At the recent Storymakers conference, I taught a class on Writing Dystopia. This week I’ll be turning that class into a series of blogs:

Monday: Defining Dystopia
Tuesday: History of Dystopia
Wednesday: Elements of Dystopia
Thursday: Elements of the Dystopian Hero
Friday: Social Commentary in Dystopian Fiction

We’re now diving into some of the more specific elements of the dystopia genre. Obviously, not all of these elements are present in every dystopian, but, generally, these are so common/important in dystopian fiction that they almost define the genre.

Warning! There will be a couple of minor spoilers as I give examples, but they’re almost all from classics of the dystopian genres that you’ve all likely read or heard about.

• The society/social structure plays an enormous role in the story. I would say that, of all the elements listed here, this one is the most essential to a true dystopia. A society in a dystopia is never merely a backdrop; it is a driving force to both character and plot. I’d go so far as to say that if you’ve created a society that isn’t a central element to your story, then your book probably isn’t dystopian: it’s likely sci-fi, or post-apocalyptic, or cyber-punk or something else.
• Strong elements of control, and lack of certain freedoms. As we talked about on Monday, a true dystopia is a utopia with a fatal flaw. Generally, it is that flaw that allows for the utopia: constant surveillance (lack of privacy) ensures complete safety; lack of individual choices allows for the society to make decisions that benefit the group as a whole. In The Hunger Games, the lack of freedom came in the form of mandated entry into the games, and the games were used as a propaganda machine to control and dominate the outer districts.
• Restricted information. This is more obvious in some dystopians, like 1984, where the protagonist’s job is to edit and alter history, or in Fahrenheit 451, where the firemen burn books for the “good of humanity”. But while other dystopias may not be as overtly concerned with censorship or historical revisionism, almost all of them control information, often hiding it from the public. The title character in The Giver is one of the only people to know the history of their society. In Uglies, characters don’t know the negative consequences of what happens when they are made into Pretties (and those negative consequences only increase the society’s ability to hide information).
• Citizens/characters are dehumanized to some extent. In many dystopias, not only are freedoms taken away, but many of the elements of humanity are taken away as well. In The Giver, the citizens have lost the ability to experience pleasure or pain. In Brave New World, citizens are encouraged to take drugs to pacify and distract them. In The Hunger Games, teens are forced to kill. In We, citizens wear identical clothes and have numbers instead of names, losing much of their personal identity.
• Conformity. Individuality and dissension are bad/immoral/illegal. In all of these societies, the state/government acts with totalitarian control. While some citizens may ostensibly have more freedom than others, none can freely oppose the philosophies of the regime. The government will act swiftly to ensure that one bad apple doesn’t rule the entire barrel, either through “re-education” (as in 1984),  imprisonment, execution, or something similar (characters in We get lobotomized for speaking out).
• There is the illusion of a perfect world. The ultimate goal of the society, through all of the above elements, is to create a world that is peaceful/stable/equal/etc. And in most dystopias, there is a large portion of the population who believes that the society has succeeded, that this is a utopia. One of my very favorite elements in Matched is that, unlike many dystopians, even until we get to the last few chapters (of the first book) the main character really doesn’t see the society as evil and wrong. It’s the only world she’s known, and though she may be discovering disturbing truths, it takes a long time for her to even conceive of the idea that the society as a whole might be bad (rather than have a few isolated problems). Even in The Hunger Games, which starts from an outsider’s (Katniss’s) perspective, we can see that the people in The Capitol view their society as idyllic–they don’t even recognize how horrible the games are.

Again, not all of these need to be present to have a dystopia, but these are all very common and important to the genre. (Going back to definitions, I think using these elements as a guidepost, rather than the vague “bad place” definition, will be much more useful if you’re thinking of writing a dystopia.)

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At the recent Storymakers conference, I taught a class on Writing Dystopia. This week I’ll be turning that class into a series of blogs:

Monday: Defining Dystopia
Tuesday: History of Dystopia
Wednesday: Elements of Dystopia
Thursday: Elements of the Dystopian Hero
Friday: Social Commentary in Dystopian Fiction

Yesterday we talked about some common elements in dystopian fiction. Today, we’re going to look at common elements in the dystopian hero. A dystopian her0 generally:

