This dissertation offers a reappraisal of twentieth-century dystopian fiction in the roughly thirty years after World War II by identifying the environmental dimensions of many of the most genre-defining authors and novels of this period. Given the escalating climate emergency and the growing popularity of climate fiction (“cli-fi”), it would be difficult to imagine critical conversations about twenty-first-century dystopian fiction that overlook environmental anxieties in the genre. Yet, in scholarly discussions of postwar dystopian fiction, there is a limiting sense that environmental “themes” emerge only periodically, or are of secondary importance to the genre’s more typically “Orwellian” themes like totalitarianism, propaganda, the Cold War, automation, censorship, and conformism. In contrast, my dissertation shows how dystopian fiction from this period develops in conversation with emerging conceptions of environmental degradation in the anti-nuclear, anti-population growth, and modern environmental movements. By developing a history of dystopian fiction’s mutual imbrication with growing anxieties about ecological degradation, my dissertation shows that texts in the genre have grappled for decades with socioecological questions that still perplex us today: can nuclear energy power a safe and abundant future? Should there be hard limits to humankind’s population? How should humans interact with/in non-human nature? If there are ecological limits to economic growth, is humankind (a problematically capacious term) approaching ecological limits? If so, are we (another problematically capacious term) courting disaster? Over three chapters, I trace the co-emergence of dystopianism and environmentalism in the roughly three decades after World War II as major Western cultural heuristics for thinking about the future. In this historical context, my dissertation puts dystopian novels like George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four (1949), Kurt Vonnegut’s Player Piano (1952), Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 (1953), Harry Harrison’s Make Room! Make Room! (1966), John Brunner’s Stand on Zanzibar (1968), and Ursula Le Guin’s The Lathe of Heaven (1971) in conversation with trailblazing environmental texts like Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring (1962) and Paul Ehrlich’s The Population Bomb (1968). As I will show, dystopian fiction produced during this period was influenced by and participated in debates about nuclear weapons and nuclear energy, overconsumption and overpopulation, and the degradation and disappearance of non-human nature. At the same time, the anti-nuclear, anti-population growth, and modern environmental movements borrowed rhetorical strategies from dystopian fiction to warn about the (in)habitability of the future. In developing these arguments, I draw heavily from primary sources and historical accounts of these movements, utopian and dystopian studies criticism, Marxist ecology and Critical Theory, and a growing collection of scholarship in the Environmental and Energy Humanities that emphasizes the centrality of energy to modern societies. This history will contribute to a better interdisciplinary understanding of how modern environmental thinking is influenced by dystopianism, and how dystopian fiction warns readers about what John Brunner calls environmental “survivability” in an age when the spectre of climate breakdown looms large in the public’s imagination.

This thesis proposes that architectural utopian ideas are the foundation for societal change. The communities that form from utopian ideas act as test sites for societal values on a microscale (Gondolf 1985). When communities work together on a utopian vision through dialogue, they avoid the pitfall of one person’s utopian vision being blanketed over the world (Schneekloth 1998). Utopian communities solve problems through experimentation that create different ways of living which act as visions that can provide hope (ibid). Ruth Levitas, author of The Concept of Utopia, defines utopia as “the expression of the desire for a better way of living” (Gizem Deniz Guneri 2019,155). In this thesis I articulate a framework for understanding utopian societies in sociological terms, as a place or idea created with clearly stated design principles. Utopian communities have clear boundaries and ideological principles that favor the wellbeing of the group above that of the individual (Gondolf 1985). Moreover, social mechanisms in the form of designed social conventions are the traits of successful utopian communities (ibid). The natural settings of utopian artists' retreats and craft schools contribute to creativity, community connection, and an increased appreciation for these natural settings. A comparison of four creative places, Black Mountain College (NC), Haystack Mountain School for Crafts (ME), Pilchuck Glass School (WA), and MacDowell (NH) are used to identify the positive characteristics of natural settings. Using these precedents and associated literature on utopian communities. I have collected a series of features that contribute to the ideal environmental, architectural, and organizational design practices of utopian communities. This thesis then employs a research through design methodology to illustrate and test these features through a single, prototypical project. The findings of this thesis include a list of opportunities and challenges presented by this project, which can be broadly applied to similar endeavors.

