Clark Omo

9 May 2019

Dismantling the Divide: Literary vs. Genre Fiction in the Utopian Genre

The dual between Literary and Genre Fiction has been a running theme throughout this class in Utopian Literature. Like any other genre embroiled in the warring concepts, Utopian literature is supposedly hindered from being considered a body of work worthy of literary merit due to its reliance on many science fictional and other fantastical tropes. However, as this class has shown, authors such as Margaret Atwood and Ursula K. Le Guin have more than shown themselves capable of applying literary mechanic to worlds that border beyond the realistic. Atwood, in both The Handmaid’s Tale and Oryx and Crake, shows her capabilities using symbol and complex characterization to evoke strong and meaningful aspects of the human condition in worlds where either society has broken down due ecological disaster or tyrannical overstep, while Le Guin brings issues such as equality, capitalism, censorship through the use of evocative and thematic description and lyrical language in The Dispossessed where civilizations have taken to the stars. Both Atwood and Le Guin utilize setting where science is either advanced and far beyond our contemporary capacities, or where civilization has taken a complete twist from our own yet implement mechanics and techniques that elevate the worlds and characters to a position of relevant impact and artistic power. Both Le Guin and Atwood therefore prove that the genre in which a story appears does nothing to hinder its literary abilities and that it is merely a question of talent and effective execution.

To begin, Ursula K. Le Guin’s The Dispossessed shows several aspects of literary fiction that validate its standing as a highly thematic and impacting novel, despite the fact that its story not only takes place in galaxy borne totally from the author’s imagination, but also one that involves space ships and hyper-advanced technology. Consider the following excerpt from the novel which includes Le Guin’s special attention to detail and evocative colorization as she describes the settlement of Abbenay: “The sun shone white in a hard, dark, blue violet sky. The air was clear and clean, with out smoke or moisture. There was a vividness to things, a hardness of edge and corner, a clarity. Everything stood out separate, itself” (97). Le Guin’s attention to detail not only bears with it a strong, melodiously rhythmic prose, but also creates a solidly concrete image that materializes in the mind’s eye with the same irrevocable tangibility of holding a stone in one’s hand or watching the sun rise. Furthermore, her language wraps within it a strong sense of characterization of even the environment. By looking at this sentence describing the architecture of Abbenay, with its “hardness of edge and corner” and essence of individual separation, it is clearly a world that does not believe in mass production even of its homes. Each home and structure is handcrafted, individualized, and a made into a representative of that world’s culture. This passage is rife with thematic complexity and lurid characterization, both of which are evoked in a lyrical attention to prose that proves Le Guin’s literary applications.

Le Guin understands how language can create image, as well as, when properly applied, description can include aspects of a world’s culture and beliefs, the world itself then becoming a character as much as symbol. She continues this method in the following passage, still describing Abbenay: “It was not that Abbenay was short of power, not with her wind turbines and the earth temperature-differential generators used for heating, but the principle of organic economy was too essential to the functioning of society not to affect ethics and aesthetics profoundly” (98). The beliefs of the Odonians (another name for the inhabitants of Abbenay) are ingrained even into their approach to structural aesthetics. A brief reference to Odo, one of the intellectual paragons of this world’s culture, proves the point further: “’Excess is excrement,’ Odo wrote in the Analogy. ‘Excrement retained in the body is a poison.’” (98). Nothing used in the Odonian society is a waste of space as well as effort; everything must be focused on accomplishing an end that benefits all. Therefore, their structures as a result always serve a purpose and are not weighed down by frivolous wants and additions that would require extra space and extra resources to maintain. Such extraneous material must be cut off from the people like it was a tumor, or “excrement” as Odo so pointedly labels such indulgences. Thus even the structures of the Odonians are built in such a way that no ‘excrement’ is showing, and all that is included within the buildings of Abbenay is what you get: no excess, no decoration, all practicality. This description applies to the whole of Abbenay as well: “Abbenay was poisonless: a bare city, bright, the colors light and hard, the air pure. It was quiet. You could see it all, laid out as plain as spilt salt. Nothing was hidden” (98). Abbenay is without guise or garishness; it is naked and open for all to see. Nothing is buried beneath decoration.

