This is a global portal for all novels and movies about climate change and "The Virus," with news links and opeds from blogs to videos to Wikipedia to Twitter to news links and Facebook Groups. See this portal, the only such cli-fi sci-fi portal on the internet. MEDIA inquiries are okay at this point in time, and personal comments may be sent to the editor at danbloom ATMARK gmail DOT com
Japanese jazz pianist Tadataka Unno, 40, was assaulted by 8 Black teens in NYC
While no major newspapers in either the USA or Japan printed the information that Mr Unno was assaulted by a gang of Black teens in Manhattan at a subway station, the truth is that his 8 assailants were Black teenagers, most male, a few female. The New York Times was afraid to print the truth, even though its editors knew the truth. What's wrong with newspapers today?
According to Anna Mutoh, a student at the Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism who found out the truth by speaking with Unno herself in a telephone interview she conducted, Unno was about to take a subway train home to his wife and infant son in Harlem after a long day in a recording studio. But as he walked through the gate, a group of 8 Black teenagers blocked his exit. As this blog post goes to print, nobody has been arrested so far, even though police TV cameras in the subway station captured the teens' actions and faces. Unno grew up in Japan with an intererst in jazz, and came to the United States in 2008 with his Japanese wife to pursue his dream as a jazz pianist. Unno and his wife now have to decide if they if they want to stay in New York and raise their four-month-old infant son there. Unno told Mutoh in the phone interview that his attackers were Black, a key piece of information the New York Times withheld from the public. Why would New York Times editors do such a thing? This is the truth that America does not want to hear. Go figure.
Der vår klimafiksjon bærer preg av melankoli, har de afrikanske tekstene en sint og seig energi
===============
Is it written cli-fi on the African continent?
The relationship between man and nature can be said to be a fixture in all of African speculative literature, especially magical realism.
Robson's text is exciting because it looks both forward and backward. It is reminiscent of geographical segregation under apartheid, under The Natives Act in the countryside and certain areas such as Soweto in Johannesburg or District 6 in Capetown, where people were crammed into barren land or far too little space. At the same time, she looks ahead; a warning about what the climate crisis can do to democracy, that it can create an endless state of emergency that gives those with power permission to tighten. The text says: "remember what happened the last time the few had power in South Africa and acted" for the common good "". This also seems relevant now, during the Covid 19 crisis. In Nariobi, it is reported that so far more people have died from police violence for breaking the quarantine than from the actual disease.
Traditionally, African sci-fi has also been concerned with colonization and power imbalance, perhaps not surprisingly (read, for example, "Why Sci-Fi Keeps Imagining the Subjugation of White People", The Atlantic 2014). Even in cli-fi, climate change is quickly linked to power imbalances, inequalities and injustice. The more general ideas of 'climate justice' may also have found their way into the literature.
Okorafors Who fears death (2010) is set in a post-apocalyptic Africa where magic and high technology mix seamlessly. The title character Onyesonwu, whose name means "Who Fears Death", grows into her own magical powers in a wiped out world, as she tries to figure out the forces that are trying to destroy her. It's dark, but it's also about toughness and resilience.
Where our climate fiction can be said to be marked by melancholy, the African texts more often carry a different energy. They are indignant about injustice, and are at the same time a celebration of "African toughness". In these, it is impossible to separate the climate crisis from abuse of power, capitalist greed and (technological) inequality, the source of most of Africa's problems in the first place.
Locally produced cli-fi has an extra important role for the African continent. Novels and films about climate can inspire Africans to envision the future with renewed vigor, and perhaps alleviate some of the feeling of powerlessness.
But the genre deserves more attention in the rest of the world as well. Not as a poor cousin of Anglo-American climate fiction, but in its own right, and as a new angle to look at the climate crisis from. Since those with the least should suffer the most, it is perhaps this angle we should be most aware of.
Maybe there's something in it. The award-winning Sundance film Pumzi, takes place in the Maitu community in the East African territory thirty-five years after World War III - the Water War. Director Wanuri Kahiu has commented that the film was partly inspired by her irritation over the price of bottled water in Kenya. Water shortages are already a major problem in Kenya, where only 58 percent have access to clean drinking water.
When Maja Lunde or Kingsolver write about bees or butterflies, I read to a greater extent the sub-text as a melancholy warning, that we must be careful. The African cli-fi is more about a scary reality that is already here (put at the forefront), and inspiration for what is required to deal with it.
Water shortages are already a major problem in Kenya, where only 58 percent have access to clean drinking water.
Something exciting about South African climate fiction is that several authors draw a line between climate change and life during apartheid. Jenny Robson from South Africa has written a world where "Homosaps" live in reserves so that the continent's fauna and flora can recover from the anthropogenic eco-disaster. The main character, the teenager Savannah, has a gene boyfriend - people who are genetically engineered so that their organs, when they turn 18, can be harvested for endangered animal species.
To say something about African climate fiction, one must first say something about the rich tradition of which it is a part - African speculative fiction. In the pre-war period, the English texts that I have managed to find were written by white South Africans. They are mostly about what in the world was going to happen if apartheid were ever to end. After independence, from 1960 onwards, there are plenty of what can be called postcolonial sci-fi, such as Buchi Emecheta's The Rape of Shavi (1983) or Kojo Laing's Woman of the Airplanes (1988, Ghana). In recent times, it is mostly produced in Nigeria and South Africa, and the flows between African America and Africa are so dense and flowing so fast that it is difficult to get an overview of where something originated or who influenced what.
Afro-futurism has undoubtedly influenced science fiction on the African continent and vice versa, also through the diaspora and multicultural writers. This current connects tradition and spirituality that has emerged on the continent with modern and futuristic technologies and lifestyles, and must be said to be political.
