Writing Climate Change (38)
The Fight for the Climate – A Brief History of Climate Fiction
This is part of a series on writing climate change for fiction.
Lately we’ve been looking at the political struggle over the future of climate change. Mass protests. Political maneuvering. Propaganda. It’s a messy conflict getting ever bigger and more extreme. If you so much as think about climate change, then you’re throwing yourself into the middle of this stuff. If you write about climate change then you are very much throwing yourself into the fray.
Where do artists fit? What role do they play? If you create a film, or a game, or a novel about climate change, what exactly are you doing?
Here we’ll look at the story of culture in the climate fight. I’ll focus on fiction (so called “cli-fi”) for the sake of simplicity and tractability, and because many of you reading are published or aspiring (just remember, cultural works can include everything from Al Gore making documentaries to teenagers shitposting memes). Some of you are going to be much more knowledgeable about the literature here than I am. Our task is less to understand each specific book, and more to think about those books in the context of the vast political struggles we’ve just looked at. What role does writing actually play?
This history has the same four phases as for climate activism and obstruction. Once again, this is story of increasing scale and urgency. But before we get into the history we need to figure out what cultural work even does.
What Does Cultural Work Do?
Some people tend to approach climate fiction with assumptions that are over-simplified, or just wrong. When applied, this outlook produces works which are far less effective than they could be. According to these common assumptions, climate fiction exists to:
raise awareness
communicate the science
change opinions
get people to care through empathy and/or fear
These assumptions come from a mix of the PAIN and Information Deficit models of change. Go back and look at the sections on psychology to figure out why this doesn’t work very well.
So, if cultural works don’t exist to raise awareness or change opinions, what are they doing?
Climate change requires the creation of a climate-friendly culture. Average people don’t even need to know or care about climate change for that to happen. They just need to think and behave the right way. To use a silly example: if 90% of the world suddenly wanted to pursue Medieval visions of holiness, and became celibate ascetic monks, then that would be great for the climate, without anyone doing this because of climate change. It’s about culture, not information or mere emotions.
Therefore, we need to know what culture is. Here’s a basic textbook anthropology definition:
Culture is a set of patterns of behaviour and meaning, shared across generations, transmitted via mediums such as art, law, religion, etc. Culture is shared, learned, symbolic, value-laden, integrated into a whole, adapts people to their world, and is constantly changing.
Cultural works are deliberate additions to culture. You are using a symbolic medium to share a pattern of meaning or behaviour. Your aim is for this pattern to be learned by a group. This goes far beyond opinions, information, or basic emotions. Culture tells people what the world means and how to live in it. Why are we here? Where are we going? What is good and bad? Who am I?
Now we bring in the politics. Previously we saw how oil company propaganda spent a century working in a link between oil and the good life. Their aim was to create a culture where average people wanted to live in an oil-man’s dream world. This is cultural work aimed at shaping the economic and power structure of society. We live in an oil-culture. If one group achieves dominance doing this, we might say they have a cultural hegemony.
Before anyone ever joins a protest, or goes vegan, or buys solar panels, or whatever, they first have to gain a new mindset. They first have to shake off the influence of the cultural hegemon. Climate-culture works to break that oil hegemony (or at least it could). What is at stake is the narrative structure that maintains our material reality.
Let’s take the cliché apocalyptic climate novel again. Everything is bad. We all die. The End. What cultural work does this story actually do? Possibly nothing at all. It largely replicates well established cultural patterns (as a “nostalgia for the present” as some might say).
In contrast, let’s take a Solarpunk utopia. Here we get a tea-monk living in a solar-powered hemp zeppelin having a polyamorous relationship with a sentient mushroom. Is this a mess? Yes. But! Potentially they are doing actual cultural work – laying down new patterns, new values, new behaviours, new meanings.
This is not about plot or genre. An apocalypse can do cultural work. A Solarpunk utopia can reinforce the status quo (and some of them do). The question is: are you merely replicating the hegemonic cultural patterns, or are you changing them? That is the role of cultural work. That is how you change the world with art.
And yes, art can and should be more than just a political tool. But these are times we live in. All art shapes culture. To make art during a volatile period of history necessarily means engaging with the struggles of your era.
Now let’s look at the history of cli-fi. I’m going to use a bunch of examples to give you a feel. These are somewhat random, and I haven’t read them all (my plot summaries might be unfair to some!). This is just to get the vibe - because there is definitely a vibe that shifts over time. Try to think about the activism and propaganda that was going on at the same time. Who influenced who, and how?
