her to connect with readers while balancing family life.
I: So, you had a novel that resonated with the moment, another novel released at the pandemic’s onset—and am I correct in understanding you also managed to write an entirely new book during the pandemic?
ESJM: That’s right, Sea of Tranquility. In many ways, it’s a direct response to everything that was happening—the constant questions about Station Eleven while a real global pandemic unfolded. The strangeness of that period propelled me to write what I consider to be science fiction autofiction. The unique circumstances of the pandemic directly influenced the creation of Emily St. John Mandel‘s Sea of Tranquility.
I: How did your writing process evolve during 2020? Did it shift significantly?
ESJM: It became considerably more focused, largely because childcare options were so limited. It’s a common experience for writers who juggle day jobs or parenting; there are always competing demands on your time and attention.
Before the pandemic, the routine of dropping my daughter at preschool for six hours—even that sometimes felt insufficient—was incredibly valuable in retrospect.
In the early weeks of the pandemic, my husband and I were constantly trading off childcare duties throughout the day. I’d grab two hours of writing here, an hour there, whenever I could carve out the time. This fragmented schedule ironically sharpened my focus. However, it was also emotionally taxing; it was the spring of 2020, with devastating loss of life and constant sirens. These intense emotions became intertwined with the writing process. The constraints and emotional weight of the pandemic paradoxically enhanced Emily St. John Mandel‘s writing focus.
I believe those intense emotions may have steered the work in an unexpected, interesting direction. It fostered a sense of creative recklessness, a feeling of “You know what? Forget it. I’m going to write a time travel novel. Everything is chaos. I’m simply going to write whatever I’m compelled to write.” Sea of Tranquility likely wouldn’t exist without the pandemic, as it’s so deeply informed by the peculiarities of that time. The pandemic spurred Emily St. John Mandel to embrace creative risks and explore new narrative territories in Sea of Tranquility.
I: This will be your second book released during the pandemic. Do you have hopes for a more traditional book tour this time?
ESJM: There’s hope, but I remain uncertain. I think we’re all living with a diminished sense of certainty about the future, even the near future.
In theory, I have in-person events planned, but I’m hesitant to fully believe they’ll proceed as scheduled. Either things will be relatively stable, or we’ll be grappling with a new, unpredictable variant and potentially facing renewed lockdowns. It’s hard to know. The ongoing uncertainty of the pandemic continues to impact book tour planning for Emily St. John Mandel.
A medium shot of Emily St. John Mandel looking directly at the interviewer, Isaac, while walking in Prospect Park, with a backdrop of leafless trees and park scenery.
I: As someone who wrote a novel exploring art at the end of the world, what are your reflections on art in dire times—or at least art in our current challenging times?
ESJM: I’ve always held the conviction that art is essential. This pandemic has only amplified that belief for me.
A small but significant positive aspect during the early months of the pandemic was noticing that independent bookstores’ websites would display notices like, “Due to unprecedented order volumes, your order may be delayed.” I found it incredibly heartening that people were turning to books. It felt deeply meaningful. Fiction, in particular, provided a vital form of escape when physical movement was restricted. The pandemic reinforced Emily St. John Mandel‘s belief in the crucial role of art, especially literature, during times of crisis.
This is something beautifully and powerfully portrayed in the Station Eleven TV series currently airing on HBO Max. I recently watched episode seven with my husband, which—not a major spoiler—features a rap scene that perfectly encapsulates this sense of desperate joy amidst devastation.
That scene was extraordinary and exemplifies something I deeply believe: art is profoundly important, especially in moments like this. The Station Eleven television adaptation, particularly a specific scene highlighting “desperate joy,” resonated deeply with Emily St. John Mandel‘s views on art’s importance.
I: I love that phrase, “desperate joy.” It echoes the sentiment, “Survival is insufficient.”
ESJM: That line, which I incorporated into Station Eleven, originates from an episode of Star Trek: Voyager I watched as a teenager. It’s unpredictable which seemingly random line from a TV show will resonate throughout your life.