It elevates a vision of the upright, independent black man, rooted in a rebuilt past (a past that for many African Americans disappeared in the waves across the Atlantic) that confidently enters a golden future.
More famous voices such as Doris Lessing, Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o and Ben Okri have also visited the sci-fi genre. Kenyan Thiong'o released Wizard of the Crows in 2006, which deals with corruption in the fantasy land of Abruria
Where our climate fiction ''cli-fi'' is marked by melancholy, the African texts have an angry and tenacious energy.=================
Climate anxiety creates a need. A need to process what is happening now, and what we fear will happen in the future. Science fiction is therefore an exciting genre, because it allows us to explore spooky and possible futures in safe laboratory-like surroundings. Therefore, it is not surprising that a new sub-genre in science fiction has emerged. We're talking about "cli-fi" - climate fiction.
Texts that can be called cli-fi have been written since the 19th century at least, but their popularity has increased sharply in our time. An important reason may be that climate fiction can analyze technical concepts through accessible language and captivating stories, which makes it easier for the public to participate in contemporary "technical" climate discourse. Today, the genre has been made mainstream by big international names such as Margaret Atwood, Ian McEwan and Barbara Kingsolver.
In Norway, there are also several who have been to the sub-genre. For example, Maja Lunde writes about China in the year 2098 (The history of bees), a world where bees have disappeared and one of the main characters, Tao, works to pollinate plants by hand.
It is no secret that those who will suffer the most from climate change are those who already have the least, both now and in the future. Is it written cli-fi on the African continent? If so, does the imagined future look different to these creators than to European and American ones?
==================
krives det cli-fi på det afrikanske kontinentet?
Der vår klimafiksjon bærer preg av melankoli, har de afrikanske tekstene en sint og seig energi
S
===============
Where our climate fiction ''cli-fi'' is marked by melancholy, the African texts have an angry and tenacious energy.=================
Climate anxiety creates a need. A need to process what is happening now, and what we fear will happen in the future. Science fiction is therefore an exciting genre, because it allows us to explore spooky and possible futures in safe laboratory-like surroundings. Therefore, it is not surprising that a new sub-genre in science fiction has emerged. We're talking about "cli-fi" - climate fiction.
Texts that can be called cli-fi have been written since the 19th century at least, but their popularity has increased sharply in our time. An important reason may be that climate fiction can analyze technical concepts through accessible language and captivating stories, which makes it easier for the public to participate in contemporary "technical" climate discourse. Today, the genre has been made mainstream by big international names such as Margaret Atwood, Ian McEwan and Barbara Kingsolver.
In Norway, there are also several who have been to the sub-genre. For example, Maja Lunde writes about China in the year 2098 (The history of bees), a world where bees have disappeared and one of the main characters, Tao, works to pollinate plants by hand.
It is no secret that those who will suffer the most from climate change are those who already have the least, both now and in the future. Is it written cli-fi on the African continent? If so, does the imagined future look different to these creators than to European and American ones?
==================
Skrives det cli-fi på det afrikanske kontinentet?
For å si noe om afrikansk klimafiksjon må man først si noe om den rike tradisjonen den er en del av - afrikansk spekulativ skjønnlitteratur. I førkrigstiden var de engelske tekstene som jeg har klart å oppdrive skrevet av hvite sør-afrikanere. De handler for det meste om hva i all verden som kom til å skje om apartheid noensinne skulle ta slutt. Etter uavhengigheten, fra 1960 av, kommer det masse av det som kan kalles postkolonial sci-fi, som Buchi Emecheta’s The rape of Shavi (1983) eller Kojo Laing sin Woman of the aeroplanes (1988, Ghana). I nyere tid produseres det mest i Nigeria og Sør Afrika, og strømningene mellom afro-amerika og Afrika er så tette og flyter så fort at det er vanskelig å få oversikt over hvor noe oppsto eller hvem som påvirket hva.
Afrofuturisme har uten tvil påvirket science fiction på det afrikanske kontinentet og omvendt, også gjennom diasporaen og flerkulturelle forfattere. Denne strømningen kobler tradisjon og spiritualitet som har oppstått på kontinentet med moderne og futuristiske teknologier og livsstiler, og må sies å være politisk.
Den løfter frem en visjon om det oppreiste, selvstendige svarte mennesket, rotfestet i en gjenoppbygd fortid (en fortid som for mange afro-amerikanere forsvant i bølgene over Atlanteren) som med selvsikkerhet går inn i en gyllen framtid.
Mer kjente stemmer som Doris Lessing, Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o og Ben Okri har også vært innom sci-fi sjangeren. Kenyanske Thiong'o slapp Wizard of the Crows i 2006, som tar for seg korrupsjon i fantasilandet Abruria.
I en del av boka følger vi en minister som i et politisk spill setter i gang å bygge verdens høyeste bygning. Så høy faktisk, at Abruria må utvikle et romprogram for å få presidenten, i rakett, opp til hans penthouse-leilighet.
De fleste av tekstene jeg har lest om ser ut til å ha en ting til felles, og her er kanskje en forskjell mellom den afrikanske og anglo-amerikanske tradisjonen: Der europeisk sci-fi ofte har et fabel-aktig budskap er de afrikanske tekstene mer opptatt av å bruke genren som et verktøy for å få ny innsikt i noe konkret som allerede foregår (korrupsjon, arbeidsløshet, kolonitidens etterlatenskaper, den arabiske våren). Dette gjelder også for klimafiksjon.
Forholdet mellom menneske og natur kan nesten sies å være fast inventar i alt av afrikansk spekulativ litteratur, spesielt magisk realisme. De tekstene som går mer konkret på klimaendringene behandler dem, mener jeg, som «enda en utfordring» mer enn «den Store Fare» som er tendensen i Europa. Det er ikke så rart egentlig. I et intervju hevder den nigeriansk-amerikanske sci-fi forfatteren Tochi Onyebuchi at konseptet dystopi vanligvis rammes rundt hvite erfaringer, nettopp fordi «dystopia allerede er virkeligheten til svarte».