PHASE ZERO
Before the 1980s people did create works exploring a human changed climate, but without them necessarily being about climate change (much like HG Wells could imagine nuclear bombs, without writing about Hiroshima specifically). We also got many progressive and environmental works, some of which continue to have resonance. We also have many longstanding tropes from cyberpunk, nuclear apocalypse, and literary fiction which will later get reapplied (often uncritically) to climate issues. This is the literary well from which future writers would be drawing on when they met climate change.
Examples:
The Drowned World, by JG Ballard, 1962. Solar storms lead to climate apocalypse in the 22nd century. Earth becomes a jungle planet. The seas rise. Humanity retreats to the polar regions. Scientists explore the drowned ruins of London.
The Dispossessed, by Ursula K Le Guin, 1974. Anarchist utopian science fiction. Two worlds exist side by side in contrast. One is an anarchist world, scraping by on a desolate planet. The other resembles Earth during the Cold War. We explore the contrast through the eyes of a scientist.
Soylent Green, directed by Richard Fleischer, 1973. Malthusianism has had a huge influence on environmental thought, so concerns with population are a recurring theme everywhere. Few do it as bluntly as Soylent Green. The biosphere is collapsing. Overpopulation is so extreme we scoop people up with garbage trucks for processing into food. Soylent Green is people!
PHASE ONE
Climate change hit public awareness in the 1980s. We got a number of works where climate features, usually as one issue among others. Climate is typically for the distant future, often portrayed inaccurately. Stories are often apocalyptic or dystopian, and almost always science fiction. Corporate hell and scientists feature centrally. This phase established themes which persist up to today.
Examples
The Parable of the Sower, 1993, by Octavia Butler. In the year 2024, inequality and climate apocalypse leads to social breakdown. The USA becomes an authoritarian corporate dystopia of violence and chaos. A black teenager seeks escape, and founds a religion.
Waterworld, 1995, directed by Kevin Reynolds. In the distant future, the ice caps have melted, drowning the world under 7km of water (about 100 times higher than is physically possible). Mad Max in boats.
A Friend of the Earth, by TC Boyle, 2000. A tragic satire. In 2025 climate apocalypse has arrived. The biosphere has collapsed. Our consumerist hell society is unravelling. Eco-sabotage failed to save the world. What can you do, huh?
Oryx and Crake, by Margaret Atwood, 2003. Post-apocalypse in the ruins of corporate dystopia where bio-engineering and climate change destroyed the world. A Malthusian scientist annihilates humanity.
The Day After Tomorrow, 2004, directed by Roland Emmerich. A scientist warns the world. The apocalypse happens. Everyone freezes to death in a new Ice Age.
State of Fear, by Michael Crichton, 2004. A techno-thriller filled with climate denial misinformation. Murderous eco-terrorists create disasters to push the Global Warming agenda.
Forty Signs of Rain, by Kim Stanley Robinson, 2004. Stan begins his quest to put all of climate change in one novel. Scientists in Washington DC have frustrating experiences with politics. Climate disasters strike! Will the politicians act now? Yes? (No. The answer is no.)
PHASE TWO
Seeing as the first phase of apocalyptic despair didn’t work, more is applied. Beatings will continue until morale improves. The humor and wink-wink style of apocalyptic optimism gives way for some, while enduring for others. The info-dumps and preaching continue. Climate apocalypse is drawn closer to the present. Old titles have their book covers updated to be more terrifying. The science gets more accurate (relative to Waterworld).
As climate awareness grows the genre diversifies (mass protests are beginning in this phase). A greater spread of perspectives appears, but much of it remains trapped within clichés. Literary writers join the sci-fi nerds, bringing with them literary fixations on angst ridden families and adultery. “Cli-fi” becomes a genre.
Examples
An Inconvenient Truth, directed by Davis Guggenheim, 2006. Based on a presentation Al Gore had been giving for years. A mix of documentary and lecture, laying out the basic science. Significantly raised public awareness.
The Great Global Warming Swindle, directed by Martin Durkin, 2007. A climate misinformation film. The usual propaganda lines. Got an airing by leveraging the “tell both sides” tactic.
The Carbon Diaries: 2015, Saci Lloyd, 2008. Young adult fiction. A year in the life of a London teenager. Climate disasters lead the UK to institute carbon rationing. Consumption must be restricted. Teen angst and family chaos ensue.
Dark Mountain project, 2009. Founded by Paul Kingsnorth and Dougald Hine to bring together writers and thinkers who believe the world is doomed. Civilisation will collapse. They write a manifesto and demand art to change.
The Windup Girl, by Paolo Bacigalupi, 2009. Thailand in the 23rd Century. Climate change has transformed the world. Megacorporations rule a dystopian world. Corporate espionage and thrills ensue.
Solar, by Ian McEwan, 2010. The life of a jaded Nobel-prize winning physicist. Personal ambition, marital problems, and middle-age decline intersects with solar technology.