This naturally leads to very little variation and vibrancy in its appearance, which is contrasted with Urras, a planet that stands in drastic opposition to Annares, the planet on which Abbenay is situated. Shevik, the protagonist, notices this disparity when observing the dress customs of Urras: “the women, in full gowns that swept the floor, their breasts bare, their waists and necks and heads adorned with jewelry and lace and gauze, the men in trousers and coats or tunics of red, blue violet, gold, green, with slashed sleeves and cascades of lace…” (23). The world of Urras is awash in color and superfluity. There is so much variation even among what the people wear that Shevik must give it a term: “splendor. These people had splendor.” (23). Splendor and variety are both characteristics that Annares lacks. The people of Urras have much more individualistic approach to their expressive customs, which is a fact that is evident even in their clothing choices with all the variety in color and style. The Urrastians believe that what Odo called excrement is a part of their being, and thus allows them to express themselves in ways that are totally divergent from what the Annarestians would consider proper. And this “splendor” applies to the landscape of Urras, as Shevik observes: “It was the most beautiful view Shevek had ever seen. The tenderness and vitality of the colors, the mixture of rectilinear human design and powerful, proliferate natural contours…gave an impression of wholeness such as he had never seen” (65). Urras clearly believes in physical as well as aesthetic beauty, going so far as to even ensure that it melds with nature seamlessly. The landscape is then compared to that of Annares: “Even where men had farmed Annares most closely, their landscape was like a crude sketch in yellow chalk compared with this fulfilled magnificence of life” (65). Le Guin here allows the themes of cultural difference to transpose into the description of both Annares and Urras. Both planets possess a different outlook on life and beauty, and how the material realm can intertwine with nature. For Annares, the natural and practical take precedence, while on Urras the works of man are an attempt at imitating the beauty of nature and coming into harmony with it, or are a means of producing beauty on their own. This explains the extreme variety and the beauty of the structures trying to meet with nature, as both are a means of producing beauty with the hands. Le Guin’s literary aptitude thus shows itself here as well, where consistency in thematic detail and the integration of that detail into the character of the world create a venue for viewing cultural difference and philosophical quandary.

And in tune with the use of literary mechanic in a world of extreme possibility comes Margaret Atwood’s works, especially that of The Handmaid’s Tale, where great effort and attention is given to the character of Offred and her interactions with her new life as a Handmaid, the results of which create a character of ever increasing complexity and conflict. Atwood’s characterization of Offred is in-depth as it cunningly perceptive, as well as containing all the marks of literary fiction’s call for complexity in character, despite that it is a dystopic and science-fiction based story. Consider Offred’s interaction with the two Guardians at the security gate: “The one with the mustache opens the small pedestrian gate and stands back, well out of the way, and we pass through. As I walk away they’re watching, these two men who aren’t yet permitted to touch women” (22). Offred is capable of discerning her own environment and detect the actions of other, then surmise what desires dictate those actions. Offred then makes the following observation regarding those desires: “They touch with their eyes instead and I move my hips a little, feel the full red skirt sway around me” (22). She knows the two guards here are sexually frustrated, and their chained-down lust dictates their actions rather than thought. They are operation on instinct, in part because of their age but also because the rules of the society (“men who aren’t yet permitted to touch women”) have now shifted the balance of power. Offred possesses an incisive perception of her world, and knows how to play it to her strengths.

And Offred revels in this power and takes pleasure in the indulgence. In this world, men cannot experience nor indulge their sexual desires to the same extent that they once could, and Offred knows this and enjoys it: “I enjoy the power; power of a dog bone, passive but there. I hope they get hard at the sight of us and have to rub themselves against the painted barriers” (22). Offred, though she is in a society that has placed a value on her, knows that she has power and autonomy to some extent. And she is capable of using this power to its greatest extent, no matter how minute, because, even in the smallest instances, her use of this power preserves her willpower and identity. She knows this world is set against her, but, whenever an opportunity arises, the most incremental rebellions still possess a jolting impact for both her, and the world she occupies. Admittedly, she does feel same for this manipulation, but then quickly switches to the enjoyable aspect of using that power: “I’m ashamed of myself for doing it, because none of this is the fault of these men, they’re too young. Then I find I’m not ashamed after all” (22). This portion alone, despite her love of using her power, denotes Offred’s internal conflict. She understands her world well enough to both rebel against it and know that not all the circumstances and people around her were to blame. This further illustrates Offred’s complex thinking process and her analytic judgements. She is conflicted as well as calculating, both of which are traits that attests the potency of Atwood’s literary construction of character complexity.

