When Le Guin talks about genre writers as “the realists of a larger reality” we surrender the power of that when we narrow our work to only depict one type of future. We have great power to restore alternate narratives, to re-broaden the range of imaginable futures.
The first time I watch Everything Everywhere All At Once in theaters, I am struck by the way Ke Huy Quan and Michelle Yeoh are presented—not as the generic smooth-faced Hollywood types but decidedly middle-aged, grey hairs and pores and all. He looks like my former piano teacher, I think. She could be my parents’ church friend. And yet: the fanny pack swung with stunning agility. The bullet stopped mid-flight, the daughter pulled back from the brink. This is how I fight. No shame in having survived, here—in being the star of many lives, each branched out from a decision made in childhood or as a young adult: to go or to stay; to sing or chase scientific glory; to please the demanding parent, or break down, or break away.
Dragon fire on white bodies is sad. Dragon fire on not-Muslim bodies is cheered on the screen. We ache when the scimitar prows of not-Muslim ships cleave through a white human captain’s ship. But bombs sent by white admirals into not-Muslim countries are the only way to make these barbarians hear reason (and maybe also a chance to prove how nice we are, we of the civilized world). Don’t listen to the not-Muslim’s testimony of pain. He is probably lying.
Ultimately, while Classic is beloved in German science fiction for being long-running and well-established in its tradition of science fiction, it suffers from being a product of both its time and environment. It is not the first work that reads poorly in light of the world of today, and most certainly not the first in pulp fiction. Even its intent and ideology is sound, if misguided and colored by the environment and upbringing of its authors. What we see in NEO is a manifestation of Perry’s written intention but updated to a modern sensibility, an alignment that sees it running parallel to the current run of Classic. Perry Rhodan’s universes ask us to believe in one astronaut and his allies as they strive to make the galaxy a better, kinder place, while also grappling with the difficulties of doing so.
All science fiction has its basis in the real world. This is the real world I base mine in. It has jokes and cups of tea and big smiles. Sometimes I’m in awe of the power of fiction to unite us. I can say to the world “this is how it looks to me; is this how it looks to you?” and if I listen to the wind sometimes I’m lucky enough to hear a yes. Then the space between us blows out and I realise it does not look to you like it looks to me. American look at the chalk outlines Kiwis write and say “wow, somebody drew a silhouette! Neat!” and the only responses we’re socially permitted are to smile, make a joke, or make a cuppa.
When Afrosurrealists intentionally sit in the wake, and evoke the plurality of experiences that connect the diaspora, they ensure that other Black creators are initiated into our collective histories.
This essay details a modest exegesis on Clive Barker’s gospels of the monstrous body. Read together, Barker’s novellas The Hellbound Heart (1986) and Cabal (1988) make a twofold argument: That the monstrous body is in fact monstrous, and that this monstrous body possesses a power which can’t be co-opted by hegemonic institutions. Rather than allow themselves to be used and discarded by the state, Barker’s monsters construct an alternative society: the mutantopia. Midian, “where the monsters live,” provides a model for monstrous liberation, a way for those of us who are queer and chronically ill to reclaim the inalienable power and pleasure of those selfsame bodies.
What is the function of despair? For me, right now, it is this: Despair demands constant anxious attention. It does not admit space for unthinking hope. At the same time, though, it will not let you turn face away or slide toward numbness and apathy. Despair is an unresolved state. Working toward its resolution might push us toward hopeless, clear-eyed vigilance, or it might even produce that wild courage. I believe we need our despair more now than we ever have before.