Flight Behaviour, by Barbara Kingsolver, 2012. An unhappy Appalachian housewife finds monarch butterflies where they shouldn’t be. Is it God? Climate change? A business opportunity? A wake up call?
Beasts of the Southern Wild, directed by Benh Zeitlin, 2012. A messy celebration of a small community in the Louisiana bayou, as it goes underwater. A touch of magic is added.
Odds Against Tomorrow, Nathaniel Rich, 2013. Corporate insurance tries to profit from disaster. New York is destroyed in a hurricane. Maybe Thoreau had the right idea after all?
The Water Knife, by Paolo Bacigalupi, 2015. In a dystopian American South West, corporations fight over water. Corporate goons enforce their rule in a cutthroat world where civilisation is fracturing.
PHASE THREE
Climate change has arrived! The future is now! Suggestions are made that both the apocalyptic sci-fi nerds and the angsty literary artistes don’t know what they are doing. This isn’t working guys! Both sides continue to do what they were doing. Some people try a new approach. Literary and sci-fi writing continues to merge.
Apocalypse turns from warning to mourning. We get introspective and sad. Others reach for inspiration, solutions, and hope. People become more conscious of what climate communication actually requires. Depictions of climate change get more sophisticated (relative to Waterworld), but much cliché and nonsense remains. Some people start getting overtly political - writing is activism.
The subject continues to grow and spread. A market exists for cli-fi. You can now study cli-fi academically, and openly ponder, “Will cli-fi save the world by raising awareness and changing people’s opinions?” (No. The answer is no.) Certain cli-fi books now feature prominently in climate change discussions, notably Ministry for the Future. Climate change is mainstream, and people are losing their goddamn minds.
Examples
Solarpunk, the genre and/or movement. The basic idea started in Phase Two, but took a while to gain momentum. By 2019 Solarpunk had a manifesto, blogs, video channels, and more. Solarpunk brings the various strands of environmental and social activism into the world of art and literature. No more dystopia! Let’s get stuff done. What exactly Solarpunk (and hope/lunar/tidal/[insert latest buzzword here]-punk) actually is remains open for debate.
Writers Rebel, Extinction Rebellion. Writers weren’t just putting their opinions on the page. They were getting involved as activists.
The Great Derangement: Climate Change and the Unthinkable, 2016, Amitav Ghosh. This literary writer explores why literary fiction has struggled with climate change. He follows it up with Gun Island in 2019, were he ditches literary conventions for tales of wonder.
Walkaway, by Cory Doctorow, 2017. A Free and opensource software tech-dude’s anarchist activist post-scarcity post-apocalyptic commune utopia, fighting The Man. The revolution is coming!
Borne, by Jeff Vandermeer, 2017. A weird world of biotech and climate apocalypse. We live huddled in the ruins, ruled over by a giant flying bear.
The Overstory, Richard Powers, 2018. Pulitzer Prize winner. A sprawling literary exploration of the life of trees and people, and what we might do to protect them and us, for good or ill.
Climate Change – The Facts, directed by Serena Davies, 2019. The most trusted voice in nature entertainment, Sir David Attenborough, gives us the facts. The days of “telling both sides” are dying.
Migrations, Charlotte McConaghy, 2020. All wildlife on Earth has died. We are very sad. So sad, and lonely, and confused.
Ministry for the Future, by Kim Stanley Robinson, 2020. Finally! All of climate change in one novel. A kaleidoscopic near-future look at how the world might plausibly succeed. Stan is now officially in charge of climate change (along with Greta and Al Gore).
Don’t Look Up, directed by Adam McKay, 2021. A satire of the American political and media establishment’s inability to deal with crisis, told through the metaphor of a planet killing asteroid.
A Psalm for the Wild-Built, by Becky Chambers, 2021. Solarpunk finds success with a twee and cosy tale on a planet far far away. All is pleasant. Like Thoreau at Walden Pond, we journey into nature to find our soul.
Grist, Imagine 2200: Climate Fiction for Future Ancestors, started 2021. The competition elevated the world of solution-focused environmental short stories. Hopeful punks doing their thing.
How To Blow Up A Pipeline, directed by Daniel Goldhaber, 2022. Inspired by Andreas Malm’s work calling for sabotage. A slick thriller, which at times feels like a recruiting film for a cause.
The Deluge, Stephen Markley, 2023. Even more all of climate change in one novel. A large cast covers the spectrum of opinions as a near future America slides into chaos.
Birnam Wood, Eleanor Catton, 2023. Young activists and a tech-billionaire get entangled in a mix of satire, thriller, and Shakespearean tragedy.
Extrapolations, directed by Scott Z. Burns, 2023. Proof that a large budget and star studded cast is no guarantee of having much to say. Liberal America slides into climate disaster and tech dystopia, until we punish the bad billionaire and everything is ok.