And this understanding of complexity manifests in Atwood’s novel Oryx and Crake, especially regarding the character Oryx. Oryx herself presents a mystery to both reader and fellow characters, especially Jimmy. Having realized that Oryx is the same girl he has witnessed in the child pornography films, he begins a set of interrogations to ascertain as much knowledge of her origins as possible. However, when questioned, Oryx does neither displays nor reciprocates the immense revulsion that Jimmy feels toward the men that employed her in the sex trade. This argument culminates in several areas, especially concerning Oryx’s concepts of life, in which she states “That everything has a price” (139). This statement with its piercing bluntness takes Jimmy aback. He quickly attempts to repudiate it: “Not everything. That can’t be true. You can’t buy time. You can’t buy…” (139). Oryx’s outlook on life is not what Jimmy expects, nor is it something he is prepared for. His argument against Oryx’s outlook shatters and reveals Oryx’s knowledge and experience. Oryx in fact drives the point further: ‘You can’t buy it, but it has a price,’ said Oryx. ‘Everything has a price” (139). Despite the potent cynicism in these words, Oryx’s conclusion nonetheless has a sharp ring of truth to it. In her world, where there was an exchange for everything, for shelter, food, and much more, she understands that most people want something, and, to obtain that something, there is usually an exchange of some sort involved. Granted this may seem somewhat jaded, but Oryx’s opinion is informed by experience and analysis of that experience. She was taken from her home by a man and turned to work for him, and, as compensation, was given food and shelter and freedom from disease. Jimmy however, still tries to coax an admission out of Oryx that this point is still valid, but ultimately fails: ‘Not me,’ said Jimmy, trying to joke. ‘I don’t have a price.’ Wrong, as usual” (139). Oryx’s knowledge outmatches Jimmy’s in this instance, who himself at this point has been college (or the world of the novel’s equivalent). Oryx is sharply pragmatic and concludes that the world has systems in place that involve a certain amount of maneuvering, which, as evidenced by her statement in this passage, she totally quantifies and internalizes.

Furthermore, as mentioned earlier, she shows no clear moral abhorrence toward her circumstances or the people that brought her into her exploitative world. She recalls her interactions with the cameraman named Jack, a character which Jimmy condemns: “What did that pathetic prick of a loser have to offer?” (141). Oryx replies: “‘Why do you think he is bad?’ said Oryx. ‘He never did anything with me that you don’t do. Not nearly so many things!’” (141). She equates her time as a sex worker with Jimmy’s sexual liaisons, which indicates that she does not consider either different from the other. She sees both as a means of exchange, pleasure for pleasure, all the while not realizing the moral depravity of what she has undergone. She sees the world in a much greyer sense than Jimmy, and therefore understands how it can work to her advantage, which is a perception she utilizes when she mentions that, in exchange for her interactions, Jack teaches her English (141). Oryx is unfazed, and, while Jimmy argues that what he does with her is voluntary not against her will, Orxy quickly rebuffs this too: “What is my will?” (141). She knows she’s been commodified, and, as a result, knows how to commodify others. She lets people think they know her desires, as in the case with Jimmy, and then uses those desires to get something she wants, such as food and shelter, which she now has at the Compounds. Atwood’s literary talents are in no way weighed down by the genre in which she writes, as the complexity of Oryx rightly and firmly proves.