When crafting the Traveling Symphony in Station Eleven, it seemed the perfect response to the inevitable question they would face constantly: “Here we are, facing the end of the world, struggling for basic survival. Why are you wasting precious resources performing Shakespeare?”
The answer is clear: it’s not a waste. We need more than just sustenance and shelter. “Survival is insufficient.” It’s such an elegant articulation of a truth I deeply believe. The enduring message of “Survival is insufficient,” central to Station Eleven, reflects Emily St. John Mandel‘s core beliefs about human needs beyond basic survival.
Emily St. John Mandel with a gentle smile, looking to her left, while standing in Prospect Park during the interview.
I: Okay, let’s remove “art” from the question. How do you feel about the end of the world, generally?
ESJM: That’s a profoundly large question. How do I feel about the end of the world? I feel a sense of sadness, naturally. But also, in a way, it’s an amplified reflection of our individual mortality, which I find inherently interesting.
As a child, I was fascinated by the concept of immortality—a common childhood preoccupation upon discovering death’s inevitability. I recall encountering the idea that life’s inherent limitations are what imbue it with meaning. I think that concept can be extrapolated to the idea of the world’s end. Emily St. John Mandel connects the concept of the world’s end to personal mortality and the meaning derived from life’s limitations.
I often reflect on that brief period in late spring 2021—after widespread vaccinations but before the Delta variant surge. We were acutely aware that “the next variant could be catastrophic.” And, unfortunately, it was. But I felt the precariousness of that moment heightened everything, made life more vivid. The fleeting period of relative normalcy in spring 2021, sandwiched between waves of the pandemic, left a lasting impression on Emily St. John Mandel.
I: Do you remember specific stories about immortality that captured your attention growing up?
ESJM: Vampires, definitely vampires. I remember devouring cheesy vampire novels around age 11, deeply contemplating the idea of escaping death.
I: Vampires certainly dominate the immortality narrative, especially for teenagers.
ESJM: It’s a perfect alignment. Teenagers are inherently melodramatic, and so are vampires. The teenage fascination with vampires resonates with Emily St. John Mandel‘s own youthful explorations of immortality.
I: You grew up in Canada, is that correct?
ESJM: Yes, I was born and raised on Vancouver Island, and later on Denman Island, a smaller island nestled between Vancouver Island and the mainland. However, I’ve always been a US citizen through my father, who was born and raised in California and was a conscientious objector during the Vietnam War. So, I was born with dual citizenship.
Denman Island is roughly the size and shape of Manhattan but had a population of only about a thousand people at the time. It was a very rural, incredibly beautiful place to grow up. Emily St. John Mandel‘s upbringing on a remote Canadian island shaped her perspective and identity.
I: And you were homeschooled?
ESJM: My parents were part of the back-to-the-land movement, so they kept me home for kindergarten as an experiment. Then, somehow, I simply didn’t attend school until I was 15. Homeschooling was a common practice within that community in that era and region of Canada.
Eventually, I enrolled in an alternative high school program designed for dropouts. You had to have been out of formal schooling for at least three months to qualify. Since I had never attended school, I qualified. There was an aptitude test for entry—everyone was accepted, but it was to assess your educational level. On that test, I scored in the first percentile for math and the 100th percentile for English. That outcome profoundly influenced the trajectory of my life, I believe. Emily St. John Mandel‘s unconventional education, particularly her early strengths in language arts, played a significant role in her path as a writer.
I: The bottom one percent in math? Were math lessons omitted during homeschooling?
ESJM: Math wasn’t a primary focus, no. Nor was science, particularly. But there was ample time for reading, which undoubtedly contributed to my current career. The emphasis on reading during her homeschooling years was a formative experience for Emily St. John Mandel.
I: Were there other significant interests during your childhood and adolescence?
