Can Speculative Fiction Help Us Understand the World?

The Shifting Landscape of Speculative Fiction

A well-known observation attributed to Mark Twain suggests that truth often surpasses fiction in its strangeness. Considering the tumultuous events of the past year, this sentiment resonates deeply. Amidst widespread disruption and transformation, a fundamental question arises: what role does speculative fiction – and its related genres of science fiction and fantasy – play when the real world increasingly mirrors the fantastical realms these works portray?

To explore this, a discussion was initiated with Eliot Peper, a frequent fictional contributor, and the author of Veil and the Analog Series, conducted via email. The conversation centered on processing the events of 2020, the significance of speculative fiction, and the future of artistic expression.

The Reality of the Unpredictable

Danny Crichton: Looking ahead, what do you envision for the future of speculative fiction? The past year brought a devastating pandemic and significant climate-related crises – precisely the types of events that often serve as inspiration for this genre. How does one continue to speculate when reality consistently outpaces even the most imaginative minds?

Eliot Peper: Recent events serve as a stark reminder that reality doesn’t necessarily adhere to plausibility, unlike fiction. The world is incredibly complex, and our understanding of it remains limited. No one can definitively predict what lies ahead. Therefore, experiencing life as if it were a science fiction narrative isn’t unusual; it’s a state we’ve always inhabited. Perhaps speculative fiction is, in fact, more grounded in reality than so-called “realist” fiction, as the only constant is change, and predicting a static world is the true fantasy.

As a writer of speculative fiction, I am an avid student of history. Studying the past to fuel my imagination and explore potential futures has taught me that the present is remarkably contingent, fascinating, and ephemeral. For me, speculative fiction isn’t about prediction; it’s about creatively exploring how the world is evolving, much like a jazz musician improvises over a familiar melody. Accuracy is accidental. The most compelling narratives succeed because they provoke thought, inspire dreams, and evoke emotion. And with increasing technological capabilities, individuals are actively shaping the future – for both positive and negative outcomes.

I’m not concerned about reality overtaking speculative fiction because it’s deeply rooted in the human experience. Every unforeseen event simply provides new material.

Beyond the Black Swan

Crichton: This raises a challenge that blurs the lines between realist and speculative fiction, making categorization difficult. The true “black swan” of the pandemic wasn’t the emergence of a novel virus – pandemics are historically common – but the profoundly disorganized and ineffective response we witnessed.

If I were to construct a speculative fiction scenario, I doubt I could devise a situation where “a cure is developed rapidly due to medical advancements, yet the public response involves widespread exaggeration of mortality rates.” When I think of speculation, I envision something extraordinary, but this particular event demonstrates the power of everyday actions to alter the course of events.

The Art of Domino Effects

Peper: Speculative fiction fundamentally asks “what if?” What if an astronaut were stranded on Mars? What if dinosaurs were resurrected and placed in a theme park? What if our reality is a simulation? The premise of my novel, Veil, explores: “what if a billionaire attempted to control the climate through geoengineering?” These questions serve as hooks, capturing the imagination and sparking curiosity. However, they are merely a starting point.

To fully realize a speculative concept, you must allow the consequences to unfold, creating a chain reaction of second-, third-, and fourth-order effects throughout the story. Momentum builds as complications escalate and unexpected twists propel the narrative forward. If an earthquake were to devastate San Francisco, it’s easy to envision the physical repercussions – bridge collapses, flooding, power outages, fires. However, it’s equally crucial to consider the social consequences: Would people prioritize rescuing neighbors or competing for limited resources? How would leaders respond, given their individual personalities and priorities? How might such an event reshape the social fabric of the Bay Area? (And, importantly, where is Dwayne Johnson?) The way people react to events is integral to how those events ultimately unfold.

Lawrence Wright’s The End of October, published in April 2020, remarkably captures the chaotic and cascading social and political reactions to a global pandemic. Kurt Vonnegut’s Galápagos presents an apocalyptic scenario driven by such mundane and shortsighted human failings that it feels almost realistically absurd. Ada Palmer’s Terra Ignota series, while often focusing on technological change, meticulously examines the cultural, political, and sociological aspects of a fictional future. Human behavior is often the unpredictable factor that amplifies the impact of the initial scenario, ultimately shaping a new world.

The Purpose of Fiction

This leads to a more profound question: What is the purpose of fiction?

When I write fiction, my goal isn’t to accurately predict or depict reality. I aim to create an immersive experience, taking the reader on a journey that is captivating, surprising, and ultimately satisfying. While the inspiration might stem from a particularly intriguing aspect of the real world, success isn’t about being correct. It’s about a reader losing themselves in a story late into the night, unable to put it down and unwilling to forget it.

Neil Gaiman often notes that fairy tales are “more than true” – not because they confirm the existence of dragons, but because they assure us that dragons can be defeated. In speculative fiction, I gravitate towards stories that reveal a profound emotional truth or illuminate an underlying force shaping history, even if they are wildly inaccurate in their details. This doesn’t mean technical accuracy is unimportant, but it isn’t always the primary objective. The goal might be to provoke thought, evoke emotion, or inspire imagination about alternative possibilities.

Imagination and the Potential for Change

Crichton: On that note, I’m curious about your perspective on imagination and its power to drive change. Art has consistently exerted a powerful influence on the human imagination throughout history, often preceding significant societal, cultural, and political shifts. Historically, however, its power stemmed from its relative rarity and its capacity to surprise.

Today, we are constantly immersed in imaginative worlds – video games, movies, streaming shows, books, graphic novels, and more. Time-use studies suggest that Americans may spend a majority of their waking hours engaged with imaginative content. I’ve observed a growing disparity between the sheer abundance of imagination available in art and the limited scope for meaningful change in our daily lives. Does this pose a threat to art’s ability to inspire change? Is speculation still a catalyst for action?

The Human Capacity to Imagine

Peper: Speculation is inherent to the human condition. Before making a decision, we envision the potential outcomes. We simulate possible futures in our minds before committing to them in reality. These mental projections are often flawed, but they are also frequently valuable. Thought experiments are fundamental to our internal lives. This individual process extends to the collective: imagining a better future is the first step towards creating one.

Art serves as a conduit for imagination. A filmmaker translates their vision into a movie, which others can watch and, in doing so, exercise their own imaginations – sometimes even sparking new creative endeavors that contribute to what we call culture. Technology has made more art accessible to more people than ever before. Imagined worlds are now an integral part of our lived experience, adding layers of meaning and possibility to actual events. We are constantly interpreting reality for each other, transforming it in the process. The increasing density and intensity of this process are a result of a growing population becoming increasingly interconnected.

However, technology has not only created new artistic mediums and altered how art is created, discovered, and experienced. It has also amplified the impact of human choices. Hippocrates couldn’t have developed an mRNA vaccine, Genghis Khan couldn’t have initiated a nuclear apocalypse with the push of a button, and Odysseus had to construct his Trojan Horse from wood, not code.

Our tools grant us powers our ancestors could only dream of, and the consequences of our decisions scale accordingly. Because technological innovation is morally neutral, it elevates the stakes for timeless questions of human agency – what constitutes a good life, how can we contribute to the greater good, and what does it mean to be a responsible ancestor? Artists offer diverse, imperfect, and occasionally invaluable maps to navigate this moral landscape. Therefore, the more technology empowers us, the more we need art.