Literary fiction and genre fiction find common ground in the works of Margaret Atwood and Ursula K. Le Guin. Le Guin’s attention to lyrical prose, lurid detail, and thematic intertwining into her description evident in The Dispossessed marks her work as transcending the divide between genre and literary. And Atwood, with her intricate understanding of character personality, experience, and intelligence, creates fictional beings whose every act and word is laden with layer upon layer of detail and complexity, and thus bringing more themes and motifs of her work to the forefront, despite the futuristic and science fictional worlds of The Handmaid’s Tale and Oryx and Crake. In Utopian literature, there is a strong potential for implementing resounding themes and motifs despite the often speculative nature of the fiction, which lends credit to the fact that the genre of a story, no matter how fantastic and beyond the horizon its settings reside, does nothing to hinder a tale’s resounding impact. What then must be understood, for a work to be deemed literary, is that the quality of delivery and the effectiveness of the accomplishment of the artistic purpose remain as two aspects that differentiate the literary from the non-literary.

The Rhetorical Dualism: Diverging Values in Utopias

The state of Utopian literature is a dualistic one; often the worlds presented in Utopian literature, whether in their own future or universe, contain a foiled world that stands opposite to their existence. This is a literary pattern that bears a strong resemblance to the rhetorical structures of ancient philosophy, especially in the case of Plato’s Republic. As in the Republic, the worlds referred to in the utopian works are often in state of idealistic conflict with an opposing group or civilization that possesses significant idealistic differences to the world that the narrative focuses on. Ursula K. Le Guin’s The Dispossessed, Ernest Callenbach’s Ecotopia, and the world of the future in Margaret Atwood’s Oryx and Crake all possess this convention. For The Dispossessed, the world of Annares, a highly collective and communistic based world, is juxtaposed with the world of Urras, which is much more hierarchical and capitalistic in structure. For Ecotopia, the titular nation is framed against the wasteful and polluting practices of the mainland United States. And in Atwood’s Oryx and Crake, the Compounds, where technology is cutting edge, lifestyles are cushioned and well provided for, contrast against the deprivation and squalor of the pleeblands. Like Plato’s Ideal City, each of these Utopian novels use the contrasting aspects of opposing civilizations to surgically examine the intricate differences in lifestyles and values represented and held by both opposing societies.

For Callenbach’s Ecotopia, the pollution free living conditions of the Ecotopians are often contrasted with the wasteful and polluting practices of the United States. As Weston the book’s protagonist states: “Many Ecotopians claim to have sifted through modern technology and rejected huge tracts of it, because of its ecological harmfulness” (42). The Ecotopians as Weston notes have removed much of what modern America takes for granted such as the harmful technologies that would otherwise pollute the environment. By acknowledging this uplifting of advancement, the Ecotopians establish themselves as separate from the ideals of American culture, and instead have chosen a different lifestyle that emphasizes their values and viewpoints. The outside manifests within the text as an ostracized threat; a rejected civilization that has caused more harm than good. This element of contrast pervades even the entertainment values of the Ecotopians: “Television, incidentally, may be an important reason for Ecotopians’ odd attitudes toward material goods” (43). Even television serves as a method of affirming the Ecotopians’ views of American society, which itself is implied to awash in consumerist superficiality and detritus. Weston continues, saying that “many consumer items are considered ecologically offensive and are simply not available, so nobody has them: thus electric can openers, hair curlers, frying pans, and carving knives are unknown” (43). Once more the values of the Ecotopians are contrasted against that of the US’s. The citizens of Ecotopia do not rely on artificial implements, which appear so superfluous in nature, to style their hair or even prepare meals. They have chosen a much more in-touch-with-nature lifestyle than their American counterparts, who have distanced themselves from interacting with their world because of the use of such implements.