For å si noe om afrikansk klimafiksjon må man først si noe om den rike tradisjonen den er en del av - afrikansk spekulativ skjønnlitteratur. I førkrigstiden var de engelske tekstene som jeg har klart å oppdrive skrevet av hvite sør-afrikanere. De handler for det meste om hva i all verden som kom til å skje om apartheid noensinne skulle ta slutt. Etter uavhengigheten, fra 1960 av, kommer det masse av det som kan kalles postkolonial sci-fi, som Buchi Emecheta’s The rape of Shavi (1983) eller Kojo Laing sin Woman of the aeroplanes (1988, Ghana). I nyere tid produseres det mest i Nigeria og Sør Afrika, og strømningene mellom afro-amerika og Afrika er så tette og flyter så fort at det er vanskelig å få oversikt over hvor noe oppsto eller hvem som påvirket hva.
Afrofuturisme har uten tvil påvirket science fiction på det afrikanske kontinentet og omvendt, også gjennom diasporaen og flerkulturelle forfattere. Denne strømningen kobler tradisjon og spiritualitet som har oppstått på kontinentet med moderne og futuristiske teknologier og livsstiler, og må sies å være politisk.
Den løfter frem en visjon om det oppreiste, selvstendige svarte mennesket, rotfestet i en gjenoppbygd fortid (en fortid som for mange afro-amerikanere forsvant i bølgene over Atlanteren) som med selvsikkerhet går inn i en gyllen framtid.
Mer kjente stemmer som Doris Lessing, Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o og Ben Okri har også vært innom sci-fi sjangeren. Kenyanske Thiong'o slapp Wizard of the Crows i 2006, som tar for seg korrupsjon i fantasilandet Abruria.
I en del av boka følger vi en minister som i et politisk spill setter i gang å bygge verdens høyeste bygning. Så høy faktisk, at Abruria må utvikle et romprogram for å få presidenten, i rakett, opp til hans penthouse-leilighet.
De fleste av tekstene jeg har lest om ser ut til å ha en ting til felles, og her er kanskje en forskjell mellom den afrikanske og anglo-amerikanske tradisjonen: Der europeisk sci-fi ofte har et fabel-aktig budskap er de afrikanske tekstene mer opptatt av å bruke genren som et verktøy for å få ny innsikt i noe konkret som allerede foregår (korrupsjon, arbeidsløshet, kolonitidens etterlatenskaper, den arabiske våren). Dette gjelder også for klimafiksjon.
Forholdet mellom menneske og natur kan nesten sies å være fast inventar i alt av afrikansk spekulativ litteratur, spesielt magisk realisme. De tekstene som går mer konkret på klimaendringene behandler dem, mener jeg, som «enda en utfordring» mer enn «den Store Fare» som er tendensen i Europa. Det er ikke så rart egentlig. I et intervju hevder den nigeriansk-amerikanske sci-fi forfatteren Tochi Onyebuchi at konseptet dystopi vanligvis rammes rundt hvite erfaringer, nettopp fordi «dystopia allerede er virkeligheten til svarte».
Forholdet mellom menneske og natur kan sies å være fast inventar i alt av afrikansk spekulativ litteratur, spesielt magisk realisme.
Det er kanskje noe i det. Den prisvinnende Sundance-filmen Pumzi, finner sted i Maitu-samfunnet i det østafrikanske territoriet tretti-fem år etter tredje verdenskrig — Vannkrigen. Regissøren Wanuri Kahiu har kommentert at filmen delvis var inspirert av hennes irritasjon over prisen på flaskevann i Kenya. Vann-mangel er allerede et stort problem i Kenya, hvor kun 58 prosent har tilgang til rent drikkevann.
Når Maja Lunde eller Kingsolver skriver om bier eller sommerfugler så leser jeg i større grad sub-teksten som en melankolsk advarsel, at vi må passe oss. I den afrikanske cli-fien handler det mer om en skummel virkelighet som allerede er her (satt på spissen), og inspirasjon til det som kreves for å håndtere den.
Vann-mangel er allerede et stort problem i Kenya, hvor kun 58 prosent har tilgang til rent drikkevann.
California author tackles climate change in new multimedia serial novel
https://cli-fi-books.blogspot.com/2020/09/california-author-tackles-climate.html
by staff writer
When the Larsen B Ice Shelf broke up in 2002, NASA’s satellite imagery showing the 35-day
disintegration of 1,255 square miles of ice did more than just knock the wind out of Dan
Linehan, the author of the new multimedia serial novel ''The Princess of the Bottom of the World.''
(https://youtu.be/w3TYh6IG5dY) and its integrated Multimedia Traveling Companion
(https://www.dslinehan.com/princess).
This catastrophic gut punch made the severity of climate change crystal clear to Linehan,
leading him on a path to Antarctica and to other unbelievable adventures.
In 2006, he scheduled an expedition to Antarctica and the surrounding regions set to last
for 37 days so that he could study and write nonfiction about climate change and other severe
environmental issues. Instead, his journey lasted 63 days.
He hiked a glacier-covered mountain in Antarctica behind his shirtless expedition leader,
watched penguin chicks pant from the excessive heat, encountered seals being strangled by
plastic pollution, investigated a cruise ship accident in Antarctica’s Deception Island where the
oil spill was covered up, weathered a deadly and devastating storm in Argentina (one of those
100-year or 500-year severe weather storms that now seem to happen multiple times every year),
and more.
