I note that flu is now probably the most common (and let’s face it, most plausible) cause of the end of the world on my bookshelf. Aliens and nuclear holocaust are starting to look quite dated, although I’m sure this is largely my own selection bias.
Oh my. I’d heard a lot of good things about Station Eleven, but I was still bowled over by the understated elegance and resonance of the text itself. It strikes me as one of those stories that underwhelms in synopsis (and in retrospect, the cover blurb is slightly misleading, as it tries to intimate action that never really takes place). So I’m going to say as little as possible other than read it.