The fact of the matter is that the basic acts of our species' survival - sex, birth, nursing - are discomfitingly sticky. They upset the rather delicate balance of mind versus body that we all, one way or
another, have to achieve, sending the squishy-meat-sack side surging to the forefront in all its oozy, dripping glory. Werewolf stories expose this side of human existence, which we usually don't highlight. Werewolves excel at externalizing bodily fluids.
I have been told over and over that no one would be interested in what I have to say, that I am the “wrong kind” of minority to count. That my ancestors’ tales of enchantment and wonder—and so, mine—are irrelevant. Yet I know better, and I refuse to listen to anyone except the little girl inside me, the one who needed to see herself and share her magic, to know she belonged and that her brown skin was as beautiful as her Sanskrit name. Who believes that myths and mythic fiction are meant for, and reflect, all of us.
When it comes to the innovative possibilities of growing a city – particularly one on a distant world where we have total freedom to construct every aspect ourselves – perhaps the greatest gain of biogenic architecture comes not from trying to imagine a single species that does everything we might want, but thinking of how to layer different organisms together to create something multi-symbiotic.
Creativity, of all kinds, benefits from breaking down rigid taxonomies. And that decay, whether we fear it or welcome it, provides rich loam for imagining what might come next.
Cosy speculative fiction with its focus on community and everyday life is uniquely shaped to celebrate the power of all types of relationships and to demonstrate a world of what people can achieve by working together and respecting one another. Yet much of this potential is currently not being realised as so many narratives have become less about finding family and more about fitting oneself into amatonormative society.
Dex’s rewilding results from a recognition that humans are made up of separable and often fluid component parts, built without purpose or calling, embedded in an ecosystem of which we are not always fully cognizant but must always try to be mindful. We must continue anyway, and we must continue to marvel.
What I find interesting in the “politics” of these three books is that “preachiness” is not a function of political messaging, but one of aesthetic integrity.
In a time when questions of choice are so volatile in reality, surfacing them in speculative fiction is vital for helping people grasp their own agency.