This approach to lifestyle utilized by the Ecotopians naturally leads to an elimination of oversaturation in terms of choice and variety: “Many basic necessities are utterly standardized. Bath towels, for instance, can be bought in only one color white” (44). The need for choosing from an overwhelming variety is thus eliminated. With the overabundance of choices is symptomatic of American society removed from the consumer theater. This squelching of multiple choices in purchasing from the market allows for a more individualized approach to products and their value as compared to American consumerism, as in the case of the towels, “people have to dye them their own in attractive patterns (using gentle natural hues from plant mineral sources)” (44). The Ecotopians clearly prefer a much more natural approach to their personal wares, whereas in American society the customization of a product is already determined by its manufacturer. And this refusal of technological productivity produces a highly contrasted image when paired against the advancements of the U.S.: “Objects that are available in stores seem rather old-fashioned. I have seen few Ecotopian-made appliances that would not pretty primitive on American TV” (44). Once again, the Ecotopians favor personal connection over technological advancement. They emphasize the individual interaction with the object over the mass produced and exorbitant quantities of items common in American culture. Furthermore, the construction of the tools themselves reflects the unorthodox customization that that pervades the Ecotopian culture, as Weston describes the tools as having parts which “stick out at odd angles, bolts and other fasteners are plainly visible, and sometimes parts are made of wood” (44). The world of Ecotopia depends more upon instant fixes and ingenuity, rather than a single manufacture pumping out clone after clone of the same item. And these cultural aberrations extend to sports (36), of which Ecotopia has none. They also extend to the realm of education, where children spend more time outdoors than those in the schools of the US. Thus, the world of Ecotopia is framed against the practices of the then contemporary United States as a means of rhetorically illustrating how alternative lifestyles may have an effect upon society, especially those practiced by Ecotopians.

Ursula K. Le Guin poses the same juxtaposing methods in her Utopian novel, The Dispossessed. The cultures of the two worlds in the story, the desert moon of Annares and the thriving, multi-biomed world of Urras are contrasted against one another in terms of cultural practices and values. The protagonist, Shevek, comments on this difference as he is travelling to Urras: “You see, I know you don’t take things, as we do. In your world, in Urras, one must by things. I come to your world, I have no money, I cannot buy” (13). Shevek notices a fundamental difference in the ideals of ownership between Urras and Annares. For the Annarestians, ownership is not an individual enterprise; it is a collective action, a choice made by all and shared by all. This viewpoint contrasts with that of Urras, the inhabitants of which value a much more individualistic and capitalistic approach to ownership. For the people of Urras, ownership is for one’s own gain and comfort, and not for the welfare of the collective. This contrasting approach extends to religious differences as well, as in the case when Dr. Kimoe of Urras questions Shevek on the status of religion on Annares: “’Why because you’re an Odonian from Anarres—there’s no religion on Annares.’ ‘No religion? Are we stones on Annares?’ ‘I mean established religion—churches creeds—” (14). Once again, the collectivist aspect of Annares appears even in its peoples’ religious practices. For them, religion does not divide and demand adherents to make oaths or creeds to a singe ideology. This approach to religion further distances the cultures of Annares and Urras, and strongly cements the Utopian differences between the two worlds.

The Annarestians thus remove religion that involves making such oaths of loyalty, which creates a difference in definition of the term “religion”. But for the people of Urras, such definitions must exist in order for a religion to be recognized at all, as Shevik notes: “You admit no religion outside the churches, just as you admit no morality outside the laws” (15). Again, this observation by Shevik draws a deeper line of contrast between the views of religion on both Annares and Urras. For Urras, there must exist a definite organization, title and creed included, in order for such a thing as religion to exist. And for the Annarestians, religion does not necessitate such rigid strictures and divisions. The practices of Annares and Urras then are contrasted with one another, even those of religion, in order to establish the Utopian conflicts between the two different worlds.

Margaret Atwood, in her utopic/dystopic novel Oryx and Crake, follows much the same convention of a comparing two opposite worlds as a means of dissecting their fundamental differences. The Compounds, the sealed away bastions of the elite and gifted, are presented in stark contrast to the realms of the commoners, or the pleeblands. The narrator describes the experiences of Jimmy, one of the novel's protagonists, as he ventures through the Watson-Crick Compound: “The extensive grounds inside the security wall were beautifully laid out…The students…had created a whole array of drought-and-flood resistant tropical blends, with flowers or leaves in lurid shades of chrome yellow and brilliant flame red and phosphorescent blue and neon purple” (199). The world of the Watson-Crick Compound is awash in vibrant colors that transform its construction into a panorama of wonder. It is beautiful and pristine and free from any sort of visual malformity. In addition, its weather is also regulated: “The fake rocks looked like real rocks but weighted less; not only that, they absorbed water during the periods of humidity and release it in times of drought” (200). The Compounds self-regulate their own environments, which keeps themselves safe from weather-based distress. Thus, the people inside the Compounds do not face the same issues of starvation or lack of supply, as their environment is perfectly capable of providing for itself.

