The world of science fiction

Science fiction is an acquired taste. If cynical observations are anything to go by, the genre is little more than a form of escapism and, therefore, possesses a whimsical quality. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing. In fact, some readers who gravitate toward sci-fi novels wish to be transported to imaginary realms so they can temporarily escape reality.

However, this category of fiction isn’t detached from reality and often borrows a leaf from it to convey some inconvenient truths about the human condition. “The science fiction method is dissection and reconstruction,” states American fiction writer Frederik Pohl. “You look at the world around you, and you take it apart into all its components. Then you take some of those components, throw them away, and plug in different ones, start it up and see what happens. That’s the method: restructure the world we live in in some way, then see what happens.”

If Pohl’s suggestions are to serve as a gauge, a skilled sci-fi writer must be an astute observer of the complexities of our own world. At its core, this advice holds some value. Some of the most poignant and haunting sci-fi novels draw heavily on the complex dynamics of our world to cultivate alternative fictional realities.

Unfortunately, sci-fi writers are rarely applauded for their efforts to bridge the gap between these separate realms. In fact, many of them are billed as pariahs in mainstream literary discourse across the world. This is largely because sceptics believe sci-fi is still a rather niche genre. Many readers labour under the misconception that sci-fi must purely respond to the enigmas of modern science - a field of study that doesn’t always interest everyone. This, of course, is a narrow interpretation of the genre.

In a well-researched entry for The Literary Encyclopedia, academic and author Russell Kenneth Blackford reveals the sheer diversity within this category of fiction. He states that it is difficult to reach a scholarly consensus on the key ingredients of sci-fi writing. As a result, the boundaries of the genre are ‘highly contentious’. According to Blackford, poignant and thought-provoking sci-fi writing must involve “a break from historical experience” - a concept that he refers to as novelty. At the same time, he asserts that sci-fi must benefit from rationality, which entails an adherence to scientific paradigms. Blackford also believes some semblance of realism, or the firm belief that the events are taking place, is also a crucial element in the genre.

It is widely believed that the emergence of Western sci-fi as a genre coincided with the imperialist project. Despite its rather chequered history, this category of fiction has been rapidly reclaimed in the South Asian context and has developed into a powerful creative tool through which colonial narratives can be challenged.

Speculative fiction - a broader category that includes other sub-genres, including sci-fi - has gained currency in Pakistan over the last few years. Acclaimed writers such as Bina Shah, Usman T Malik and Faraz Talat have expanded the parameters of this genre by venturing into dystopian fiction and fantasy horror.

In a sea of speculative gems, Sidra F Sheikh’s two novels, ‘The Light Blue Jumper’ and ‘A Shade Darker’, stand out for their perceived lack of conformity. Her oeuvre is neither a prisoner to earthly realms nor a specimen of ‘hard’ sci-fi. On the contrary, both novels can be categorised as ‘space operas’ laced with a comic touch. At times, her novels also carry the spirit of espionage literature, with their emphasis on secrets, spies and covert operations.

The unusual premise of Sheikh’s novels as well as their alacrity to bend genres lends a unique flavour to her oeuvre. Few Pakistani authors escaped the stranglehold of realism to venture into Sheikh’s chosen creative terrain. Mercifully, Sheikh has no pretensions of being the Pakistani pioneer of a subgenre of fiction. Her focus is primarily to produce a compelling, enriching and character-driven story that resonates with readers.

Sheikh’s professional credentials reveal no trace of her creative interests. A multifaceted professional, the Lahore-based Sheikh holds a BSc from the London School of Economics and is a lawyer licensed to practice in the high courts of England and Pakistan. She is also on the board of governors of the Gulab Devi Trust Hospital. Readers might assume that her creative forays offer an opportunity to escape the mundane. Much like the eponymous ‘jumper’ from her novel ‘The Light Blue Jumper’, Sheikh also possesses the ability to traverse through space - albeit a figurative, rather than physical, one that opens a doorway towards new creative possibilities.

Her debut novel features a disparate group of rebels who confront the machinations of an intergalactic authoritarian regime called the Interplanetary Forces (IPF). As they sow the seeds of a revolution, this motley crew of dissidents encounter its unlikeliest linchpin in Zaaro Nian. A pale blue, large-headed and thin-lipped alien, Zaaro belongs to the fictitious planet of Zaaron and is on the IPF’s payroll. From the outset, Sheikh’s protagonist is described as an “advanced life form who function[s] entirely without emotion”. Though he is also viewed as a messiah who possesses unique powers, Zaaro displays occasional flashes of naivety that endears him to readers.

Anglophone literature in Pakistan boasts a rich array of narratives rooted in realism. Zaaro stands out as an anomaly. Sheikh’s endearing protagonist represents the subjective experiences of entities in a post-human context, and compels us to look beyond the narrow concerns of our own species.