His experiences got him recognized by Participant Media, the filmmakers of the documentary ''An
Inconvenient Truth''. He credits the documentary’s use of personal stories and multimedia in his
approach to addressing climate change. He’d even rewatched it en route to Antarctica. As part of
the 10-year celebration of the film, Participant made a short video of his work
(https://youtu.be/AAcjj06n_74).
“Ever since becoming a professional writer, writing about social justice issues [has been]
extremely important to me, and it also defined my long-term goals,” he stated in a recent video
of a presentation he gave to the California Writers Club about using fiction and multimedia to
tell unconventional stories (https://youtu.be/V7f90evGMAA?t=93).
Curiously, Linehan, who is known for covering science, nature, and the environment in
writings such as ''SpaceShipOne: An Illustrated History,'' which has a foreword by Sir Arthur C.
Clarke and a cover blurb by Cosmos host Dr. Neil deGrasse Tyson, has written his new book as a
work of fiction instead of nonfiction.
Over the years, he has specialized in using multimedia to
communicate complex and challenging science to wide and diverse audiences. Why the change?
After beginning his career as a superconductor researcher and then as a microchip
engineer—specializing in contamination control and chemical processes—he switched in 2000 to
become a writer and quickly found his background gave him unique insight into critical issues
negatively impacting society at an environmental level.
Linehan believes that there is more than enough scientific evidence about climate change
to make the right choices for humanity and the planet. He became increasingly frustrated by how
so many people embraced the products of science and technology, but turned their backs on the
scientific and technological when it came to repercussions that were unfortunate for them to
hear, as if the laws of physics no longer applied to the problematic.
The Monterey, California, resident decided his unimaginable experiences were best told
using fiction, as had been done by local writer John Steinbeck in ''The Grapes of Wrath'' and
''Cannery Row.''
“I found that to tackle such a critical issue as climate change, it was important to spread
the message using multiple mediums. In addition to documentaries and presentations, things like
music, art, film, and literature can make strong connections with people,” he writes on his
website (https://www.dslinehan.com/story-behind-story.html). “Some approaches can better
reach people who would ordinarily tune out something about climate change. This is when my
writing about what I faced in and around Antarctica transitioned from nonfiction into fiction.”
So, he approached his series by giving ample sugar (laughs and romance) while not
making the medicine too unpalatable.
He writes in ''The Princess of the Bottom of the World''
(https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/988659?ref=DSLinehan), “This was exactly the type
of severe weather event that scientists predicted from climate change caused by global warming.
Climate was like a yo-yo on a string. Sometimes up and sometimes down and sometimes in the
middle. The yo-yo changed all the time but only worked along the length of string. Even yo-yo
tricks fell within a predictable range. Global warming was like cutting the string. Now, once you
flicked the yo-yo out of your hand, you didn’t know what it would hit or where it would land.
Because Earth’s climate was such a big yo-yo, it only took very small changes in the average
global temperature — just fractions of a degree — to make dramatic changes.”
Though the impact from burning fossil fuel began as the industrial revolution shifted into
high gear, it wasn’t until the digital age that scientists discovered its scope of effects on the
climate. Linehan’s multimedia ''The Princess of the Bottom of the World'' is undoubtedly his
ambitious digital attempt to raise awareness and inspire positive action.
California author tackles climate change in new multimedia serial novelby staff writer
When the Larsen B Ice Shelf broke up in 2002, NASA’s satellite imagery showing the 35-day
disintegration of 1,255 square miles of ice did more than just knock the wind out of Dan
Linehan, the author of the new multimedia serial novel ''The Princess of the Bottom of the World.''
(https://youtu.be/w3TYh6IG5dY) and its integrated Multimedia Traveling Companion
(https://www.dslinehan.com/princess).
This catastrophic gut punch made the severity of climate change crystal clear to Linehan,
leading him on a path to Antarctica and to other unbelievable adventures.
In 2006, he scheduled an expedition to Antarctica and the surrounding regions set to last
for 37 days so that he could study and write nonfiction about climate change and other severe
environmental issues. Instead, his journey lasted 63 days.
He hiked a glacier-covered mountain in Antarctica behind his shirtless expedition leader,
watched penguin chicks pant from the excessive heat, encountered seals being strangled by
plastic pollution, investigated a cruise ship accident in Antarctica’s Deception Island where the
oil spill was covered up, weathered a deadly and devastating storm in Argentina (one of those
100-year or 500-year severe weather storms that now seem to happen multiple times every year),
and more.
His experiences got him recognized by Participant Media, the filmmakers of the documentary ''An
Inconvenient Truth''. He credits the documentary’s use of personal stories and multimedia in his
approach to addressing climate change. He’d even rewatched it en route to Antarctica. As part of
the 10-year celebration of the film, Participant made a short video of his work
(https://youtu.be/AAcjj06n_74).
“Ever since becoming a professional writer, writing about social justice issues [has been]
extremely important to me, and it also defined my long-term goals,” he stated in a recent video
of a presentation he gave to the California Writers Club about using fiction and multimedia to
tell unconventional stories (https://youtu.be/V7f90evGMAA?t=93).
Curiously, Linehan, who is known for covering science, nature, and the environment in
writings such as ''SpaceShipOne: An Illustrated History,'' which has a foreword by Sir Arthur C.
Clarke and a cover blurb by Cosmos host Dr. Neil deGrasse Tyson, has written his new book as a
work of fiction instead of nonfiction.
Over the years, he has specialized in using multimedia to
communicate complex and challenging science to wide and diverse audiences. Why the change?
After beginning his career as a superconductor researcher and then as a microchip
engineer—specializing in contamination control and chemical processes—he switched in 2000 to
become a writer and quickly found his background gave him unique insight into critical issues
negatively impacting society at an environmental level.