The pleeblands, on the other hand, are described as being “dilapidated” (245), and, as in the case of Texas, subjected to environmental disaster, such as when Amanda Payne recalls the Southwest state’s current condition: “she claimed to be able to remember the place before it dried up and blew away” (244). Besides environmental hazards, the social unrest plagues the pleeblands as well: “there were people cruising around in those places who could forge anything and who might be anybody, not to mention the loose change—the addicts, the muggers , the paupers, the crazies” (27). Outside the compounds, the world is a cesspool of chaos and crime. The pleeblands lack a strong sense of security, as opposed to the Compounds that are protected by security walls and require clearance to enter (27). But the pleeblands are not the only threat, as other nations, companies, and factions present a potential danger to the security of the Compounds (27). The Compounds themselves are likened to the castles of the Middle Ages with drawbridges and slots in the ramparts through which to pour hot pitch on attackers (28). Such is the framed world Oryx and Crake: a world where the perceived utopia of the Compounds stands in conflict with the chaotic pleeblands in their squalor and crime. Though not as idealistically direct as the works of Ecotopia or The Dispossessed, the setting or Oryx and Crake provides two alternative looks at two opposing societies in which the practices of both are contrasted against one another, thus providing a world where the security and intellectual advantage of a few stands against the unpredictable and decaying outside lands.

The Utopian literature covered in this class presents its readers with a multitude of standard conventions, not least of which is the method of contrasting civilizations. For the story of Ernest Callenbach’s Ecotopia, these opposing societies are that of the titular nation and the then modern United States, with Ecotopia being a haven of personal connection to one’s work and environmentally safe practices, while the other is consumed by unhinged materialism and pollution. For Ursula K. Le Guin’s The Dispossessed, the planet of Annares is matched against the world of Urras, the former of which utilizes a highly collective based society without divisions, while the latter institutes a more capitalistic and highly factionalized way of life. And in Margaret Atwood’s Oryx and Crake, the competing societies bear a rivalry as polarized as it is ancient: the technologically advanced and disaster-free Compounds against the decaying waste-dumps of crime and depravity dubbed the pleeblands. All three of these Utopian (or, in the case of Oryx and Crake, dystopian as well) utilize the convention of contrasting societies to reveal the intricate disparities of cultural and ideological developments that two cultures can have, and how these differences affect both their opposing cultural standpoints and their approaches to life. To obtain this markedly strong contrast requires an astute understanding of language and terminology, which indicates how imperative one’s defining of what qualifies as opposite or different is to understanding not only the other culture, but one’s own.

Picturesque Visions: The Dualism and Uncertainty of Utopia

As this class has progressed, the vision of the Utopia has projected itself down numerous paths, all of which are varied in their own unique way of characterizing the Utopian society. While several stories covered at this juncture are most assuredly Dystopic in presentation, they nonetheless present worlds that sought their own vision of what Utopia means and how it should be constructed. This variety in illustration of the Utopia does pose a philosophical red herring: if the vision is so varied, how can a true answer ever be reached? The Utopia genre, rather than claim it has found the answer to the world’s aches and ills, attempts to present a multifaceted eyeglass through which to view the future. And it is this multisided aspect that evokes both the skepticism and the wonder toward the genre, a sentiment expressed in Bill Clouse’s essay “Utopia? Well…at Least the Genre Works,”, where Clouse examines the need and purpose of the Utopian genre. Whereas a need for the utopia exists and the vision of peace it presents must be explored, Umaymah Shahid’s essay “Utopia + Dystopia = Ustopia” understands that the vision of the Utopia may be paradise for some, but perdition for others. And in conjunction with the two-way imagining of what the Utopia is, Cynthia Cleveland’s essay “The Best of All Possible Worlds: Utopic Ambiguities” further develops the ambiguous nature endemic to the utopic realization in terms of the subjectivity of its definition, and thus affirms that the vision of the Utopia changes face as much as it does place.

