China Miéville on Science Fiction and Its Readers - Tor.com

A Quarter Century of New Crobuzon: China Miéville on Science Fiction and Reality

It has been 25 years since China Miéville first gained prominence in the literary world with his novel, “Perdido Street Station.”

The novel masterfully blends science fiction, fantasy, and horror, introducing readers to the incredibly intricate city of New Crobuzon. This city is populated by unique beings, including insect-headed khepri, cactus-shaped cactacae, and the terrifying slake moths, creatures that consume their victims’ dreams.

This work also ignited a wider interest in what became known as the “new weird” genre.

Continued Genre Exploration and a Recent Collaboration

Following the success of “Perdido” – celebrated this year with a quickly sold-out collector’s edition from The Folio Society – Miéville continued to experiment with genre blending in novels such as “The City & the City” and “Embassytown.”

He paused publishing fiction for nearly a decade, but returned last year with “The Book of Elsewhere,” a New York Times bestseller co-authored with Keanu Reeves.

Science Fiction as a Reflection of the Present

Miéville is a perceptive observer and critic, offering insights on politics, urban environments, and the science fiction and fantasy genres themselves.

Our conversation began with a discussion of his breakthrough book, but also explored the connection between science fiction and the real world, particularly the growing trend of tech billionaires viewing science fiction as a blueprint for future endeavors.

Miéville believes it’s a misinterpretation to perceive science fiction as predictive: “It’s always about now. It’s always a reflection. It’s a kind of fever dream, and it’s always about its own sociological context.”

He suggests that a “societal and personal derangement” is at play when the wealthy and powerful prioritize settling Mars over addressing global issues.

However, he insists, “Let’s not blame science fiction for this. It’s not science fiction that’s causing this kind of sociopathy.”

The Evolution of Subcultures and the Commodification of “Weird”

First of all, congratulations on 25 years of “Perdido Street Station.” I was in high school when it first came out, and I have a very vivid memory of ditching school so I could finish the book, and then being very upset with how it ended.

Thank you for sharing that – both your enjoyment and your initial disappointment.

It’s quite strange. Like many people my age, I struggle to comprehend how time has passed. The idea that this book is 25 years old is truly astonishing.

In the afterword [to the new collector’s edition], you talk about this being a young man’s book. Was this also a book written in the spirit of “I don’t like the way commercial fantasy looks right now—let me show you how it’s done”?

Not precisely in such a programmatic way. That suggests a more deliberate intervention than was actually the case.

I always loved the fantastic, but I wasn’t particularly fond of much of the commercially successful fantasy. I was never a devoted fan of J.R.R. Tolkien, and many of the popular fantasies heavily influenced by Tolkien didn’t resonate with me.

I was more drawn to the Dying Earth tradition, science-fantasy, and the post-Michael Moorcock tradition from “New Worlds” magazine, alongside authors like Mervyn Peake.

My intention was simply to create the kind of fantasy I enjoyed. While it may have been a departure from certain trends, it wasn’t a conscious act of rebellion. I felt firmly rooted within a tradition, one that wasn’t receiving as much attention as the Tolkien-inspired works at the time.

The Double-Edged Sword of Mainstream Acceptance

The increasing mainstream acceptance of various “weird” genres, and the blurring of boundaries between them, has brought some of the writers you admire into the spotlight. However, have there been any drawbacks?

Certainly. This is a common pattern with all subcultures. As they gain prominence, you inevitably see a rise in lower-quality work alongside the genuinely good material. It becomes more commodified.

It’s not that it wasn’t already commodified, but it becomes even more so. There’s a certain cheapening of the genre, leading to things like Cthulhu plushies. One can easily become consumed by this.

This happened with drum and bass, surrealism, and any interesting subculture. When it reaches a critical mass, you get both increased access and awareness, as well as a banalization of the original ideas. It develops its own tropes and becomes domesticated.

This also occurred with science fiction. There was a wave of theoretical interest in the late ‘60s or ‘70s, met with a playful resistance from fandom, urging to “Keep science fiction in the gutter where it belongs.” This highlights the ongoing tension between subculture and success.

The Value of Cultural Access and the Loss of Discovery

I remember my high school and college self, passionately defending “Perdido Street Station,” Philip K. Dick, or Ursula Le Guin, feeling like no one else understood. Now, when someone expresses that same enthusiasm for science fiction, I think, “Guys, we won. You don’t need to do that anymore.”