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This thesis is meant to give an explication on Fredric Jameson¡¦s Utopian thinking through transcoding, establishing homologies between Lacan¡¦s Imaginary/Symbolic/Real registers, Althusser¡¦s ideology/History binary and Jameson¡¦s ideology/cognitive mapping/History orders. I think Jameson¡¦s Utopian thinking is a mechanism of praxis to induce change for a classless and human-friendly society through theoretical education on desire and formation of consciousness of the capitalistic alienation and exploitation. It is a process of signifying, with no signified. It aims at the construction of a map of the social totality, not at that of an imaginary blueprint. It stresses consciousness-raising, not goal achievement. Traditionally, Utopia features an imaginary blueprint. Nevertheless, for Jameson, the Utopian blueprint is problematic in that it is ideologically enclosed so that it is far from qualified to serve as the goal of praxis. At best, a Utopian blueprint can only be viewed as a ¡§figure¡¨ waiting for the interpretation of theory, or to put it psychoanalytically, it is a symptom of the (political) unconscious awaiting the diagnosis of a psychoanalyst. But Jameson does endorse Utopists¡¦ ¡§Utopian praxis¡¨ to map and criticize their respective social context. The critic applies the practice to the postmodern, in which time is spatialized and the individual is fragmented and deprived of the ability to think historically and to imagine an alternative future. Jameson proposes the approach of ¡§cognitive mapping¡¨ to help people to obtain a map of the postmodern hyperspace, to locate their positions in it, and to finally reconstruct in them class consciousness, which Jameson believes is the basis of praxis for a Utopia. This task has to be done through the construction of the collective subject, because of the death of the subject and the growing abstraction of postmodern hyperspace. And certainly in this undertaking, Marxist critics like Jameson play an important role. They, like a psychoanalyst, are entitled to diagnose and interpret what the current world is suffering from and to offer prescriptions. In conclusion, Fredric Jameson¡¦s Utopian thinking is a persistent process of praxis at present to form collective consciousness and subjectivity in the hope of an unspecified Utopia in the future, which is supposed to be a communist one.

As Aristotle wrote, rhetoric is an art or faculty of finding the available means of persuasion in a given circumstance, and the late nineteenth century was a time in American history when many authors used utopian fiction as the best available means of persuasion. For a few years, the utopian novel became a widespread, versatile and common rhetorical trope. Edward Bellamy was the most popular of these writers. Bellamy’s utopian novel Looking Backward was not only the third best-selling book of nineteenth century America, it inspired over a hundred other utopian novels and helped create a mass movement of “Bellamy clubs” along with a political party (Nationalism). During the latter part of the nineteenth century, American public discourse underwent a general shift from a focus on communal values to a focus on individuals as the source of truth. Utopian fiction of the era helps illuminate why and how this shift occurred. In nineteenth century America, literature was generally not considered to be rhetorical. At most, critics treated fiction as a form of epideictic rhetoric, aiming only to delight, educate, or create discussion. When fiction was used to promote legislative agendas and thus entered into the realm of deliberative rhetoric, critics argued that its transgression of rhetorical boundaries supposedly ruined its appeal. Utopian literature came the closest to breaking down the barriers between literature and rhetoric, as hundreds of utopian novels were published, most of them in response to Edward Bellamy. A close rhetorical reading of Looking Backward details its rhetorical nature and helps account for its rhetorical success. I treat each of the novels as participants in the larger cultural conversation, and detail the ways in which they address Bellamy, each other, and issues such as the temperance movement and the decline of classical languages in higher education. In modern times, though Bellamy has faded from the public memory, he has proven useful in a variety of contexts, from a political punching bag to a way to lend an air of erudition to various types of popular fiction. / text