Juice, by Tim Winton, 2024. Epic literary apocalypse, now in Australia. Everything is terrible. Barbarism in the wasteland. Megacorporations. The usual.
PHASE FOUR?
The politics is now shifting, and the cultural work is likely to follow. Climate obstruction is hitting a point of blatant aggression. Climate activism is asking if it needs overthrow the entire world order. Climate fiction has been grappling with its own failures, while also growing more sophisticated over time. Where does this end up?
Here’s some possibilities:
Growing activism and political sophistication. It took about twenty years for the average writer to understand basic climate science (relative to Waterworld). We are now in the process of learning basic politics. In another twenty years the average writer may finally understand the political role of fiction (relative to Waterworld). If we do end up in a world were the average writer is a political writer, things could get fairly wild. That’s an explosive situation.
Dystopians will have to grapple with actually living in dystopia. The future is now. We started with warning. That failed. We’ve moved to mourning. That also doesn’t stop anything. What are you going to do next? (My guess, we might see a new wave of spiritual works. The apocalypse was always a religious narrative. Who knows?)
Optimists will have to grapple with actually getting people to implement their optimism. It’s one thing to imagine a world of monks in solar zeppelins, it’s rather another to ask, “How do we get there from here?” What will they do? How will they deal with the fact that maybe you can’t get there from here? This will likely feed back into the growing politicization.
Someone will make another Waterworld. Because no one learns. Every new writer approaches the subject fresh, with a head full of ideas from the surrounding culture. I’m constantly seeing people who don’t understand the basics. Bad tropes, misinformation, and cliché apocalypse will be around for a long time.
Increasing diversification and normalisation. Climate change could slip into the background as it becomes just another feature of life, along with AIDS and nuclear war and whatever today’s genocide happens to be. Climate change will become the setting of all works by default. This may sound boring, but it will in fact be ground zero for any propaganda war. This is where the culture’s default understandings of climate change will live.
CONCLUSION
Can climate fiction save the world? Yes, if you understand its role and how to do it effectively. Climate fiction varies in quality enormously. Your task is to create good quality work. Your task includes the following:
Know The Basics
Get your basic facts right (refer to the section on world building). Deal with your emotions, or you’ll end up trapped in naive optimism or naive despair (or both). Escape from cliché (refer to the section on literary forms). Those are the places people seem to go wrong most often.
In future I may confront us with, “What is the question anyway?” Few people seem to be aware that not only do they lack an answer, they lack the right question - but that’s a challenge for another time.
Clarify Your Goals
Are you here to make a difference? Are you here to do Art for Art’s sake? Are you here to get famous, make money, win awards, make friends, indulge a hobby? Why are you here? Each goal requires different techniques. Many authors seem to have their motives mixed. They damage their own work, achieving neither artistic greatness nor cultural influence.
You can balance multiple aims, but it requires awareness of your aims. In future we’ll continue looking at how to do effective writing, without compromising on artistic value. It can be done. Everyone from Voltaire to George Orwell done this.
Bring Yourself Up To Date
Past climate fiction tends to be a bad source for understanding climate change. What it often contains are commonplace failings which lead us to the world we now live in. A few books are great. Many are not. Therefore you need to be very careful about getting your ideas from past climate fiction. If you write like it’s 1995 then you’ll have nothing worth saying.
Consider which works have most influenced you. Are they actually the best examples to learn from? What might be better? You’ll be living in Phase Four+. Life could get interesting, but not in the ways Waterworld predicted.
Be Aware of the Timescales Involved
Did you get into writing climate fiction because you “want to make a difference”? Are you hoping that “difference” will happen in the next few years? You might need to think again.
It took ten to twenty years of apocalyptic messaging before a large scale apocalyptic social movement arose (Extinction Rebellion – apocalypse is in the name). And that’s assuming the messaging was leading a trend rather than simply following one. Leaving aside cli-fi, for the influential fiction I’ve looked at so far, anything from ten to forty years is a reasonable time frame between cause and effect. Cultural work is long-term work. The effects are a generational cultural wave.
Those visible results also come from far more than just cultural work alone. You are one small part of a very big story. Cultural work takes so long because it is the very first step, in a very long chain of possible events.
In Summary:
Cultural creators have been struggling with climate change for forty years. They’ve brought with them all the habits gained from the past. They’ve slowly learned that a lot of that stuff doesn’t work. They’ve slowly come to a realization of the world fast coming down upon them. Everyone has been bashing their way through the wilderness with some fairly mixed results. Your task is to leap-frog the lot of them, and launch yourself into the future. We’ll know if you succeeded or failed in about forty years time.
Next time we’ll try to zoom out and try to think about the entire globe.
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