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jayburding 's review for:
The End We Start From
by Megan Hunter
The comparison to Station Eleven is what made me pick this up, and it is disingenuous at best. This is a story of motherhood with postapocalypse pinned to its jumper like a prefect badge, asking to be let into a club where it doesn't really sit. Every trapping of genre could be shed from this and the gaps filled without really feeling the loss. And really it is poetry rather than novel, and there is nothing wrong with that but it is not for me. People are letters holding up the shape of metaphors rather than any real semblance of character, the paragraphs short, sometimes just one sentence to another so every thought is fragmented. It leaves very little to really grasp on to here, so while the language is beautiful I find myself already forgetting what has passed.