This dissertation examines the conceptualization of the ideal society in Western culture in relation to changes in communication modes. The utopian discourse is defined by a concern with the relationship between language and reality. I explore this concern as a reflection of the theoretical disposition invited by changes in communication modes, which are perceived as crises of representation. Plato and Thomas More’s enlightened communities in the Republic and Utopia reflect comparable idealistic perspectives on education. In my view, this optimism stems from the social reality of growing literacies with the advent of the alphabet and printing, respectively. I contend that these writers are animated by an ethical impulse to teach their readers that language is representation. From the vantage point of this knowledge, each individual may employ language symbolically in order to create and perpetuate a moral and spiritual mode of thought. I argue that the discourse of the ideal is the symbolic expression of humanity’s engagement with death, the ultimate existential concern made acute by the aspect of historical discontinuity in the crisis of representation. Plato and More exhibit comparable efforts to open to their readers the superior space of critical reflexivity which they themselves inhabit. From this conceptual, pre-representational space of conscious choice, language is subjected to achieving spiritual progress. I introduce the concept of post-utopia, which describes a pragmatic moment when the relationship between author and the ideal society is brought into the foreground and reinforced as a way of addressing concerns with textual authority. I examine these developments in Augustine’s De Civitate Dei, François Rabelais’s episode of the Abbaye de Thélème in Gargantua, and Francis Bacon’s New Atlantis. These authors draw on the ideologies of representation inherent in utopian discourse, and position the authorial figure as link between scriptural teleology and history, ensuring spiritual and societal betterment in the textual cultures of late antiquity and early modernity. The figure of the author emerges as a symbol of history and of man’s ability to assume the limits of the mind and of language.

This dissertation examines the conceptualization of the ideal society in Western culture in relation to changes in communication modes. The utopian discourse is defined by a concern with the relationship between language and reality. I explore this concern as a reflection of the theoretical disposition invited by changes in communication modes, which are perceived as crises of representation. Plato and Thomas More’s enlightened communities in the Republic and Utopia reflect comparable idealistic perspectives on education. In my view, this optimism stems from the social reality of growing literacies with the advent of the alphabet and printing, respectively. I contend that these writers are animated by an ethical impulse to teach their readers that language is representation. From the vantage point of this knowledge, each individual may employ language symbolically in order to create and perpetuate a moral and spiritual mode of thought. I argue that the discourse of the ideal is the symbolic expression of humanity’s engagement with death, the ultimate existential concern made acute by the aspect of historical discontinuity in the crisis of representation. Plato and More exhibit comparable efforts to open to their readers the superior space of critical reflexivity which they themselves inhabit. From this conceptual, pre-representational space of conscious choice, language is subjected to achieving spiritual progress. I introduce the concept of post-utopia, which describes a pragmatic moment when the relationship between author and the ideal society is brought into the foreground and reinforced as a way of addressing concerns with textual authority. I examine these developments in Augustine’s De Civitate Dei, François Rabelais’s episode of the Abbaye de Thélème in Gargantua, and Francis Bacon’s New Atlantis. These authors draw on the ideologies of representation inherent in utopian discourse, and position the authorial figure as link between scriptural teleology and history, ensuring spiritual and societal betterment in the textual cultures of late antiquity and early modernity. The figure of the author emerges as a symbol of history and of man’s ability to assume the limits of the mind and of language.

This essay seeks to analyse some of the places in Jessica Schiefauers novel Bärarna. The analysis takes the form of a journey by depicting the various places in prose similar to that of the novel’s own, while analysing symbolism, places’ relation to the concept of limits, and the novel’s relation to Michel Foucault’s theory of heterotopias. The main theoretic starting point for this essay is Foucault’s concept of heterotopia; that is, a certain type of place, which simultaneously mirrors and inverts society. The essay finds that a number of places in Bärarna can be defined as heterotopias, while others cannot. For example, the bathhouse is heterotopic because of its dismissal of sexual taboos, and the Bazaars have a number of heterotopic characteristics, such as their connection to time. On the other hand, Nikki’s apartment and the city of Irisburg have little heterotopic potential, but have other symbolic significance within the story. Lastly, the body is analysed from a spatial point of view. In Bärarna, bodies are often described as landscapes and rooms. This aspect is put forward alongside Foucault's “utopian body”, in which the body appears as a place with the ability to house other places inside of it – as is also sometimes the case with the heterotopia.

