In a capitalist society, we have come accustomed to it’s comfortability, its stagnation. We trust our standards of living and treat them as inert, and as a result, see change over time unfolding itself in a predictable nature. Climate change flips on its head this foundation we have positioned ourselves upon. Ecological historical events validate nature’s unpredictability, its catastrophical capacity. We cannot treat the ongoing climate crisis in the same manner, and must challenge this idea that if we pose an event as a catastrophe, it is something that is unlikely, fictitious and far away.  This reflects simularily in the literary world. In fiction, we move away from the emphasis on circumstances of exception, and into the description of the everyday. This rationalization of modern life, the “…relocation of the unheard-of moving toward the background… while the everyday moves into the foreground” (Ghosh 17), is incompatible with the reality of climate change and its exceptional nature. In order for climate change to have its place in fiction, we must advocate for a common position of nuance, that, to build a fictional reality it is equally important to include style and observation as it is to include the improbable. That both of these can exist and should still be considered as serious writing, and, in the context of climate fiction, a serious and factual reality lingering outside the pages. LeMenager speaks on this idea that emerging genres respond to a social need. So when thinking about the way we characterize cli-fi in the same seriousness as the insertion of the supernatural, not only does it depict the contemporary mind’s emerging awareness to ecological realities, but also a larger pattern of cognitive dissonance as a resistance to fear. This “learning to die” that climate change requires challenges the manner in which we live. This comfortability capitalist societies produce conditions us into interacting with the world around us in a way that allots us to continue to exist in this state. It requires a challenging and intentional everyday responsibility. I believe that in order to properly reflect climate change in literature, we must properly reflect it in our society and cultural values; this failure in fiction is just a small piece of the larger failure of societal structures. Regardless of whether or not we succeed in this, climate change continues. This image that Ghosh evokes of the threat of a tiger comes to mind. That in the Sundarbans, the animal “…could be just a few feet away. If it charged, you would not see it till last minute, and even if you did, you would not be able to get away; the mud would immobilize you” (Ghosh 28). There is an idea that acknowledging what you see and knowing what you cannot see is just as important. Seeing the modern world as it is and knowing a reality that you cannot see yet or in entirety is of equal value. Writing filler, or the “everyday”, as well as writing the exceptional are uniformly significant to include, and often should go hand in hand. And in not placing value in what you cannot see, you blindsight yourself to a climate catastrophe in which your feet are stuck in the mud and it’s too late.

The Great Derangement by Amitav Ghosh highlights how our society struggles to accept the impacts of climate change. He argues that even though these are the very things we are currently experiencing, big, unexpected disasters like flooding, hurricanes, and rising sea levels often get left out in modern fiction, particularly novels. Politicians are usually more concerned with current issues than long-term survival. Ghosh refers to this as a form of “derangement,” an overall vision that prevents us from having an understanding of the issue. However, he also makes the point that many spiritual and cultural traditions may inspire us to examine our connection to the planet and provide us with new methods for dealing with a changing environment.

I don’t know what to read for the next class since the schedule just isn’t showing up at all for me.

Amitav Ghosh’s “The Great Derangement” was the article that stood out the most to me. Within, he expressed his distaste for modern authors lacking the inclusion of real world changes directly related to the Anthropocene. This is not to say he was not a victim of his criticism as well, however he makes sure to include his own experience of dealing with a weather anomaly. He makes the claim that perhaps these events are often overlooked in the present day is due to their ever increasing probability of occurring. It’s like a double edged sword. People are only interested in stories that have some ground in reality…but then again, who would want to read about something they could experience themselves? It’s definitely not a black and white playing field.

Using his own experience to drive his point home that he is not just talking to talk added a depth of character to the article. It really puts into perspective how fast thing as a whole can change, and how a single event can impact you for the rest of your life. Considering it affects us all, regardless of one’s lifestyle, it’s hard to believe such a topic is not addressed in modern literature as it very well should be.

A common worry about science fiction is that it builds self-contained worlds too strange to help readers to think about real problems. If these universes are so unrecognizable to us, they may dramatize climate collapse without offering useful political or social insight. Yet Bracke show that speculative fiction is not cut off from reality. Through emotion and narrative form, it refracts our world back to us in ways that are both moving and politically charged.

Bracke claims that science fiction draws its power not only from strange settings but from the emotional structures inside them. She writes, “destruction of the family unit adds a sense of emotional resonance to the narrative, inspiring the reader to feel along with the surviving characters”(97). Even when the world of novel looks unfamiliar readers can still connect through shared feelings of grief, love, or survival. This emotional connection makes the story meaningful even if the setting is distant from our daily lives.

For Bracke, the lesson is that speculative fiction does not need to directly copy real-world events like climate change reports or policy debates. Instead, it words by showing how crises reshape human relationships and emotional lives. The unfamiliar world still feels relevant because the emotions inside it are familiar. She argues that speculative fiction gains its force by using the tools of storytelling—what she calls narratology.

A key way speculative fiction connects strange worlds to our own is through time. Climate stories often use what we scholars call the “future perfect” tense: they imagine what will have happened if current trends continue. These futures are not certain, but they are likely. A ruined environment may look unfamiliar, but it grows directly out of the present. The world of the novel is both strange and recognizable. It seems alien but also shows the results of our choices. The present no longer feels fixed and ordinary. Instead, it feels like the past of a possible disaster, making our current inaction appear shortsighted, even irresponsible.

By placing us inside a future where the effects of climate change are already real, the narrative compels us to ask how later generations will judge today’s actions. Why didn’t people act? Why did they continue with trivial distractions while the crisis deepened? Through this structure, speculative fiction reframes the present as a decisive turning point.

Hence, speculative fiction may appear to isolate itself in unfamiliar worlds, but in practice it uses both emotion and form to reconnect us to reality. Bracke shows how readers care through emotional resonance. The narratological perspective shows how storytelling techniques, especially the “future perfect”, reframe our present as the past of a possible catastrophe. As its best, speculative fiction unsettles us by making the future feel both strange and probable, urging us to rethink the choices we make today.