When it was released seven years ago, The Light Blue Jumper was lauded for deviating from the stereotypical mould of Pakistani fiction and taking a vital creative leap. The novel sidestepped all those recurring meditations on identity, nationalism and postcolonial realities that are found in abundance in South Asian literature. During an interview for this publication in 2022, Sheikh told this scribe that she is essentially a “citizen of the world” who is drawn towards universal themes. As a consequence, she actively resists the temptation to churn out the pigeon-holed variety of narratives that carries the familiar echoes of “poverty, desi aunties, terrorism and mangoes in the monsoon.”

Be that as it may, The Light Blue Jumper isn’t entirely insulated from the themes such as identity, bigotry, displacement or colonisation. Instead, it frames these concerns in different, unexpected hues. The strength of Sheikh’s debut novel lies in its ability to analyse the psychology of a revolution. Indoctrination would have us believe that most rebellions are, at best, a homogenous struggle for change. Using the perspective of several narrators to great advantage, The Light Blue Jumper reveals how the unified vision of a revolution is little more than a facade. Sheikh’s multi-perspective narrative exposes how the key players of a revolution are rarely fuelled by the same compulsions and motivations. Instead, the oppressor tends to masquerade as a saviour whereas the oppressed are subdued to such an extent that they begin to view the status quo as a blessing. These trends reflect the shocking realities of our own complex global political order.

A Shade Darker, the much-awaited sequel to The Light Blue Jumper, takes readers into familiar realms, albeit with renewed gusto and a far more introspective focus. Sheikh’s debut novel concluded with the triumph of the rebel forces. Zaaro, who played a pivotal role in securing their victory, unexpectedly disappears. After arduous efforts to determine his whereabouts proved to be futile, Zaaro was assumed dead and posthumously awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. In A Shade Darker, Sheikh’s beloved blue hero resurfaces after five years and must reckon with a changed world, one where “his sacrifice was a complete and utter waste.”

In the second installment, the rebel forces now find themselves at the helm, having rebranded themselves as the Resistance. The enigmatic Madam X may have recycled IPF infrastructure to consolidate her position, but now rules the universe “with an iron grip, feared by all, loved by none, committing [shameful] atrocities.”

Sheikh’s sophomore novel engages in a spellbinding role reversal, whereby the dissidents must fill the shoes of those they once defied. Power, as the erstwhile rebels soon discover, has its traditional trappings and inevitably fuels other forces to revolt. The intricacies of these power dynamics resemble those witnessed within own global polity.

The crowning glory of A Shade Darker is that it presents a layered, richly imagined universe. World creation is an integral component of sci-fi and Sheikh succeeds in painting a vivid portrait of her fictional world. The narrative is peppered with an assortment of details that enrich the reader’s understanding of these fictitious realms. “In Ultron,” she writes, “the nobility were allowed to be addressed by single letters of the alphabet, the one immediately before the mother’s name was used, as the father had no public acknowledgment. Once they ran out of letters they would use the same letter twice or thrice…The common folk were constrained to use combinations of letters, such as TOM, or HARRY, the longer the name, the lower the rank.”

This explanation serves a dual purpose. It not only depicts the conventions associated with naming in a make-believe planet, but also offers a clever critique of the trappings of anthropocentrism.

It is refreshing to see women characters at the forefront of Sheikh’s novels. Steered by feminist ideals, The Light Blue Jumper and A Shade Darker depict gender dynamics in a realistic, nuanced manner. In the opening chapter of A Shade Darker, a female Bulbon guard - a creature with both bird and human heads - is objectified by Commander Lethalwulf. Outraged by the commander’s misogynistic remark, the guard vociferously defends herself. “If I was a male,” she says, “you would have tried to fight me, maybe even shoot me to get past me. But just because I am a female, what do you do? You try [to] compliment one head and insult the other, so both vie for your attention.”

Such instances of feminist fervour act as a counter to the male-centric narratives we often come across in Western sci-fi. In an incisive paper, titled ‘The Position of Women in Science Fiction,’ Sanjukta Chakraborty decries the absence and clichéd portrayal of women in this genre. In most sci-fi writing, women are heavily sexualised and their capabilities are seldom given the attention they deserve. More often than not, they become prisoners of stereotypical representations. Sheikh’s female protagonists, such as Princess Dinaara and Madam X, are surrounded by men but find unique ways of standing their ground and liberating themselves from the clutches of patriarchy.

Sci-fi is a potent, vibrant genre in Pakistan. Many Urdu as well as English writers have embarked on the ink-and-paper route to produce breath-taking accounts about illusory worlds that mirror our own realities. It remains to be seen how the genre will evolve in the coming years. Until then, it is encouraging to see sci-fi writers courageously pushing their creative boundaries to keep the genre alive.

A law graduate from SOAS, London, Taha Kehar is the author of three novels, including ‘No Funeral For Nazia’. He can be reached at tahakehar2@gmail.com