ESJM: I was deeply involved in dance. It was my central focus from childhood through my teenage years. I studied dance extensively and successfully auditioned for the School of Toronto Dance Theatre. I moved to Toronto at 18 to pursue dance professionally. Dance was a defining passion in Emily St. John Mandel‘s early life, leading her to professional training in Toronto.
However, I never truly enjoyed math. Returning to that aptitude test, I didn’t complete 12th grade. I never fulfilled the math requirement, so technically, I don’t possess a high school diploma. Furthermore, the contemporary dance program was non-degree granting, meaning I don’t hold any academic degrees whatsoever. Despite her literary success, Emily St. John Mandel‘s formal education path was unconventional and non-degree oriented.
I: Oh wow, I really appreciate that.
ESJM: It was a unique education, but I read and wrote extensively.
I: And you danced a lot.
ESJM: And I danced a lot. Dance and writing were the twin pillars of Emily St. John Mandel‘s formative education.
Emily St. John Mandel pictured from the waist up, engaged in conversation during the Prospect Park interview, with the park's winter scenery in soft focus behind her.
I: At what point did you transition away from dance and begin to pursue writing more seriously?
ESJM: By the time I completed the dance program in Toronto, I had fallen out of love with dance. It felt like something that had captivated me my entire life had simply released its hold. Dance transformed from being everything to feeling like a tedious obligation.
This led to the obvious question: “Now what?” I lacked any academic qualifications, and I had accumulated substantial student loan debt from the dance program, making further formal education feel impractical. A shift in passion led Emily St. John Mandel to reconsider her career path after dance.
I: Why take on more debt?
ESJM: Exactly.
I: Did you experience any anxiety or shame about not having degrees?
ESJM: Not really, no. I had encountered so many directionless individuals who did possess degrees. It felt like a practical obstacle, certainly, but not something I was ashamed of. Emily St. John Mandel‘s perspective on formal degrees is pragmatic and experience-focused.
So, returning to school wasn’t appealing. By this time, I was living in Montreal—and Montreal and I were not a harmonious match. I started contemplating “What’s next?” Writing had been a consistent hobby since I was eight years old.
I: A diary? Short stories?
ESJM: As part of my homeschooling curriculum, when I wasn’t—
I: Not studying math.
ESJM: When I wasn’t studying math, precisely. In lieu of math, I wrote short stories and poems. Writing had been a consistent practice from a very young age. There was a turning point where I decided to pursue it more seriously and began writing what eventually became my first novel, Last Night in Montreal. Early writing exercises during homeschooling laid the groundwork for Emily St. John Mandel‘s literary career.
I: This is the novel with the protagonist who is constantly moving?
ESJM: Correct. Moving from Toronto to New York to Montreal to New York again within a year, for instance.
I: Not that you were drawing directly from personal experience, of course.
ESJM: Of course not.
I: So, you were living a somewhat transient life at this point?
ESJM: I was moving between cities, with very little financial stability. You relocate to a new city with minimal funds and somehow make it work. I worked various retail jobs—moving between cities, never truly settling anywhere. A period of transient living and retail work preceded Emily St. John Mandel‘s writing success.
I: How old were you when you finished Last Night in Montreal?
ESJM: I started writing it when I was 22. It took approximately four years to complete and then another couple of years to find a publisher, as it was rejected by nearly every publisher imaginable before landing at Unbridled Books. It was published when I was 30. So, yes, it was a lengthy process. The journey to publishing her first novel was a long and challenging one for Emily St. John Mandel.
I: How were you supporting yourself financially during those years?
ESJM: Odd jobs, mostly retail. Eventually, I transitioned to administrative assistant work, which was comparatively more stable. It was a welcome change to have a job where I could sit at a desk, after all the restaurant work, retail stockrooms, and barista positions. Administrative work provided a more stable income stream for Emily St. John Mandel while she pursued writing.
I remained in administrative roles for a considerable time, even a year after Station Eleven was published. Coming from a working-class background, it’s difficult to relinquish the security of a steady job. There’s always that underlying fear of lacking a safety net. The security of a day job remained important to Emily St. John Mandel even after early literary success.