Linehan believes that there is more than enough scientific evidence about climate change
to make the right choices for humanity and the planet. He became increasingly frustrated by how
so many people embraced the products of science and technology, but turned their backs on the
scientific and technological when it came to repercussions that were unfortunate for them to
hear, as if the laws of physics no longer applied to the problematic.
The Monterey, California, resident decided his unimaginable experiences were best told
using fiction, as had been done by local writer John Steinbeck in ''The Grapes of Wrath'' and
''Cannery Row.''
“I found that to tackle such a critical issue as climate change, it was important to spread
the message using multiple mediums. In addition to documentaries and presentations, things like
music, art, film, and literature can make strong connections with people,” he writes on his
website (https://www.dslinehan.com/story-behind-story.html). “Some approaches can better
reach people who would ordinarily tune out something about climate change. This is when my
writing about what I faced in and around Antarctica transitioned from nonfiction into fiction.”
So, he approached his series by giving ample sugar (laughs and romance) while not
making the medicine too unpalatable.
He writes in ''The Princess of the Bottom of the World''
(https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/988659?ref=DSLinehan), “This was exactly the type
of severe weather event that scientists predicted from climate change caused by global warming.
Climate was like a yo-yo on a string. Sometimes up and sometimes down and sometimes in the
middle. The yo-yo changed all the time but only worked along the length of string. Even yo-yo
tricks fell within a predictable range. Global warming was like cutting the string. Now, once you
flicked the yo-yo out of your hand, you didn’t know what it would hit or where it would land.
Because Earth’s climate was such a big yo-yo, it only took very small changes in the average
global temperature — just fractions of a degree — to make dramatic changes.”
Though the impact from burning fossil fuel began as the industrial revolution shifted into
high gear, it wasn’t until the digital age that scientists discovered its scope of effects on the
climate. Linehan’s multimedia ''The Princess of the Bottom of the World'' is undoubtedly his
ambitious digital attempt to raise awareness and inspire positive action.
Although the literary genre term of cli-fi has been around in print publications and newspapers for a good 10 years now, the term really resonates best when it is spoken out loud on radio shows, TV programs, podcasts and YouTube videos. In fact, the term is still so new that many people are not quite sure yet how to sound it out when they see it in print.
I like the way rhe term appears in print, but even more I love the way it sounds when spoken on TV, radio or podcasts. Or at taped academic forums available now on YouTube. It sounds like this: "klai-fai" or "klye-fye"
What makes the sound so strong is the first syllable of "klai" since the hard "K" gives a special punch to the term when said out loud. Unlike the sci-fi term which has a soft sound with both syllables, with the "sci" sound sounding like "sigh," cli-fi resonates in a strong, assertive way when spoken out loud as "klai-fai."
It's 2020 now and cli-fi is set to remain in play as a literary term for the next 80 years at least, all the way up to the year 2100 and maybe beyond. It's part of the 21st century now and it will be part of the 22nd century in 100 more years. It's playing an important role in our culture and our novels and movies. Sound it out! Say it loud and clear! Cli-fi!
Recent years have seen novelists everywhere tackle the burning issue of climate change but in Norway environmental concerns have long been the focus of literary invention. Here British literary critic Boyd Tonkin explores how Norwegian authors have tried to save the world ....one story at a time.
A few years ago, I sat outside on a golden summer afternoon and watched the warm sun dance over waters of a brilliant blue. The Mediterranean? Far from it. I was in Tromsø, 350 km north of the Arctic Circle, and the improbably mild home of the world’s most northerly botanic garden. Crucially, that balmy (and, of course, endless) summer day was not in itself some alarming freak event. True, warmer temperatures have made recent winters shorter and wetter. But the blessings of the Gulf Stream have always given Tromsø, with its ice-free port, a climate that defies expectations for a city perched near our planet’s roof, at almost 70 degrees north. In fact, much of Norway – for all its winter storms and snows – enjoys weather that, in the gentler seasons anyway, mocks its high latitudes to welcome and nurture human settlement.
The Arctic-Alpine Botanic Garden at Trømso (Photo: The Arctic University Museum of Norway)
It’s no surprise that this delicate balance between harshness and mildness, ice and sun, white and green, should leave deep traces on the nation’s art and literature. Or that the pursuit of inspiration from the natural world should underpin the quintessentially Norwegian ideal of friluftsliv, the outdoors life. Or, indeed, that the mortal threat to this hard-won equilibrium posed by accelerating climate change should now preoccupy many of the nation’s authors. In Norway, as elsewhere, speculative fiction about climate change and its consequences (“cli-fi”, as critics have dubbed it) has ceased to be a marginal genre of interest to activists alone.
The international success of Maja Lunde, the Norwegian writer whose eco-themed novels have sold in millions and found translations all around the world, has made her work a flagship for the anxieties and dilemmas that haunt writers and readers today. An overheating planet, rising seas, melting ice-caps, mass extinctions, the failure of waters and crops, refugees in flight from shortages and conflicts: the crises of climatic change feel so profound that they may both ignite and overwhelm the imagination. How to create plausible stories that measure up to these epic, and tragic, upheavals without falling into the reader-repelling traps of the tract, the sermon, the finger-wagging prophecy of doom? For Lunde herself (as she told Amy Brady of the Yale Climate Connections site this year), the secret is to keep things human, dramatic and particular: “My writing starts with feelings. Never with a message. I think about the story and the characters; I want to be true to them, to feel that they are alive.”
