In late January, when the coronavirus was just starting to hint that it might disrupt life as we knew it, I decided to re-read Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel—a novel that alternates between the time when a deadly virus sweeps across the world, and the remnants of society 20 years later. Reading it—especially on a plane—in that moment felt a bit like daring the virus to get worse, but in a safe way, like telling a ghost story at a campfire in a dark, spooky wood.
As the pandemic has progressed, I have continued to notice beats that echo moments small and large in pandemic literature, long one of my favorite genres. The rise of goofy masks is foretold in Ling Ma’s Severance. Elements of the far right-wing response bring to mind the militias of Chuck Wendig’s alarming Wanderers. In Sigrid Nunez’s Salvation City, a religious community keeps on hugging and shaking hands, eschewing elbow bumps and other post-pandemic changes to social interaction.
But in most of these pandemic tales, the virus (or, in the case of Wanderers, the fungus) is something quite different from the one we face now. In these stories, the pathogen is typically ruthless, unsparing. Few survive once infected, leaving behind only a tiny population of those who are immune. The virus (fungus!) breaks down the door without even appearing in the peephole. Salvation City is less apocalyptic, but its virus is still a cudgel.
The coronavirus’ evolutionary genius is that it is not so fast-moving, so instantly deadly for all infected. Its danger lies in its quiet spread and the way it hides in hosts who experience mild or no symptoms. It lingers at the peephole. That gives it cover, permitting the spread of its twin pathogen, denial. Together, the coronavirus and denial are tearing through our bodies and our minds.
At Future Tense, we talk a lot about the value of science fiction in helping us discuss tomorrow. Sci-fi’s significance is not in prediction, but in helping us think through possibilities, the challenges we might confront. I do not fault any sci-fi author for not foreseeing the contours of the coronavirus pandemic, but it is notable nevertheless to think about how our imaginations, focused on the potential horrors and wonders of technology and science and nature, can overlook the more banal potential tragedies. Contagion anticipated the pharma-skeptic misinformation that would accompany a pandemic, but I’ve been unable to find a plague tale in which the federal government simply abdicates responsibility. It’s a cliché that in a horror movie, the monster is us—but who imagined exactly how monstrous we could be? Nunez’s Salvation City involves U.S. government institutions failing and Germany looking at us askance, but it’s an incidental decay, not a willful one.
Someday soon, we will begin to see the coronavirus appear in our pop culture, and I cannot wait to see how science fiction might integrate the many unexpected ways we have come up short in this moment.
On a less bleak note: Emily St. John Mandel fans: If you haven’t yet, you should read “Mr.
Thursday,” a time-travel short story she wrote for Future Tense Fiction back in 2017.
The coronavirus has once again collided with the Free Speech Project, a joint effort between Future Tense and American University Washington College of Law’s Tech, Law, and Security project. A Georgia high school was forced to reverse course after suspending students who shared pictures of crowded hallways on social media. But as Dahlia Lithwick wrote, “The larger question of student speech rights, especially on social media, and especially during a public health disaster, is far from settled.” In other Free Speech Project pieces, Slate copy editor Nitish Pahwa wrote about what Indians lost when their country banned TikTok, and Chloe Hadavas looked at social media “content cartels.”
Here’s more from the recent past of Future Tense:
Wish We’d Published This“At Talkspace, Start-Up Culture Collides With Mental Health Concerns,” by Kashmir Hill and Aaron Krolik, New York Times
Future Tense RecommendsIn Ghost Hunters: William James and the Search for Scientific Proof of Life After Death, science journalist Deborah Blum tells the fascinating story of the respected 19th century scientists who tried to, as the subtitle says, learn whether our spirits live on after we die. It was a moment when science was finding all sorts of things previously thought impossible, so why not evidence of ghosts? Blum’s empathetic approach—James’ quest was related to the death of his young son—makes the story all the more compelling.
What Next: TBDOn Aug. 7, Slate’s tech podcast wrapped up its six-episode series on the future of the city with Henry Grabar’s look at how one commercial strip on Chicago’s South Side is weathering the pandemic. This week, new guest host Celeste Headlee spoke to Adrianne Jeffries from the Markup about “How Google Search Sold Out.”
Forks up, masks up,
Torie Bosch
Future Tense editor
Future Tense is a partnership of Slate, New America, and Arizona State University that examines emerging technologies, public policy, and society.
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