Utopia, as a concept, has experienced a resurgence within literature of various genres, ranging from scholarly work inside the 'academy' to diverse accounts of utopian and/or dystopian imaginaries within diverse fictional stories. Identifying what utopia picks out conceptually, however, is challenging, not least due to the limitations inherent in the ways we perceive the world could be. In this dissertation, I first defend a 'processual' account of utopia, contrasting this way of thinking about the idea against any fixed or granular description of some candidate, concrete state of affairs. I then look at the primary methodology leveraged by most processual utopian theorists, namely: utopian hope. After considering this affective, performative stance against what I call 'merely-political' combat, I demonstrate how utopian hope, within processual accounts, turns out to be equivalent to religious faith. As such, processual utopian projects require a return to a mystical, transcendent field of play for both their theoretical and methodological constituents. The second half of my project attempts to outline a fledgling, practical methodology for processual utopia, first identifying a very counter-intuitive directional focus on the part of the privileged when pursuing utopian ends. This focus requires the privileged to consider alternate imaginaries for possible futures while additionally requesting assistance from the marginalized to appropriately parse them. I conclude by examining several instances of liminal 'utopias' that have occurred in the wake of tragic events. These are placed in conversation with fictional accounts of utopian effort in order to highlight why utopian performativity must begin from a space of mutual vulnerability. / Doctor of Philosophy / In this dissertation I aim to do two things. In the first half, I defend the concept of "processual utopia" as a more fruitful way to think about striving for societies that feature less stratification in the way they distribute opportunity and privilege. I contrast this idea with those theories that try to describe, using present-day imaginaries, concretely-imaginable utopias in the here and now. I argue that the latter effort is a fool's errand, a process that incurs insurmountable difficulties in that opposing visions are immediately juxtaposed against any solidified description of what utopia might look like. I then examine the primary constituent of processual utopia's process, namely: utopian hope. I contrast this with the kind of affective performativity normally found within politics and political struggle, concluding that these efforts do not result in utopian ends. This is because what I call the 'merely-political' is bent on a kind of binary striving for power, focused on proving the 'other' side to be subhuman and irrational. Utopian hope counters political maneuvering for a particular vision of 'better' societies on a more transcendental foundation. It looks for a reality that humankind cannot yet understand or describe – something that remains on the horizon as a target for our dreams and efforts. This affective viewpoint should motivate our actions to make currently unimaginable realities possible in a distant, not-seen-by-us, future. I also suggest that utopian hope, although talked about a great deal over the past century by writers such as Ernst Bloch and Ruth Levitas, has its conceptual genesis in religious faith. I argue that the two are equivalent in the case of utopian affect and desire. My foils in this effort are Kierkegaard and St. Augustine and examining their accounts of faith reveals the parallel nature this mystical logic shares with contemporary ideas about utopian hope. In the second half of the dissertation, I connect processual utopian theory to potential practice. The investigative point-of-view throughout is that of the currently privileged. I argue that those who possess the highest levels of opportunity within realms of social and political power tend to defend the status quo, even when suggesting or devising initiatives to supposedly level the playing field more fairly. Privileged actors, it seems, are culturally programmed to reinforce the same logics that prevent substantive change. This also means that our targets for 'better societies' tend to simply reinforce the same stratifications of opportunity that exist currently. Privileged actors not only need help understanding the ideas of the marginalized concerning more just societies, they also need to engage in what might seem like 'dystopian' effort (from our perspective) in order to actually strive for something more 'utopian' in the future. To help orient those wishing to be allies to the marginalized, I examine various accounts of alternate futures, explaining how those challenge our default ways of understanding the world. These, in turn, should motivate the privilege to ask for help (from the marginalized) in order to understand them, a request the latter must answer if processual utopia is the goal of all concerned. This highlights what I call an 'ethical minefield' that highlights divisive issues we can observe in our current socio-cultural moment. I end with an analysis of both tragedy and dystopian fiction, arguing that a sense of mutual vulnerability is needed for an actor to pursue processual utopia.