Maja Lunde (Photo: Aschehoug)
Extreme climatic events have helped shape literary art since ancient times. Historians surmise, for instance, that the freak seasons of the mid-17th century fed the freezing, and burning, horrors that fill John Milton’s Paradise Lost. Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein in 1816, the “year without a summer” after volcanic ash from Mount Tambora in Indonesia had darkened the world’s skies. Science fiction and fantastic literature of the mid-20th century – in works such as JG Ballard’s The Drowned World and The Burning World – vividly imagined an increasingly uninhabitable Earth, decades before the science of greenhouse emissions had become common knowledge. Then, as the millennium turned, fresh understanding gave an urgent edge to dystopian speculation in novels such as Margaret Atwood’s MaddAddam trilogy.
Knut Faldbakken, the Norwegian author of several early climate change novels published in the 1970s (Photo: Gyldendal Norsk Forlag)
In Norway, where communities have long dwelled on the precarious frontier of habitability, the dangers of climate change broke into fiction at an early stage. Knut Faldbakken’s two Uår novels of the 1970s invoke a social breakdown brought on by ecological catastrophe. “It is ‘realism’ all right, but pack enough into realism, and it is on the edge of something else: myth, archetype – Faldbakken is a first-rate writer,” praised Doris Lessing.
Later fictional responses to environmental menace span genres as diverse as the sensational airport thriller (Gerd Nygårdshaug’s Chimera, 2011), the mystical quest for redemption in the wake of disaster (Berit Ellingsen’s Not Dark Yet, 2015), and the futuristic fable aimed at young readers (Jostein Gaarder’s The World According to Anna, 2015). Gaarder’s teenage heroine, Anna foresees the calamities in store for a scorched, parched Earth. Her messenger from the wasteland of 2082, Nora angrily demands – in the wake-up-call tones that often sound through these books – “I want the world that you had at my age”. Norway has also drawn writers from outside (notably Ian McEwan’s Solar, 2010, which is partly set in Svalbard).
The World According to Anna by Jostein Gaarder (Photo: Weidenfeld & Nicolson)
Of course, much of Norwegian “cli-fi” shares the methods and ideas of eco-aware authors from other lands. However, aspects of the national culture colour these books with local shades of green. Knowledge of global warming has, in some sense, enhanced the collective self-image of a “lucky country”– one whose position and prospects might make it a magnet for refugees from hotter, drier places as its fresh waters, forestry and agriculture survive warming better than in lower latitudes. (There’s no lack of dystopian warnings either: of flooded shorelines, melting glaciers, even the demise of skiing as the snows retreat.)
Meanwhile, Norway’s ascent to the rank of global oil-and-gas power – while cleaner hydroelectric plants supply its own domestic needs – has prompted soul-searching in literature, as in politics. Can a nation grow rich by exporting fossil fuels while lamenting their local and global impacts? In The End of the Ocean, the second of Maja Lunde’s climate novels, her eco-warrior Signe casts a withering eye over “all those who are constructing Norway… while simultaneously they are destroying the world”.
The History of Bees by Maja Lunde (Atria Books, US edition)
All these currents merge in Lunde’s fiction. The Oslo-based writer was known for children’s fiction before The History of Bees, the first part of a planned “Climate Quartet”, became a bestseller at home and abroad. Three of these four novels have so far appeared: The History of Bees (2015), The End of the Ocean (2017), both translated by Diane Oatley and published by Scribner, and, in 2019, Przewalski’s Horse. The History of Bees skilfully guides the reader through the insects’ critical place in the natural cycles that support human life, as it switches between stories set in mid-19th century England, the 2000s in the American Mid-West, and a wrecked, near-starving future China in 2098. Attitudes to nature, past and present, are shown to have paved the path towards environmental hell.
In Lunde’s fiction, the healthy balance represented by bees – and their traditional keepers – gives way to catastrophic disruptions, hastened by toxic agribusiness and an altered climate. We see how the bees’ “meticulous and peaceful work, systematic, instinctive, hereditary” keeps us all alive and fed. In this dystopian scenario, “colony collapse” leads by 2045 to the bees’ extinction. However, she also sounds a modest note of hope – a key seasoning for “cli-fi” if authors want to steer their readers out of paralysing despair.
Sogn og Fjordane in Vestland, the spectacular setting for Maja Lunde’s The End of the Ocean (Photo: Coastal Museum, Sogne og Fjordane)
That hope stubbornly persists in The End of the Ocean. Again, parallel storylines – one taking place in 2017, one in 2041 – eventually intersect. In Norway, and on her beloved boat, veteran campaigner Signe recalls her past struggles (both personal and political). Meanwhile, in the rainless future, David and daughter Lou negotiate a strife-ridden France of hunger, thirst, and desperate migrant tides. In 2041, fresh resources endure in the northern “water countries”, coveted by refugees from drought-scourged lands to the south. In our present day, the rebellious Signe insists that “we don’t own nature” as she remembers battles in Norway with heedless people – her loved ones among them – who sought to commandeer glaciers, rivers and lakes.
Again, Lunde leaves some wriggle-room for hope, not just in her plot-twists but through the resilience and idealism of her characters – above all the indomitable Signe.
The younger Signe fumes that “the pragmatic human being doesn’t understand passion” as her idealism collides with vested interests and the simple yearning for an easy life. Lunde’s novels show that passion has its part to play in denouncing, and averting, catastrophe. But so too, she hints, does scientific reason. The intellectual armoury that pushed humanity towards climate-change disaster may help it to find an exit as well.
Lunde’s latest book, Przewalski’s Horse, turns its gaze towards humanity’s relationship with animals. Via another triple time-frame, it interrogates the roles of science, activism and – vitally – compassion in healing our broken connections with nature.