I: A year after? Looking back, could you have quit your job earlier?
ESJM: Absolutely. It became somewhat absurd. But that final administrative position was actually quite fulfilling. It was in a cancer research lab at The Rockefeller University. You feel like you’re contributing to something significant. Plus, the people were wonderful, and my boss was exceptionally supportive, which was rare in my previous work experiences. The positive aspects of her administrative job made it harder to leave, even after literary success.
During that last year, I was constantly touring for Station Eleven while still working remotely. There were many surreal moments. For instance, I had to leave work early one day for a photoshoot at the Time Life Building. Another strange instance was booking plane tickets for my boss while my own travel arrangements were managed by a publicist at Knopf. I was booking travel for my boss while someone else booked mine. It was a truly bizarre period in my life. The simultaneous demands of touring and administrative work created a surreal and unsustainable situation for Emily St. John Mandel.
The breaking point arrived while I was working remotely during a UK book tour. I remember booking plane tickets for my boss at midnight in a London hotel room on a Sunday, feeling utterly overwhelmed by the realization, “I can’t continue like this.”
Then, I discovered I was pregnant. That felt like the final straw. I felt capable of managing two of the three—raising a child and working, working and writing, or writing and raising a child. But juggling all three—day job, writing, and motherhood—felt impossible. Pregnancy became the catalyst for Emily St. John Mandel to finally prioritize writing full-time.
Emily St. John Mandel during the interview, with a backdrop of Prospect Park's winter trees and paths, conveying a sense of thoughtful reflection.
I: Station Eleven was your fourth novel. How did the experience of writing and publishing it differ from your first three books?
ESJM: In every conceivable way.
My first three novels were published by Unbridled Books. They were wonderful to work with, and I had an incredibly talented editor there. Everyone was deeply dedicated. However, when I began writing Station Eleven, I recognized it had a more commercially viable premise than my previous work. I thought, “Perhaps this is a book where I should explore moving to a larger publisher.” Unbridled Books was exceptionally gracious about it. I’ve always been grateful for their understanding and support. They understood completely and didn’t take it personally. The commercial potential of Station Eleven prompted Emily St. John Mandel to seek a larger publishing house.
Station Eleven sold at auction, which was an unbelievable experience. When you’re starting out as a writer, there’s a constant feeling of “Please, please, please publish me.” To have that dynamic completely reversed, with editors calling and saying, “Please, please, please let us publish you”? It felt like stepping through the looking glass, a feeling of “What reality is this?” The auction for Station Eleven marked a transformative moment in Emily St. John Mandel‘s publishing journey.
It felt incredible when the book was acquired by Knopf. And then, whatever elusive magic determines commercial success—if anyone knew the formula, everyone would be a bestseller—it simply happened. Station Eleven was the book that fundamentally changed my life. The unexpected commercial success of Station Eleven transformed Emily St. John Mandel‘s career and life.
I: Well, it certainly helps that the book is exceptionally good.
ESJM: I must emphasize—because I believe in the quality of my work, and I don’t intend this as self-deprecation—but there’s an immense element of luck involved. I believe there are countless truly excellent books that don’t achieve the readership they deserve. It feels like I won the lottery, which isn’t to diminish Station Eleven, but rather to acknowledge the significant role of chance when a book resonates and takes off. Emily St. John Mandel acknowledges the role of luck in the widespread success of Station Eleven, alongside its inherent quality.
A close-up, slightly angled portrait of Emily St. John Mandel in Prospect Park, with soft sunlight filtering through the trees in the background.
I: Many of your characters are writers, artists, actors, and similar creative professions. What do you find compelling about writing about art and artists?
ESJM: I think I naturally gravitate towards writing about subjects that genuinely interest me. While I lack any artistic talent myself, I have a deep appreciation for music and visual arts, so they consistently find their way into my work.
