standing on a stool on his wondrously functional pre-Libya legs, the bullet that would sever his spinal cord still twenty-five years away but already approaching: a woman giving birth to a child who will someday pull the trigger on a gun, a designer sketching the weapon or its precursor, a dictator making a decision that will spark in the fullness of time into the conflagration that Frank will go overseas to cover for Reuters, the pieces of a pattern drifting closer together.
In Emily St. John Mandel’s "Station Eleven," the narrative intricately weaves together events from different timelines, showing how moments in life are interconnected. The scene depicted portrays a character, Frank, who stands upon a stool, remarkably mobile despite the impending fate of injury that will later define him. It emphasizes how future tragedies are often rooted in decisions and events occurring long before they manifest, highlighting the inevitability that lies within...
