Yesterday, I wrote about vampire fiction (and by extension, zombie fiction, which would also suit this topic), and it got me thinking.
For all the hand-wringing over not wanting vampire fiction or zombie fiction, why not a ban on dystopias?
I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love a good dystopia. Half the genres I love and half the authors I read wouldn’t have caught my attention without the end of the world either being nigh or already having happened.
A huge majority of my favourite novels occur in a dystopian future (or a utopian one secretly gone horribly awry).
But I almost never see anyone saying, Goddamnit, enough!
No one is all that upset by the idea that writing about the end of the world or some descent into a hellscape of oppression or violence is so prevalent.
It’s almost desired.
Part of me wonders if this is a wish fulfillment thing. Like we’re plotting our destiny as a species like some kind of demented and masochistic choose-your-own-apocalypse meme.
Part of me wonders if our obsession with losing everything, with death itself, isn’t the subconscious driver. Are we so afraid of losing it all that we can’t help but obsess over what that might look like?
Do we wish society to collapse because we’re dissatisfied with the status quo? Like, enjoy living in a post-apocalyptic wasteland, assholes, because fuck Trump?
I guess that works.
It’s just interesting. I suppose there’s more variety in dystopia than a particular genre of monster fiction.
Keep it coming, I guess.
Just make sure that’s not what you’re working toward in the real world. It makes for great social commentary and exciting mental exercises, but no one actually wants to live that way in the real world.
Unless, of course, they support Trump. Maybe we can set a piece of land up for them where they can live Mad Max style all on their ownsome.