• Helps the reader understand the problems with the society. We talked yesterday about how the society, structure and setting are integral to the story, and the main character is the lens through which we see that setting. Whether the protagonist initially understands the societal problems (like Katniss in Hunger Games) or doesn’t (Cassia in Matched), the readers still learn through the main character. Dramatic irony (when the reader knows something a character doesn’t) is a staple of dystopian fiction. Cassia doesn’t recognize the problems in her society, but the reader absolutely sees them. Even in 1984, where Winston is dissatisfied and unhappy, there is still a hefty dose of dramatic irony: he’s hates his job and his marriage, even though readers realize that Winston’s problems are much much worse than just that.
• Discovers secrets or restricted information. Like we talked about yesterday, dystopian societies hide information from their citizens, and the discovery of this information is almost always the catalyst to spur the protagonist to action. Think of Tally in Uglies, who discovered the truth about the both the Pretties and the Specials, or Winston in 1984, who is fascinated with “true” history, and gets a copy of The Theory and Practice of Oligarchical Collectivism, a treasonous book written by the #1 enemy of the state.
• Feels trapped/isolated. While the protagonist is learning more about the problems of their situation, they are trapped, both physically and socially. Their physical isolation comes in the form of constant surveillance and inabilty to to speak freely or act freely. But the social isolation is worse: the philosophies of the society are so rigid and ingrained that it’s often very difficult to find anyone who dares/wants to discuss societal problems.
• Is often more ideological than practical, and is willing to take huge risks. To some extent, this can be said about characters in many types of fiction, but its especially prevalent in dystopia. Dystopian protagonists are rebels. When they decide to take an action, whether it is to attempt a revolution, or disseminate information or simply escape, they understand that the consequences are very dire. Aside from the threat of punishment, they also know that they are rejecting society and friends–often everything they have ever known. And, very often, they don’t know what the consequences will be even if they succeed: What would escape mean? What would take the place of the current society?
• Is almost never an outsider. While the protagonists of utopian fiction were outsiders, very often travelers who visited a new civilization and learned about its society in great depth, the dystopian hero is almost always an insider. Winston worked for the government, actively censoring history. Cassia, while not privy to dark secrets, was completely immersed in the society to the point of being oblivious to the problems happening around her. Even Katniss, who lived in the outer provinces and was well-aware of the problems of society, still counts as an insider because she has grown up in and accepted the reality of her society. “Insider” doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re complicit in the nefarious actions of the society (though it can); it simply means that they’re a long-term member of this society–what they’re seeing (and what the reader sees through them) isn’t new and strange.

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At the recent Storymakers conference, I taught a class on Writing Dystopia. This week I’ll be turning that class into a series of blogs:

Monday: Defining Dystopia
Tuesday: History of Dystopia
Wednesday: Elements of Dystopia
Thursday: Elements of the Dystopian Hero
Friday: Social Commentary in Dystopian Fiction

In this final installment of the dystopian blog series, I want to talk about the social commentary that is inherent to dystopian fiction.

On Tuesday we talked about how dystopia is reactionary; it looks at a social problem and extrapolates that problem to its frightening extreme. When looking at the origins of almost any dystopia, the authors often frankly coming upon a troubling subject and then imagining how the world would be different if that subject became more and more prevalent:

From Ally Condie, about Matched:

“The real catalyst was a conversation I had with my husband about marriage in the fall of 2008. He posited the question: What if someone wrote the perfect algorithm for lining people up, and the government used it to decide who you married, when you married, etc.?”

Publishers Weekly wrote about Suzanne Collins inspiration for The Hunger Games:

Collins says the idea for the brutal nation of Panem came one evening when she was channel-surfing between a reality show competition and war coverage. “I was tired, and the lines began to blur in this very unsettling way.” She also cites the Greek myth of Theseus, in which the city of Athens was forced to send 14 young men and women into the labyrinth in Crete to face the Minotaur. “Even as a kid, I could appreciate how ruthless this was,” Collins recalled. “Crete was sending a very clear message: ‘Mess with us and we’ll do something worse than kill you. We’ll kill your children.’ ”

Some authors take it a step further, where the social problem is not just the inspiration, but the author specifically wants to make a political/philosophical point:

Ray Bradbury wrote about Fahrenheit 451:

There is more than one way to burn a book. And the world is full of people running about with lit matches. Every minority, be it Baptist / Unitarian, Irish / Italian / Octogenarian / Zen Buddhist / Zionist / Seventh-day Adventist / Women’s Lib / Republican / Mattachine / FourSquareGospel feels it has the will, the right, the duty to douse the kerosene, light the fuse….Fire-Captain Beatty, in my novel Fahrenheit 451, described how the books were burned first by the minorities, each ripping a page or a paragraph from this book, then that, until the day came when the books were empty and the minds shut and the library closed forever.

The New York Times wrote about Ayn Rand’s inspiration for Atlas Shrugged:

Rand said she “set out to show how desperately the world needs prime movers and how viciously it treats them” and to portray “what happens to a world without them.”