I once encountered a quote by another writer that resonated with me, something along the lines of, “I’ve noticed writers often write about writers, but they transform them into painters.” Perhaps there’s an element of that. We’re frequently writing about the act of creating fiction itself, but we externalize it through the figure of a painter. It provides a degree of separation. Emily St. John Mandel‘s recurring focus on artists in her fiction reflects her personal interests and a writer’s perspective on the creative process.
I: How would you describe your own “experience of writing fiction,” to borrow your phrase?
ESJM: I become intensely focused on whatever project I’m working on, obsessively working on it until it’s complete. It’s a highly immersive process, but one I deeply enjoy. I love the iterative process of refining and refining the work. Emily St. John Mandel describes her writing process as obsessive and iterative, driven by a love of refinement.
I: So, you go through numerous drafts?
ESJM: Many, many drafts. I don’t write from a detailed outline. My first draft is always chaotic, a complete mess. I don’t even consider the first draft to be the actual book. I see it as raw material from which I hope to extract the novel. A block of raw material that I sculpt into the final form. This process can be quite lengthy. Her writing process involves extensive drafting and revision, viewing the first draft as raw material rather than a finished product.
I: Do you conduct extensive research? For example, when writing about the Traveling Symphony in Station Eleven, did you research realistic travel distances?
ESJM: Oh, absolutely. Questions like “How many miles could they realistically walk each day? What are the geographical distances involved?” are crucial.
I: There’s no “wagon train option” on Google Maps.
ESJM: There isn’t. And even with existing roads, they’d be congested with abandoned vehicles. So, you have to factor in obstacles and the time required to navigate around them. Realistic logistical details, such as travel distances in a post-apocalyptic world, require significant research for Emily St. John Mandel.
I: What is it like to see moments from your book, imagined in your mind, come to life in the Station Eleven television series?
ESJM: It’s incredible. The first time I saw the Traveling Symphony’s caravans onscreen, pulled by horses, it moved me to tears. Seeing something I had spent so much time imagining translated into a visual reality was deeply moving. Witnessing the Station Eleven TV adaptation bring her imagined world to life was an emotional experience for Emily St. John Mandel.
I: Did you have the opportunity to visit the set during filming?
ESJM: No, I didn’t.
I: Because it was a COVID-restricted set?
ESJM: Yes, it was a strictly controlled COVID set. Access was very limited.
While I wish I could have visited in person, I also understand that it might have been for the best. If I were in the showrunner Patrick Somerville’s position, adapting someone else’s novel, having the original author constantly present might not be particularly helpful. So, while set visits were missed, Emily St. John Mandel recognizes the potential benefits of creative distance in adaptations.
I: Whatever approach was taken, it clearly worked. The show genuinely captures the spirit of your book.
ESJM: Absolutely. I think it’s remarkable that they captured the essence of the book while making significant plot alterations. The Station Eleven TV series successfully captures the spirit of the novel despite plot changes, in Emily St. John Mandel‘s view.
I: Is there a particular change made by Patrick and his team that you especially appreciated?
ESJM: Yes. I particularly love the storyline where Kirsten returns to Frank’s apartment. That was a stroke of genius because I had always struggled to integrate Jeevan meaningfully with the main plot in the novel. Jeevan’s connections to other characters in Station Eleven are minimal—he’s linked to Arthur and has a brief encounter with Kirsten, but nothing like in the series. Honestly, I wish I had conceived of that connection myself. The integration of Jeevan’s storyline in the Station Eleven TV series is a change Emily St. John Mandel particularly admires.
I: Really?
ESJM: Absolutely. That highlights the power of a writers’ room, representing the collaborative process of multiple creative minds working on a narrative. Having several exceptionally talented individuals dedicated to developing a story is incredibly powerful. The collaborative nature of television writing, exemplified by the writers’ room, is something Emily St. John Mandel appreciates.
I: So, it’s safe to say you are pleased with the show?
