Speculative fiction

I closed the pages of Briohny Doyle’s Echolalia with a sigh of satisfaction at its beautiful construction and timeliness. The…

‘We are deeply affected by the stories we tell and those we are told. Stories seep into us and shape our actions. The future is not fixed, and if we want to have a hand in shaping it we need to imagine our way into it. What we write matters.’

The Animals in that Country was published in March 2020. It might be tempting to see the timing of publication as serendipitous, or portentous, depending on your perspective. A novel about a ‘zoanthropathic’ super-flu precipitating wholesale social breakdown, published in the panicked first months of a zooanotic global pandemic. But Laura McKay’s novel, despite its timeliness, is not so intimately tied to the current moment – its vision is broader, and far more interesting. In this particular apocalypse, the foundational threat to human social structures is the emergence of unprecedented insight into the non-human world.

A good writer will stay curious, exploratory, immersed in a creative space that is ever redefining itself. A good reader will find affection in deviants, to the wonderment of speculative fiction that offers liberation from the pedantic approach: Is it science fiction? Or fantasy? Or horror?

James Bradley has been one of our country’s most outspoken and prolific commentators on the climate crisis, and his warnings about the environmental devastation that is already locked into the future have started to bite in ways that can no longer be ignored. Now, with coronavirus so quickly following the bushfires, we recognise even more clearly the state of constant, underlying dread portrayed in this novel, with its ‘sense of hastening, a dislocation deep in the fabric of things’.

Climate change, migration, activism, terrorism: for people living in a small country at the bottom of the world, what does hope for the future look like in the teeth of that gale?

Both Schalk and Rusert forge conversations between fields that are rarely in explicit communication.

þu eart endelaf    usses cynnes,Wægmundinga.    Ealle wyrd forsweopmine magas    to metodsceafte,eorlas on elne;    ic him æfter sceal. (‘Thou art the…

Scarcely a week now goes by without a new fiction on the theme of climate change. Such works have been termed cli-fi, a truly appalling neologism. To write a full survey of the field is outside the scope of a single essay. Indeed, even to consider in depth the recent Australian examples alone, such as James Bradley’s 2015 Clade, or Jane Rawson’s 2013 A Wrong Turn at the Office of Unmade Lists, this essay would need to be book-length. Rather I want to concentrate on The Sea and Summer and Turner himself, for the two are inextricable: the man grounded his writing in his life, even when depicting the future.

Two new works of Australian speculative fiction were on my mind when 2016 was declared the hottest year on record,…