Almost every dystopia fits this mold: taking a current problem and extrapolating upon it. Uglies addresses body image. Brave New World is about our disposable consumer culture and our obsession with hedonistic pleasure and entertainment. We talks about conformity and Communism.

Going all the way back to our Monday topic, I really think that this social commentary is an integral part of the definition of a true dystopia. A book with a vaguely dystopian setting, but which lacks this distinct issue-based element, is probably a different genre altogether: sci-fi, or post-apocalypse, or something else.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this week-long blog series. I’ve definitely enjoyed writing it. I know I’ve defined things pretty narrowly, and that some people have broader definitions; I’d love to hear your thoughts.

One oft-repeated mantra of publishing is that book covers exist solely for marketing purposes: they’re designed to get you to pick the book up off the shelf, and help you identify it as something you’d like to read.

This mantra is usually quoted when readers (or authors) complain that the cover is not true to the book–the images don’t match the details of the story, etc. Covers are advertising, they say—a billboard in a bookstore, plain and simple.

It’s awesome when a cover bucks that trend. Or, rather, when it works well as advertising, but also as a great work of art, conveying not just genre and character, but also theme and meaning.

Therefore, it was with delight when I saw Ally Condie’s latest cover revealed—the last in her Matched trilogy. (Disclaimer: Ally’s a good friend of mine, but I’m not trying to buzz market her book. I just really find her covers fascinating.)

I’m going to try to do this without spoiling too much (but I will spoil some things).

Matched:

First, the dress. It’s Cassia’s fancy gown she wears to her dystopian coming-out party. It’s puffy and big and impractical, a high-school prom dress. It’s a princess dress, evoking dreams of happily-ever-afters.

Second, the color scheme is green. As we’ll see through the series of covers, the color schemes are correlated to the three pills everyone in The Society carries. Green is the Valium of the Matched world, a pill taken to calm and pacify.

Third, the sphere. It looks fragile and thin, like a soap bubble. Even though it symbolizes Cassia’s imprisonment, it’s not a violent imprisonment—it’s just that she’s living in a bubble, unaware of dark truths that are hidden all around her.

Fourth, her pose. Yes, she’s trapped, but hardly looks concerned. She’s not panicked, not fighting.

In other words, this first cover perfectly conveys Cassia’s world at the start of Matched: it’s a false fairy tale. She’s calm, unaware of the fact that her princess life is even problematic.

Crossed:

First, it’s not a dress anymore. They’re more practical clothes for a girl on the run. She’s not living a fairytale anymore; she’s pursuing a new life, and that process can’t involve frills and creature comforts.

Second, the color scheme is blue, correlating to the blue pill—the energy bar of The Society. Blue pills keep people alive, which is what Crossed is focused on—surviving in a terrible situation.

Third, the sphere: she’s breaking out of it, yes, and that’s obviously symbolic of her beginning her escape. But what I find more interesting is that the sphere is no longer a soap bubble–it has weight and density. It’s still thin, like the glass of a Christmas ornament, but it’s solid, and it takes effort.

Finally, her pose: it’s active. She’s fighting. She’s breaking out.

Crossed, therefore, is a book of action. It’s about giving up the comforts of ignorance and fighting for survival and knowledge.

Reached:

Now, I haven’t read Reached yet (which makes me very sad). But, following the pattern of the previous covers, there is symbolism we can plainly see.

First, Cassia’s back in a dress. But even though it’s a beautiful dress, it’s a stark contrast to the fluff of the Matched dress. This one is simple and elegant and grown-up. Cassia has grown from a child to an adult.

Second, the cover is red. The red pill is The Society’s weapon: it makes people forget their problems. While the other two pills ostensibly help the citizens (by calming them and helping them survive), this one is insidious and controlling.

Third, the sphere. This is my favorite aspect of this cover. What had once been a soap bubble, then a thin ornament, is now a hard, heavy glass ball. The texture of the breaks shows there is thickness to the sphere–thickness and hardness that we didn’t see in the Crossed cover.  Breaking out of this sphere took more than the simple punch from the last book. Also, the shards of this sphere look dangerous: razor sharp; the curved breaks looking almost like knapped obsidian.

Finally, her pose: she’s no longer sitting, but no longer fighting either. Instead, she’s standing confidently, facing something we can’t see. There’s strength in her pose now, and readiness.

Anyway, these are my thoughts. I’m a huge fan of these books and eager to read Reached. And I’m in love with the covers—and the fact that the publisher would put so much thought and symbolism into them.