ESJM: I love the show. I’m a genuine fan. I’m ecstatic about it. It’s exceptionally, exceptionally well done. And I don’t feel boastful saying that, because I had no direct involvement in its creation. I simply think it’s outstanding. Emily St. John Mandel expresses genuine enthusiasm and admiration for the Station Eleven TV adaptation.
I: Were you apprehensive about your novel being adapted? Or were you simply thinking, “Let me cash the option checks, and they can do whatever they want”?
ESJM: A bit of both, initially. I never truly believed it would actually be produced because I’ve known many writers who option their work for screen adaptations. Often, the option is renewed a few times, and then nothing materializes. I assumed that was the likely trajectory for Station Eleven. Initial skepticism and low expectations accompanied Emily St. John Mandel‘s experience with the Station Eleven adaptation process.
I: Because it had been quite some time since the initial option?
ESJM: Years. So, I thought, “Oh, this is how it works. You receive some option money every 18 months—they kept renewing the option, which is certainly appreciated—but that’s the extent of it. Nothing concrete will ever be made.”
Consequently, I dismissed the idea of it ever being produced from my mind. The notion that it would not only be produced but also be genuinely good? Seemed improbable. So, it feels truly extraordinary that A) it actually happened and B) it’s so well-executed. The eventual realization of the Station Eleven TV series, exceeding her expectations, was a pleasant surprise for Emily St. John Mandel.
I: Because that’s not everyone’s experience with adaptations.
ESJM: It’s rarely the experience among writers I know. But with Station Eleven the show, I could sense its quality from the outset. The positive outcome of the Station Eleven adaptation is a somewhat rare and fortunate experience, in Emily St. John Mandel‘s observation.
Emily St. John Mandel smiling warmly, looking to her right, during the interview in Prospect Park, with soft natural light enhancing the scene.
I: We’re experiencing another surge currently. Do you feel hopeful about the future?
ESJM: I maintain a degree of hope for the future, yes. We’ve adapted, to some extent. But even saying that makes me want to knock on wood. I know many people who have contracted breakthrough infections. These cases have been generally mild so far, suggesting a higher case count but reduced severity due to vaccinations and boosters. Yet, there remain vulnerable populations to be concerned about—the elderly, those with pre-existing conditions. It’s a perplexing time, and risk assessment is challenging. Emily St. John Mandel expresses a cautious hopefulness tempered by ongoing pandemic uncertainties and concerns.
I also feel a sense of fatalism at this point. I anticipate contracting COVID eventually, likely within the next month. So, I’m somewhat fatalistic about that inevitability, but not fearful, as I’m triple vaccinated and without underlying health issues.
Is that hope? Perhaps it’s a blend of hope and fatalism. Her outlook on the pandemic is a mix of fatalism and hope, acknowledging the likelihood of infection but trusting in vaccine protection.
I: Your daughter is five now. Does she have an understanding of the ongoing situation?
ESJM: It’s remarkable how adaptable children are. Just yesterday, we were leaving the house, and there was a discarded mask on the floor. Someone asked her, “Oh, do you need that KN95?” And she replied, “I don’t need a KN95. I have a KF94.” The specialized terminology our children now use is quite striking. Children’s adaptability and normalization of pandemic terminology is something Emily St. John Mandel has observed.
My perspective has shifted significantly. During the first year of the pandemic, I thought about how I would later describe this strange period to her, saying, “You probably won’t remember, but there was this unusual time when you were four and five with a pandemic. We wore masks constantly. It was scary and strange, but we were ultimately okay.”
Then, at some point, I realized, no, it will likely be the opposite. It will be, “You probably won’t remember, but before you were five, you didn’t have to wear masks to school. The world was very different then.” Her daughter’s evolving understanding of the pandemic and the potential for a pre-pandemic world to become a distant memory is insightful for Emily St. John Mandel.
I: Wow.
ESJM: I don’t know. I hope this current status quo doesn’t become permanent, but it has become normalized to a significant degree. And most of the time, it’s manageable—in a strangely fraught way—where she gets weekly COVID tests for school and puts on her mask upon entering the building. It’s simply integrated into her school experience.