I also experience a conflicting feeling, admittedly a somewhat unpleasant one: Now that people are reading those authors, do they truly appreciate them? Have they put in the work?

There’s a tendency towards nerd gatekeeping that is undeniably toxic. However, I’ve had interesting conversations about whether there’s something genuinely positive about the effort required to participate in a subculture in the past. You had to seek things out, ask the right people, and travel to find them.

I’m tentatively inclined to believe that we’ve lost something with the absolute accessibility of everything online. While there are enormous benefits, it’s also possible that this ease of access diminishes the intensity of engagement with certain subcultures.

I state this cautiously, as I’m exploring these ideas. Perhaps this is the underlying rationale for the frustrating tendency towards nerd policing.

The Misinterpretation of Science Fiction by Tech Billionaires

That leads to something else I wanted to ask about. I’ve noticed more tech industry figures, like Elon Musk, discussing science fiction and treating Isaac Asimov or Kim Stanley Robinson as a blueprint for the future in ways that I find concerning. Is that something you’ve observed as well?

First, we should express sympathy for Kim Stanley Robinson – he doesn’t deserve this.

Silicon Valley ideology has always been a peculiar blend of libertarianism, hippie ideals, and tech utopianism.

All ideologies are complex mixtures, often contradictory, and shift based on political and economic circumstances.

Silicon Valley’s interest in science fiction is not new and has sociological roots. There’s a crossover between the literary and computer worlds.

I agree with your concerns. Some science fiction writers envision their work as either utopian blueprints or dystopian warnings, but I don’t believe that’s the essence of science fiction. It’s always about now, a reflection of the present, a fever dream rooted in its own social context.

There’s a fundamental error in treating it as a prediction of the future.

Furthermore, the aspects of science fiction that these individuals are drawn to are often superficial. They’re unlikely to be inspired by Ursula Le Guin’s vision of a society moving beyond the constraints of consumerism, as that holds no value for them.

The fact that some prioritize settling Mars over addressing global issues is deeply troubling.

I enjoy Mars-settling novels, but the idea of using them as justification for neglecting the problems on Earth is terrifying and absurd.

Let’s not blame science fiction for this. It’s not the cause of this sociopathy. It’s capitalism.

The Role of Art and the Limits of Narrative Influence

A big part of my reaction when I see something like that is to think, “You guys are bad readers, and you’re fixated on the gadgets, as opposed to the more interesting or radical political or social notions.” But on some level, I also think, “Are they just subscribing to this ur-narrative that a lot of science fiction sells: Won’t it be great when we go to Mars? Won’t it be great to expand outward and colonize forever?” And I guess I’m wondering to what extent that should spur science-fiction writers to try to tell different kinds of narratives.

I don’t see myself as a cultural policeman. Writers are free to tell any story they choose.

I will add that writers and critics, no matter how insightful, don’t own the books. They are always a collaborative effort.

The most interesting fiction always contains contradictory elements.

I’m hesitant to suggest that telling different stories will directly lead to positive change. I don’t believe art works that way.

Artists often overestimate the direct political impact of their work. I don’t think art is activism.

I believe that individuals with a particular mindset, driven by structural forces and personal psychology, will always find a way to justify their actions, regardless of the stories we tell.

I’m not saying we shouldn’t write interesting, untold, and radical stories. I absolutely encourage it. But I don’t believe that writing those stories will automatically make the world a better place. The connection between a book and the social system is too complex.

I would prefer to write more interesting stories in a world that is improving, rather than believing that our stories will cause that improvement.

Looking Ahead: A New Novel and a Cautionary Note

Getting back to your own writing, I know there have been whispers about a big new book coming from you. It sounds like it’s going to be out next year?

Yes, it will be released. I don’t have a specific date yet, but it will be available before the end of next year. I’m currently finalizing it.

Is there anything you can say about it?

I will say that I’ve been working on it for 20 years, and that’s not an exaggeration. This book has been a significant part of my life, and I’m very excited for its release.

Anything else you want to conclude with?

As this is for TechCrunch, I’ll say that I believe social media is one of the worst things to happen to humanity in a long time, and I’m not being hyperbolic. I know people say, “Oh, it’s awful, but I’m addicted.” But I genuinely believe it’s making us sick and destroying our brains.

I’m not saying this from a position of moral superiority. I’m simply grateful that I was old enough to establish my identity before it became pervasive.