Dystopia is hope redefined. 

The best stories we have are parables of survivance in the face of the worst case scenarios. Yes, I said survivance, look it up). We love stories of against all odds moments. Human history is filled with them. Stories of resistance and creative survival. Our favorite movies are stories of people continuing on in face of odds so great, that it doesn’t even seem worth it. We love it. We eat it up. Why? Some might say that humans have a gambling addiction, but I think we have a hope addiction.

When I am describing the kind of writing I do, I often will get people saying: “That sounds too close to reality, I don’t like dystopians, it’s too upsetting." (or something like that) I mostly don’t respond to this in the moment. But it tells me a lot about that person. It tells me that they, rightfully, want to escape from our atrocious reality. That fiction is a safe place for them free of the horrors. It tells me that they think dystopian fiction will make them feel worse and more scared of our future. 

But I want to challenge that belief. Dystopian fiction is actually an art dedicated to hope. Hear me out. 

Part of the ‘rules’ of the genre of dystopian writing is that someone (or something) will survive. Some shred of hope must survive at the end. That is why I love reading it. Because I can be assured that though my favorite character might not make it,  shit,  the whole cast of characters might not make it, but some ghost of their mission will live on to fight another day. Like vines growing over the rubble of Chernobyl and becoming a habitat for frogs, the idea of a better world will carry on and find purchase. Hope is a long game. Dystopian fiction is about reframing your idea of what you are hoping for. 

This is why Rogue One is my favorite Star Wars movie. It’s closer to what our real human history has taught us. We may not survive, but the cause will. It’s about being a part of something bigger and more important than our own lives. Are we hoping simply to live through this? Or are we hoping that ‘this’ will get better for the next people? 

Also, I’ve been through some shit and my special flavor of anxiety wants to play out infinite scenarios of dystopic tragedy and then make a plan for how I would survive them. Dystopian fiction is a thought experiment for me. It’s how I engage, safely, with my worst fears, and work through them. 

That is how I started writing Buzzard. It was an exercise in how my descendants would survive the worst case scenario of America’s dissent into techno-feudalism. I thought of Mae as my great granddaughter. What are the seeds that I could plant now, so that my great great grandchildren will survive a capitalist wasteland? 

The queen of my heart and our patron saint, Octavia E. Butler, coined the term “histofuturism” to describe her method for writing speculative fiction. She was meticulous in her research of historical and cultural events and how media and art mirrored those things. When she died in 1993, there were 350 boxes with thousands of documents in them to go through. Those archives now live at the Huntington Library, including all her notes (highly recommend reading through!) She was relentlessly analytical, and obsessed with Germany in the 1930s. In her essay (now a book) called A Few Rules for Predicting the Future, she writes: 

“Because making predictions is one way to give warnings when we see ourselves drifting in dangerous directions. Because prediction is a useful way of pointing out safer, wiser courses. Because, most of all, our tomorrow is the child of our today. Through thought and deed, we exert a great deal of influence over this child, even if we can’t control it absolutely.” 

So when I hear someone say “Yeah, I just can’t read stuff like that right now.” I usually respond with “I get it.” Because I do. Because a lot of us are stuck in the tragic mindset. Feeling overwhelmed at the idea that no matter how hard we work individually and together, we will never ever see a better world. The problems are too damn big. 

Well my friends, the point isn’t necessarily that we do see a better world. 

The point is that, someone eventually does. 

We live in chronic dystopia: climate change is irreversible. The economy is about to crumble under the weight of the AI bubble, I might not have a job in three months. My kid needs another pair of shoes and I am still in student debt for a degree I don’t use. People are still and forever getting shot in the street by federal agents. Oh, and my house needs a new roof, and I have to figure out what is for dinner while I’m on hold with my health insurance company to try and get imaging on my thyroid covered. 

So yeah, I get why reading Parable of the Sower doesn’t really help you wind down at night before bed.  I get why picking up the latest delightful faerie romance is what you are going to do. Because I do it too. For many folks, especially women, queer people and BIPOC folks, the idea of dystopia as entertainment isn’t really appealing. Because we live it everyday and have for many generations. 

Spoiler alert, Lauren Olamina, (the main character in Parable), lives. She survives. She keeps going. She witnesses the most horrific things a person can imagine. And she builds something beautiful out of it. She doubles down on humanity. 

Like many of my writing peers, I love to crush my characters. I love to write them into existence only to destroy their spirits. I love to  make them live their worst fears. I love when they become their worst enemy! 

In my book, Buzzard, Mae has to live through being separated from her children. Being pulled away from them, screaming. It is something that thousands of people are living through today in America and have been living through for generations (see: the founding of America). It is my worst nightmare, and also something that happens everyday here. And I made my main character live it. Because I wanted to prove that she could survive it. That she could keep going and never give up hope. That in the end no matter what, there was still something to keep going for.  Because I hope that if it ever happens to me, I can survive it. I hope that my children will be ok. 

May I offer, that the point of dystopian stories isn’t to bum you out all the way but to galvanize you. Because maybe we won't make it. But someone else will. Someone or something will make it, and they will keep going and tell our stories and build something beautiful. Something that is even better than the thing that we were fighting for. 

The best, most enduring dystopians aren’t ego driven, the best dystopian is centered on collective survival. It removes the individual out of  the victorious survival narrative and focuses on legacy. What will the people after us take into the next fight? The next disaster? The next sunrise?

Dystopian isn’t fatalist or pessimistic. It’s hopeful. Because the antidote to despair isn’t hope, it’s imagination.

Like Butler said, “through thought and deed we exert a great amount of influence…”

Dystopian literature sees the atrocity of the world around you and asks you to imagine, through thought and deed, what you will offer, like a hand drawn map crumpled in your cold hand, to the ones that come upon you. 

- Inez Ray

A note from Michael: Inez's debut, Buzzard, comes out in just six months. And the number one way you can help her tell this devastating story of hope is by ordering your copy sooner rather than later. So do me a favor and go grab your copy now. It is available wherever books are sold. And here is a direct link if you don't have a preferred shop already: https://bookshop.org/a/87137/9781967967261