About six months into the pandemic, when she was still four, she asked me, “Mama, was there a world before quarantine?” Her daughter’s question about a “world before quarantine” highlights the profound impact of the pandemic on young children’s perception of normalcy.
I: Jesus.
ESJM: I know. It was somewhat heartbreaking, but simultaneously, I felt, “Oh, thank goodness. You’re not experiencing a sense of loss—of a lost world—like many of us are.”
We’ve been collectively mourning the perceived paradise of 2019, while she’s asking, “Was there even a 2019?” I feel it’s objectively easier for her generation in some ways. Her daughter’s lack of nostalgia for a pre-pandemic world offers a different perspective on the collective experience of loss.
I: Have you been able to visit your family in Canada recently?
ESJM: No, not yet. That has been very difficult. My father passed away three months ago. Pandemic-related travel restrictions have made family visits challenging for Emily St. John Mandel, and she experienced a significant personal loss during this time.
I: Oh, shit. I’m deeply sorry, Emily.
ESJM: Thank you. That was a significant loss experienced during the pandemic. I recognize that I’ve had an incredibly privileged pandemic experience in many ways, but my father’s death in September, after not seeing him for two years, was a profound loss. Despite acknowledging pandemic privileges, Emily St. John Mandel shares the pain of separation and loss experienced during this time.
I: Fuck.
ESJM: Yes, it’s been difficult. As time passes, we all accumulate secondary losses, where even if we haven’t lost someone directly to COVID, we’ve all lost time, experiences, and connections. The broader impact of the pandemic extends beyond direct illness and loss, encompassing accumulated secondary losses for many, as noted by Emily St. John Mandel.
I: I’m truly sorry to hear that. Do you hope to visit soon?
ESJM: I’m planning to return as soon as the weather is mild enough to gather outdoors in British Columbia, which might be around May? It’s not too far off. Perhaps we’ll go sooner.
A significant cultural difference between Canada and the US is that Canadians generally adhere to public health recommendations. My family won’t gather if public health officials advise against it, which is as it should be. It’s a stark contrast to the US, where rule-bending and improvisation are more common. Cultural differences in pandemic responses, particularly regarding public health adherence, are observed by Emily St. John Mandel between Canada and the US.
My entire family is being appropriately cautious. I had been hesitant to travel by plane with my daughter until she was fully vaccinated, which just happened four weeks ago. Now that she’s vaccinated, I anticipate visiting as soon as possible. Vaccination status has influenced Emily St. John Mandel‘s travel plans and ability to reconnect with family.
I: Did she have the chance to spend time with your father?
ESJM: Yes, she did. I used to take her to British Columbia at least twice a year, sometimes more frequently. They had considerable time together, which I’m deeply grateful for. Emily St. John Mandel cherishes the time her daughter spent with her father before his passing.
Emily St. John Mandel walking away from the camera, down a tree-lined path in Prospect Park, concluding the interview walk.
Emily and I continued our walk, leaving the park and heading towards her home in South Slope. We spoke more about her father, her daughter, how she met her husband, and her initial move to New York City. After saying goodbye, I continued my walk alone. Lingering confetti from New Year’s celebrations clung to the sidewalk, and I noticed a single rose, a resilient reminder of summer in the January chill.
A ground-level view of a single red rose lying on a sidewalk covered with remnants of confetti, with blurred city street background, symbolizing resilience and hope amidst winter.
As the sun began to set, holiday lights began to illuminate homes. Warm weather notwithstanding, it was clear that this winter would be challenging, and undoubtedly confusing. But hopefully, it would be an improvement over the previous winter.
A nighttime view of houses with holiday lights glowing warmly, contrasting with the dark winter sky, symbolizing hope and resilience against winter darkness.
Regardless, I hoped people would keep their holiday lights illuminated a little longer this year—a small gesture against the encroaching darkness.
