Why so serious? Many dystopias, but few utopias in science fiction (article).

In the fascinating world of science fiction, where spaceships zip through galaxies faster than your morning coffee runs through your system, and robots have more personality than your average reality TV star, we encounter a curious pattern: the streets are often paved with more dystopias than utopias. It’s like a cosmic scale tipped by a giant, invisible hand favoring dark, brooding futures over shiny, happy ones.

Take a stroll through the library of sci-fi, and you’ll notice that for every bright and shiny Star Trek, where everyone gets along and the biggest problem is a sassy computer, there’s a plethora of darker worlds. The Hunger Games, 1984, Blade Runner, The Handmaid’s Tale… the list of dystopias is as long as the line at the DMV, and about as cheerful.

So why do writers and filmmakers seem to have a dystopian fixation, like a teenager with a new, slightly alarming goth phase? Well, creating a dystopia is a bit like cooking a dramatic stew: throw in some oppressive governments, a dash of environmental catastrophe, a pinch of technological terror, and voila – you’ve got a world that’s fascinatingly grim.

Utopias, on the other hand, are like baking a perfect soufflé: it’s tricky, and most attempts fall flat. Crafting a utopia that’s engaging, and not as bland as unsalted crackers, is tough. It’s hard to weave a gripping narrative when everyone is happy, content, and there’s no conflict. Imagine a movie where everyone just sits around, sipping tea, and agreeing with each other. You’d be snoozing before the opening credits ended.

Moreover, dystopias mirror our anxieties and fears. They’re like the monster under the bed of our collective consciousness, representing what we worry our world might become if we forget to recycle, or if we keep letting our smartphones get smarter than us. Utopias, in contrast, are like that overly optimistic friend who thinks a group hug can solve global conflicts.

Interestingly, there’s a bit of a chicken-and-egg situation with dystopias and utopias. Do we lack utopian narratives because we can’t imagine them, or can’t we imagine them because we lack the narratives? It’s a circular conundrum, like trying to decide what to watch on Netflix on a Friday night.

One work that has managed to blend the contrasting colors of utopia and dystopia is Stephen Hunt in The Pashtun Boy’s Paradise. This novel is not just a book; it’s a kaleidoscope through which we view a future so beautifully constructed, it’s as if Hunt had a crystal ball rather than a pen. The story follows Ash, whose journey from his war-torn homeland to a mythical Europe is fraught with dangers that would make even the bravest heart skip a beat. It’s like Ash is playing a real-life, high-stakes game of The Floor Is Lava, except the floor is actually a landscape crawling with hunting machines that have more in common with nightmares than with anything in an electronics store.

But here’s where Hunt really shines. Europe, as depicted in this novel, is a utopia that’s as tempting as a slice of perfect cheesecake. It’s a world where hunger and poverty have gone the way of dial-up internet, where crime is as rare as a polite online comment section, and where everyone can chase their dreams, be they to become a space ballerina or a professional cat cuddler. Yet, Hunt poses a question as profound as it is chilling: when does the clock’s hand tick from utopia to dystopia? The beauty of The Pashtun Boy’s Paradise lies in its ability to show us that paradise and peril are two sides of the same coin, and sometimes they’re spinning so fast, it’s hard to tell which is which.

In general, while science fiction has given us a smorgasbord of dystopian visions, utopias are rarer, and perhaps a bit less relatable. But don’t lose hope. Just like finding a lost sock, maybe one day we’ll stumble upon the perfect formula for a captivating utopia. Until then, we’ll keep tuning in to the dark, twisted worlds that remind us to appreciate the not-so-dystopian aspects of our own reality. And who knows, maybe the future is a bit brighter than our sci-fi stories suggest – or at least, let’s hope it has fewer killer robots.