Przewalski’s Horse by Maja Lunde, Norwegian edition (Photo: Aschehoug)
As with other Norwegian climate-change visionaries and speculators, Lunde’s job is not to find comprehensive answers but to ask the right questions using the fiction-writers’ own toolbox of imagination, insight and empathy. “While reports and journalism talk to our heads, fiction talks to our hearts,” she has said. “And to be willing to change, to do what is needed, I think we need deep engagement, we need our feelings.” If that deep engagement bears fruit, then our descendants might be able to sit out in the summer sun of Tromsø and still feel that all is right with the world. Maja Lunde’s novels are published in Britain by Simon & Schuster
The World According to Anna by Jostein Gaarder is published by Weidenfeld & Nicolson Knut Faldbakken’s novels in translation are out of print but rare editions can be found at Abebooks Details of the Arctic Alpine Botanical Garden at Trømso can be found at Visit Trømso
Top photo: cover detail from the Norwegian edition of The History of Bees (published by Aschehoug)
Citizens’ Climate Radio is a monthly podcast hosted by CCL volunteer Peterson Toscano. Browse all our past episode recaps here, or listen to past episodes here, and check out the latest episode in the post below. Princella Talley, one of three creative climate advocates featured in this podcast episodeBy Citizens Climate Lobby
Those of you who regularly listen to the Citizens’ Climate Radio podcast know the power of art in addressing climate change. Artists take on a unique role in helping the public better understand the many issues connected to climate change. They also play an important part in helping us process our strong emotions about our rapidly changing world.
Clara Fang
Poet and climate advocate Clara Fang shares her powerful and moving poem, “The Children on Why They are Striking for the Climate.” She also tells us about the poetry she reads and how it connects her to the natural world. Clara serves as Citizens’ Climate Lobby Student Engagement Coordinator. In her role, she engages students in climate advocacy and helps members conduct outreach to higher education. She holds a Master of Environmental Management from Yale University and a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing from University of Utah. In the episode, she announces plans to organize a creative writing action group on CCL Community. Photographer, writer, and climate advocate Princella Talley tells us about the vital role of art in her life and her work. Her interests in visual art and storytelling started at a young age when observing dolphins in the ocean. After a successful career as a professional writer, Princella worked on a freelance writing assignment that ultimately drew her into the world of climate change and her role as diversity outreach coordinator at Citizens’ Climate Lobby. In her conversation with podcast host Peterson Toscano, Princella speaks candidly about the challenges of being a person of color in predominantly white climate spaces.
Before joining the Citizens’ Climate Education team, Princella spent more than a decade as a photographer and writer. She covered topics ranging from climate change and ecotourism to artificial intelligence and mobile app development for major news outlets with more than 60 million online visitors, independent publications, and tech startups in Silicon Valley. She’s written for CBS Las Vegas, worked as a copy editor for a digital publication with 135,000 weekly readers, and created content for a GRAMMYs campaign.
Krista Hiser, PhD
Princella is also a business owner of Louisiana Food Fellow, a cohort of change leaders working within local food systems. In central Louisiana, she partners with community leaders to provide environmental education and implement sustainable and eco-friendly programs in economically disadvantaged communities. Krista Hiser, PhD, is a professor of composition and rhetoric at Kapi’olani Community College in Honolulu, Hawaii. She also directs the Center for Sustainability Across Curriculum within the University of Hawaii system. In the spring she taught the course “Landscapes in Literature—Cli-Fi, Sci-Fi, and the Culture of Sustainability.” In this episode, Dr. Hiser outlines for us the difference between science fiction and climate fiction and provides examples for each. She also raises concerns about the many apocalyptic narratives that flood the Cli-Fi market and that play a prominent role in climate conversations. She believes there are better ways to talk about climate change.
In Le grand vertige (published by Actes Sud in 2020), his new cli-fi novel, Mr. Pierre Ducrozet in France ....Twitter ID at (@pierreducrozet) ....stages the fight against global warming and questions, in a hollow, the best way to live in the world in the 21st century. All this through a gallery of characters who wonderfully embody the generational and ideological tensions of the moment. Interview with a man of his time.
If science fiction has been able to take up the theme
of global warming, sometimes to the point of saturation - climate fiction is now considered a literary current in its own right - contemporary novelists, with a few exceptions, still seem as timid as ever at the idea of tackling it in their turn. Pierre Ducrozet, for his part, is less pusillanimous. It is precisely in order to resonate with his time, that of a burning issue in the literal sense of the word, that he has chosen to make the climate issue the central subject of his new novel. A book whose title, The Great Vertigo, sounds like the title of a chapter in a history textbook that would look back over the period 2000-2030.
At the heart of this story with its holistic ambition, divided into increasingly shorter chapters as we get closer to the end, we come across the boomer Adam Thobias, a pioneer of ecological thinking appointed to head an International Commission on Climate Change, which he will transform into a parallel network of activists in which June, 22 years old, agrees to participate, from millennium to caricature. In parallel, we follow the work of Nathan, a young biologist who is trying to unravel the mystery of perpetual motion - and thus of clean and infinite energy - through the study of the photosynthesis of a bionic plant.
While he looks less far into the future here than in his previous novel, L'invention des corps, which plunged the reader into the transhumanist fantasies of a Californian entrepreneur inspired by Peter Thiel, Pierre Ducrozet has the merit of taking up this time with his pen the challenge of the century, that of the climate. It was well worth a meeting to talk about the future. All the more so since the writer intends to play a full part in the "reinvention of artistic and literary forms" he so desperately wants.
Usbek & Rica: In L'Invention des corps (Actes Sud, 2017), you explore the future as it imagines itself in Silicon Valley, with characters inspired by real-life figures like Richard Stallman or Peter Thiel. Your new novel explores less the future than the present, but always with the same obsession for the body and movement ...
Pierre Ducrozet : I've always wanted to write about movement and travel. The body imposed itself as an obvious entry point for my previous book, but today it is more a question of the gesture of writing than a theme in itself. Afterwards, it's true that I like to "take" my characters in their bodies, in their movements, without dwelling on psychology. I like authors like Hemingway, Carver or Faulkner for precisely that reason, this way of being less in psychology than in action.