For Bill Clouse in his essay “Utopia? Well…at the Least the Genre Works,” the utopian vision, when first approached, brims with a skeptical uncertainty. Clouse presents this skepticism by first asking a series of questions: “Perfection is subjective, which explains the majority’s dismissive attitude toward utopias. And why not have that attitude? Who determines the ideal society, and how does one find a large population of like-minded, selfless individuals willing to sacrifice for the good of that society?” Clouse understands that for the Utopian society to work, a myriad of individuals would have to set aside their own individual desires and coalesce into a united whole bent on constructing a society made to benefit everyone at once, rather than just the individual. However, Clouse assuages this skepticism by approaching the theoretical understanding of creating a Utopia: “Technically, a group can be its own society, so if a small number of like-minded individuals created their own little utopia…I can fathom a dozen devoted men keeping alive principles they unquestionably believe in, principles lasting for more than 2000 years.” Clouse understands the desire for a Utopia and the plausibility of one’s construction. Establishing a peaceful society, as Clouse understands, means using principals capable of outlasting the current and all generations, but at the same time uniting the members of a utopia under a single cause. However, as Clouse points out, this leads some critics to think that the utopian genre itself is a chance for some to explore flights of fancy and escapism rather than explore relevant issues. Clouse contends with this criticism and offers an effective counter by explain that, for Ernest Callenbach, the society presented in his book Ecotopia was never an attempt to create a perfect world, but rather was meant to serve as a venue for suggestions and theories that posit alternative ideas, rather than a single cure all solution. Utopias then serve more as a carrier for ideas that expose social failings and ills, and offer an imagining of what solutions or ultimatums might exist.

And coupled with the suggestive nature of the Utopian ideal is the doublesided perception that goes hand in hand with viewing the Utopia are the views expressed by Umaymah Shahid in her essay, “Utopia + Dystopia = Ustopia.” Shahid examines Margaret Atwood’s novels Oryx and Crake. Shahid examines the relationship between the novel’s protagonists, Jimmy and Crake, and equivocates their roles as similar to the explorer and guide found in other Utopian novels, such as Herland: “Jimmy and Crake are the traveler and guide typical of the utopian text with dialogue and observations as our means of gleaning information of the society.” Oryx and Crake, according to Shahid, is a novel that utilizes conventions found in standard Utopian models but varies them in such a way that much different vision of the Utopia is presented. Shahid examines the decorum of a paradise and its commodified natural ornamentation: “He [Jimmy] observes fake rocks that absorb water in humidity and release it when in a drought. The butterflies had ‘wings the size of pancakes and were shocking pink.’” As evidenced by this passage, the designs of science in this case have altered nature and subjected it to artificial control, but, as Shahid notes, this alteration creates in its own way a Utopia. Shahid states that “the pre-apocalyptic world is a dystopia for the inhabitants of the pleeblands and utopias for those in the compounds.” This shift in utopian vision depends entirely one’s positioning: on the inside, there is paradise, and on the outside there is barrenness. Shahid notes that the utopia exists for some, but no for others. The utopia thus exists in a dual state of prosperity and deprivation, with the latter representing a dystopia to its inhabitants. And this dynamic, as Shahid notes, shifts again and again: “post-apocalypse is a dystopia for Jimmy and a utopia for the Crakers, and the list goes on.” The utopia is unstable, and its very existence depends on a manipulation of perception. Therefore, as Shahid’s essay indicates, the creation of utopia naturally includes excluding other social groups in order to maintain the peace, with those who do have the benefit of existing in the utopia having their visions fully constructed and engineered for their own pleasure. As Shahid understands, this world made by Atwood in the novel is clearly a dystopia for some and a utopia for others. Compared to Clouse’s understanding of the Utopia as more of a vehicle for bring social ills to attention and recommending possible solutions, Shahid’s analysis of Atwood’s novel accomplishes much the same goal. The dystopic world and the utopic world are constantly shifting, but, as Shahid notes, Jimmy is on a journey nonetheless and is actively seeking an answer while experiencing utopia and dystopia together as the impending dangers and possible answers for those dangers unfold.

