The Crowded Pleasures of Reading
by Ritch Calvin
In November 2024, I received an email from a college student based in Belgium who was conducting research on science fiction and the predictive component of SF. They asked me if I would participate in an interview to discuss the issue. I said, “Certainly, though you may not like my answer.” Based on the way they had framed the question, I anticipated that they would be making the argument that science fiction is a mode of prediction. We had a lovely, engaged conversation that ran well past the allotted one-hour time limit. The belief is common enough—SF will tell us what the future looks like. And/or that science fiction writers are visionaries. Further, isn’t one of the primary modes of science fiction extrapolation? So, can SF tell us what the future will look like?
Well, I don’t think SF is particularly good at predicting the future.
But wait, didn’t Dick Tracy’s (he/him) wrist watch predict the iWatch? Didn’t Arthur C. Clarke (he/him) predict geosynchronous communications satellites? Didn’t Isaac Asimov (he/him) predict ethical issues with autonomous robots (and AI)? All arguable. Nevertheless, SF gets it wrong more often that it gets it right. For every correct (or vaguely correct) prediction in Brave New World, the novels gets another two or three incorrect.
Despite all of that, sometimes a work of SF can seem scarily prophetic.
In preparation for Queering SF Comics, I read Crowded—a graphic novel in 17 parts, published between 2018 and 2022. Written by Christopher Sebela (he/him), drawn by Ted Brandt (he/they), and colored by Tríona Ferrell (she/her), the comic is a vibrant, energetic, and colorful look into a near-future US society. As a comic, it is fast-paced and equal parts fun and frustrating—and more than a little sobering.
In the comic, the protagonist Charlie Ellison (she/her) patches together a living via the gig economy. She walks other people’s dogs; she rents out her clothing; she rents out her car; she provides companionship for elderly individuals. Etc. Etc. Charlie lives precariously and uses apps in order to eke out a living. While comical in its variety and scope, Charlie’s lived reality may seem quite close to some people’s current reality. Charlie’s life is not much of an extrapolation.
And then one day, someone uses an app to have Charlie killed. In the Crowded future, even murder can be crowd-sourced via an app called Reapr. When the first crowd-sourced murder happened, of course, everyone was shocked and scandalized. However, over time, crowd-sourced murder becomes an accepted mode of conflict resolution. As the comic comically notes, for a price, one can put out a hit on a family member, a co-worker, a politician, or someone who has ruined a beloved film franchise. Others can also add to the bounty, fueling the number of would-be assassins—and the likelihood that the murder will be successful.
And, just as murder-for-hire emerges, complementary professions emerge alongside it. For example, Dfenders are those who, for a fee, protect the would-be target from murder. Although the practice (and the app) have become legal, gig economy murderers have to follow rules. If the target can survive 30 days, the contract is null-and-void. Things just go back to “normal.”
In the story-line of Crowded, the bounty on Charlie keeps growing, and growing. With a huge price on her head, Charlie hires a Dfender, Vita Slatter (she/her), a queer ex-cop who has a strong affinity for following the rules. Vita’s willing to kill, but it must be by the book—if primarily to avoid the paperwork.
Two more different personalities one could not find, which fuels the fun and the frustration throughout the narrative.
Perhaps inevitably, I thought of Crowded as I read the news of the murder of UnitedHealthcare CEO, Brian Thompson in Manhattan in December, 2024. To be clear, the details do not exactly fit the future laid out in Crowded. However, a number of elements seemed disconcertingly true.
For one, in our current US economy, more and more of the population live a precarious life. Many people live partly or wholly via the gig economy. (I don’t want to paint a too-simplistic picture of that. The gig economy does offer some benefits, and some people prefer it to the steady 9-to-5 model.)
For another, public spectacle has become more and more the norm. Individuals, from all walks of life, stream their own lives for profit. From RealLife where people go about their daily lives with live cameras throughout their home to live-streamed events to social media. Our lives have become fodder for the web. Our lives take meaning by way of likes or clicks. We’re willing to broadcast our personal and intimate lives. We’re willing to stream our rage and frustration.
So, to be clear, the murder of Thompson was not a hit; it was not live-streamed. Nevertheless, it certainly felt as though it played out in realtime as the search for the killer was conducted: non-stop news coverage; non-stop reports of his movements; and non-stop commentary on the causes and effects of Thompson’s murder. And, of course, just as many, many citizens cheered on the murder of Charlie, so, too, did many citizens cheer on the murder of Thompson.
In Crowded, as the bounty increases and as the number of people who want Charlie dead increases, the chase becomes more and more public. We meet Trotter (he/him), who is a professional, real-time murderer. He and his team track bounties, and they livestream the completion of the contract. Live-streamed murder-for-hire is a lucrative business, and Trotter does quite well.
It all sounds macabre and inhumane. It all sounds too familiar.
In Crowded, people use the Reapr app for all sorts of reasons, large and small, personal and public. The slightest insult can result in a Reapr contract. That, too, seems too familiar. It is as though we no longer have the ability to negotiate conflict, to shrug off an insult (intended or perceived). Tensions escalate; violence ensues. I am not naïve; I know that violence has always been a part of human existence. That violence has never been so public before.
The point is—is the world of Crowded and the existence of a murder-for-hire app such as Reapr that far-fetched?
In Crowded, Sebela has used science fiction to extrapolate a possible future. Not predict the future, but offer a possible outcome of current social and technological trends. And, for me, that’s one of the beauties of science fiction. The thought experiment of Ursula K. Le Guin (she/her) in The Left Hand of Darkness. The social and technological concerns raised by Pamela Sargent (she/her) in Cloned Lives. The extrapolation of Margaret Atwood (she/her) in The Handmaid’s Tale. Atwood was told that her world of Gilead was too far-fetched and too unrealistic. We know better.
SF can provide the space for us to imagine and to reflect on current social and technological developments. It allows us to ask what our world might look like “if this goes on.”
However, I still maintain that SF (in general) and Crowded (in particular) are not predictions. They are extrapolations. They are not inevitable. When we see the future of Crowded, how do we respond? Are we amused? Are we entertained? Are we petrified? Are we moved? Are we moved to thought? Are we moved into action?
That is (one of) the pleasures of reading (SF).
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