Emily St. John Mandel

St. John's my middle name. The books go under M.

Sep 21
“Publishers are like, ‘We don’t know who your market is, we don’t know who we’d sell your book to,’ and I’m like, ‘What do you mean? Like… People with reading skills?’” Roxane Gay, talking about writers of color at the “This Woman’s Work” panel at the 2014 Brooklyn Book Festival (via yeahwriters)

(via roxanegay)


Sep 19
The baggage claim at Pellston Airport is really quite serious. The stuffed elk are over by the waiting area.

The baggage claim at Pellston Airport is really quite serious. The stuffed elk are over by the waiting area.


Hood ornaments in Traverse City, September 17 2014. It was a perfect fall day, a few hours before I found out about the National Book Award nomination, and the utterly lovely proprietors of Brilliant Books took me sightseeing. There were beautiful old cars all over town.


Sep 17

Window at McLean & Eakin, Petoskey. They built a tent! Just like the tents in the airport in the book!


Sep 16

The incredible front window of Brilliant Books in Traverse City.


DTW. I’ll be there soon, Traverse City.

DTW. I’ll be there soon, Traverse City.


Airport train, MSP. I saw a wild rabbit on the way to the airport. Leaving Minneapolis in the usual fashion—slipping out of my friend’s house under cover of darkness to catch an early flight to the next city, alone on pre-dawn streets, brisk walk to the light rail train—and as I was crossing a parking lot the rabbit sprang out of the underbrush alongside, probably startled by the sound of suitcase wheels, a small grey thing that dashed away with improbable grace. 

Wonderful event at Magers & Quinn last night. A question from the audience: did I think my book was hopeful, or not so much? He and his friend had had a disagreement on this front. “It seemed hopeful to me,” I said, “but your mileage may vary.” I didn’t specifically set out to write a hopeful book. It’s more that I think the mayhem and chaos that I assume would follow a societal collapse would probably not last forever everywhere on earth. 

Tonight: Traverse City!

Airport train, MSP. I saw a wild rabbit on the way to the airport. Leaving Minneapolis in the usual fashion—slipping out of my friend’s house under cover of darkness to catch an early flight to the next city, alone on pre-dawn streets, brisk walk to the light rail train—and as I was crossing a parking lot the rabbit sprang out of the underbrush alongside, probably startled by the sound of suitcase wheels, a small grey thing that dashed away with improbable grace.

Wonderful event at Magers & Quinn last night. A question from the audience: did I think my book was hopeful, or not so much? He and his friend had had a disagreement on this front. “It seemed hopeful to me,” I said, “but your mileage may vary.” I didn’t specifically set out to write a hopeful book. It’s more that I think the mayhem and chaos that I assume would follow a societal collapse would probably not last forever everywhere on earth.

Tonight: Traverse City!


Sep 13

Sep 8

The most beautiful thing I saw today. Central Park, September 8th 2014, a guy making enormous bubbles with a rope contraption and a bucket of water and soap.


Sep 6

So there was this one time when a reporter from the New York Times came over to my house and we talked for a while about Station Eleven and the end of the world. When the piece appeared a few days later, I was so flummoxed by the whole thing that I tweeted it with a glaring grammatical error that I didn’t even notice till the next day, because I was too preoccupied with feeling badly that I hadn’t mentioned my amazing publicist in the tweet. Incidentally, it is an unshakeable rule of Twitter that the tweet with the glaring grammatical error is the one that will get RT’d the most.

The tour starts next week. This is the last weekend at home until November. It’s very hot. The kind of humidity where the floors feel damp and the doors won’t close properly. I hope it isn’t this humid everywhere I go, because I’ve already thought through the tour wardrobe.

The last line of the New York Times piece, taken out of the context of the book, seems like something to aspire to throughout the course of one’s life: “She never failed to notice what was beautiful in the world, even as it was falling apart.”


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