The utopia then lies beyond perception and realization, and even when it renders itself concrete it does not exist in total consistence. Such is the tendency that Cynthia Cleveland notes in her essay “The Best of All Possible Worlds: Utopic Ambiguities,” where the subjective existence of Utopias only increases their near imperceptibility. Cleveland pulls a great deal from the Matrix movie franchise, stating that the “movie shows us a future in which we have wreaked havoc upon the earth, to the point that it has become uninhabitable and our technology has surpassed us.” This dire future has led to, as Cleveland describes, the machines to use human bodies as fuel while the inhabitants are kept in a dreamlike stasis. As Cleveland understands, the movie poses the following quandary: “The argument of the movie persists in which reality is the best of all possible worlds? A reality in which we are kept in a simulation, living a whole life within our minds, or the reality of the machines as our overlords, and we their slaves?” The choice here resembles the dualistic state of the utopia that Shahid describes in her essay regarding the world of Oryx and Crake. As in the Matrix, there exists an imagined utopia, but those who have rejected that paradise find themselves in a dystopic world instead. Cleveland applies this dualism of utopias to historical context: “Hitler’s Third Reich was perhaps one of the most horrific and violent failures, while North Korea’s communist society holds firm. One would not consider either of these to be a utopia, but in someone’s mind it must have seemed so.” The vision of the utopia, as both Shahid and Cleveland assert, depends on one’s location within the dichotomy, thus making its existence ambiguous and subject to shifting perception.

Thus the vision of the Utopia floats on murky tides. As Clouse understands, the Utopia itself is not meant to be an end-all answer for the modern world’s social ills, but instead is a method of highlighting and questioning social ills and unrest and giving a possible alternative. This idea indicates that the utopia itself is not a hard and fast, concrete ideal of what a society should be. Clouse says as much by asserting that both Utopian and Dystopian literature accomplish the same goals, which, according to Clouse, “the dystopian narrative involves a protagonist’s journey towards finding the truth about the society around him, a society fettered by the chains of an oppressive system.” Shahid corresponds on this concept as well, stating that throughout Jimmy’s experience, the dualistic relationship of utopia and dystopia comes to fruition: “As Jimmy takes the journey, we see the utopian and dystopian worlds collide, and a true sense of the idea one’s utopia is another dystopia appears” . The journey involves discovering this dichotomy and realizing that the vision of the utopia lies submerged in ambiguity and murky. Cleveland converges here on this point, for through her analysis the fact that a physical utopia is too ambiguous and often involves creating an opposing and subversive dystopic environment becomes apparent. Thus, the idea of the utopia communicates through the medium: “It is then through a literature of ideas that we are able to realize utopias in their form, and it is there that they serve their best function.” If the utopia can only exist in a literature of ideas, then  the nature of utopian perfection truly is subjective, as Clouse understands. Shahid’s understanding of the journey then is imperative, as it is only through exploring ideas and seeking solutions that can build the utopia can the utopia even exist.

The picturesque of the Utopia certainly possesses an overwhelming amount of bleariness. As Clouse understands, the utopia does not exist as an answer but as a light that shows upon social issues and presents an argument against them, rather than asserting solutions, thus rendering the utopia to a mere conceptual status. Shahid understands that the utopia involves a dystopian counterpart, thus indicating that utopias exist for some but not for others. And Cleveland’s essay recognizes this subjective existence as support for the ambiguity surrounding the concept of a utopia and how the concept of such an ideal society is restricted form rather than reality. However, as the sources indicate, the vision of the utopia is one of ideas and possible answers, not a manifestation of tangible perfection. The utopia genre exists as a representation of the search for solutions, the first steps of that search being laid by the styles and mechanics characteristic of utopian literature. And, by utilizing language and the creation of a world so drastically different from our own to make these ideas live, the utopian genre constantly challenges modern conventions by using its own style to explore visions of the possible.