"The idea was to try to bring the whole world into a single narrative.
With The Great Vertigo, the idea was to try to bring the whole world into a single narrative, and to somehow manage to map the whole. During a conversation with my editor for my previous novel, she had this sentence: "In fact, your book, rather than The Invention of Bodies, could be called The Habitation of the World. "It worked for me and this new book is really that: we go beyond the body and we question the way we inhabit space, the world.
Apart from Ian McEwan's Solaire (Gallimard, 2011), or more recently Lieke Marsman's Le Contraire d'une personne (Rue de l'Échiquier, 2019), there are hardly any contemporary novels whose plot is based head-on on the fight against global warming. For having chosen this theme?
That's right. Moreover, it is also true for the subject of transhumanism, which was at the heart of The Invention of the Bodies. Why is the climate crisis always approached through science fiction and from a dystopian angle? To this day, I still haven't read a novel about the forces at work, about how we try and fail to fight global warming. Is it because the present time is difficult to "put" in a novel and is quickly perishing? I don't know. In any case, I find it very exciting. The climate challenge fascinates me more than it frightens me. And I really wonder why there aren't more of us fiction writers taking up this subject. It's such a huge thing that's going on...
To be credible on a subject like this, does the novelist have to do more research?
I had a lot of discussions with my brother, who is an economist, to evaluate the budget that the Climate Commission that I imagine in the book would have to spend.
I talked a lot with my brother, who is an economist, to evaluate the budget that the Climate Commission that I imagine in the book would have. Initially, I had in mind the sum of 7 billion euros and he told me: "But no, much more! ». In the end, I put in 120 billion... And it's true that for the past few months, between the climate crisis and the health crisis, it's perfectly normal to come across such dizzying amounts in the news.
For The Invention of Bodies, I had done a lot of investigative work. Documentary writing was more important, with passages on networks, the history of the Internet, research on the lengthening of life...
Here, global warming is naturally my subject. I've made a beautiful thematic library, of course, but I'm already in it every day. The idea was really to be as close as possible to what is happening in our reality. And all the places through which history passes are places that I know, from Burma to Kenya. More than a work of documentation, it was a question of constituting a rather coherent thought on this subject that we all know, of finding my own angle.
"Engaging in a form of austerity does not necessarily mean giving up all forms of mobility and life.
It is a novel whose plot is based on a series of tensions: between localism and globalization, between boomers and millennials, between militant radicalism and "cool transition" ...
Exactly, and that's really deliberate. I published last year, with Julieta Canepa, a children's book on Ces jeunes qui changent le monde (Lamartinière, 2019), and published in the last few months in Libération several articles on these subjects. Let's say that I believe that committing to a form of austerity does not necessarily have to mean giving up all forms of mobility and life. It is necessary to be able to find a new impetus, a new hedonism. How can we do this economically and politically? How to articulate global and local? One must read Bruno Latour on this subject, when he digs into these contradictions to define his concept of "terrestrial". We need a myriad of experiences and local systems, but it is essential to also invent the superstructure that will link the whole.
"How could we have believed that our species could "settle down" definitively when everything, everywhere, is in movement on this planet? »
Finding "a perpetual movement, but without leaving traces", as one of your characters says, is that what we are talking about today?
That's what it's all about. In 2020, we collectively realized that our system was not sustainable, that it was a sand castle of hallucinating fragility. How could we have believed that our species could somehow "settle down" definitively when everything, everywhere, is in movement on this planet? This is an incredible historical error, hence the historical detour I make in the heart of the novel about the digging of the very first oil well, on August 17, 1859 in Titusville, Pennsylvania. I don't believe at all that ecology is just being content with the local and renouncing any form of displacement. That's not the solution: you need movement, but another movement.
An oil well An oil well / Floréalréal - CC BY-SA 4.0
June, the heroine, thinks like you: she is radical in her ecological commitment but doesn't want to feel guilty when she takes a bubble bath...
June is 22 years old. And she should be living like a hermit with the excesses of previous generations? Why should she? And moreover, this generation is criticized for "not being very fun"... Let's not exaggerate anyway! It's not because boomers have been bathed in champagne that we should do the same thing, but I don't see why June should have to grow up with permanent guilt. Besides, you don't win political battles with the spring of guilt. In fact, today we need to talk about "challenge" more than "climate" crisis: it's a great time to reinvent a lot of things. A moment of joy too, as May '68 could be. It's like technology: it's still extraordinary what you can do with the Internet... Confinement has shown us once again: it was the experience of "world space" from home, between the hyperlocal and the hypermondial.
"Ecological, racial and gender struggles have no borders.
In the aftermath of the municipal elections, the ecologist Noël Mamère told us that he believed in the emergence of justice as a new marker of the convergence of struggles, at least for the "climate generation". Do you agree?
"The idea of a national novel, in my eyes, no longer makes any sense.
At the moment, there is this fashionable formula, in science fiction, but not that: we would need a "war of the imaginary", that would be the precondition for a possible change in the state of the world. Are you part of this movement?
As long as we don't imagine a new way of being alive, as long as we don't manage to create new collective and individual narratives, we're not going to succeed. In literature, what excites me is to see how this transformation, this change of world, will be embodied in new artistic forms. Artistic history, especially literary history, is always linked to the great history. For example, the idea of the "national novel", in my opinion, no longer makes sense. The "great American novel," moreover, should eventually cease to exist... We need to adhere to the great porosity of the world we inhabit. We need to go beyond fixed artistic forms and codes, and that starts by decentralizing the place of the human in the stories. So yes, we need new narratives, and we need to get started without delay!
