Station Eleven

“‘Just now,’ Jeevan said, ‘he was doing the thing he loved best in the world.’ He was basing this on an interview he’d read a month ago, Arthur talking to The Globe and Mail—‘I’ve waited all my life to be old enough to play Lear, and there’s nothing I love more than being on stage, the immediacy of it…’—but the words seemed hollow in retrospect. Arthur was primarily a film actor, and who in Hollywood longs to be older?” 

In his haste to comfort Kirsten following Arthur’s death on stage, Jeevan assures her that Arthur was happy during his final moments, even though Jeevan has no way of knowing this. As a former celebrity journalist who once interviewed Arthur, Jeevan knows how unreliable interviews like the one he cites here can be. The question of Arthur’s happiness remains elusive until the novel’s final chapter, where we learn that Arthur was much more concerned about his personal life than his public persona.

“People want what was best about the world.” 

These words, spoken by Dieter, accompany the observation that the audiences find comfort in the great cultural icons of the past. In the Symphony’s case, this means that they primarily perform Shakespeare plays and Beethoven symphonies. Of course, determinations of greatness are subjective, and the risk of this nostalgic approach is that it can become stagnant if new art and interpretations fail to develop.

“But what made it bearable were the friendships, of course, the camaraderie and the music and the Shakespeare, the moments of transcendent beauty and joy when it didn’t matter who’d used the last of the rosin on their bow or who anyone had slept with.”

This statement follows a long and sometimes humorous list of grievances and tensions that exist between members of the Symphony. The implication is that, although human relationships are fraught with risk of disappointment, they can also facilitate deeply meaningful experiences. The musical and dramatic arts are suggested as a mean of sharing such experiences.