This chapter considers how Australians have looked to South America for what they might become while Argentinians looked to Australia for what Argentina could become. It traces William Lane’s failed utopic colonies in Paraguay in the 1890s and, following her participation in one of them, Mary Gilmore’s engagement with and promotion of Latin American culture to other Australian writers. It considers Latin American migration to Australia, particularly in the late twentieth century. It discusses the role of little magazines, small presses and radio shows in encouraging poetry by Latin American migrants. It analyses their sense of marginalisation to mainstream Australian literary culture, and shifts towards decentring Australia in both writers’ transcultural movements and framings by anthologies. Lastly, the chapter examines recent encounters with Latin America by Australian-born poets and discusses competing framings of the South, including by writers such as J. M. Coetzee and John Mateer.

This chapter considers the fraught and complex history of religion and poetry in Australia, given the context of settler – colonialism, Aboriginal understandings of Country, and Australia’s growing cultural diversity. Discerning that anti-religious sentiment has emerged through a perception of Christianity as too close to settler – colonialism, it argues for a broad understanding of religion to include major world faiths and Aboriginal spirituality. It considers how nineteenth-century poets responded to the crises of faith brought about by Darwin’s theory of evolution, and then how poets grappled with meaning-making and value-making following the two world wars. At the same time, it recognises that many poets; including Francis Webb, James McAuley, Vincent Buckley; and Les Murray; still shared an institutional understanding of religion. The chapter considers how recent poets have meditated on the relationship between the secular and the sacred. It analyses the mosaic quality of Fay Zwicky’s reflections on her Jewish ancestry, as well as the navigation of Buddhism in poets like Harold Stewart, Robert Gray; and Judith Beveridge; Christianity in the work of Kevin Hart and Lachlan Brown; and Islam in the work of Omar Sakr.

Many critics today rightly call for “decolonizing” utopia given its undeniable deployment in imperialist as well as liberatory projects. It is more historically accurate to view Thomas More’s Utopia, however, as a site of struggle, especially given the contradiction of considering a society without any conception of private property to be “colonialist” at all. At the very least, we should acknowledge Utopia’s negative form, and the problems that its so-called colonialism is attempting to address before too hastily denouncing utopia as inherently colonialist. Utopia, I argue, is always a site of struggle, a reminder of the difficulty of imagining liberation in a “wrong” world. Early receptions of Utopia in England reveal that it was not embraced by advocates of colonial and propertarian projects; not only was it viewed as an impediment to the unfolding of such agendas while the primitive accumulation of capital was underway, but, revealingly, the values and lifeways of More’s Utopians were often associated with the very peoples being colonized and enslaved, not their colonizers. Failing to understand utopia dialectically, then, not only gives rise to presentist misunderstandings of the past, but problematically limits how it can best be understood to work today.

This chapter explores the temporal context of social change, including how scholars have studied changes over time through longitudinal research. It highlights the importance of understanding how the past, present and future interact to shape the attitudes and behaviours of individuals and groups. The chapter reviews key topics such as salience, threat, collective memories and narratives, emphasising their roles in the psychology of groups that act across time and space. Cyclical temporal changes are proposed to be understudied, and the need for comparative, predictive models to better understand recurring rhythms is discussed. The chapter discusses how experiences of the present are influenced by past histories and future anticipations, and the impact of social context on identity salience and intergroup relations. Lastly, the chapter explores how collective futures, including utopias and dystopias, influence motivation and action, exploring the balance of threat and hope in relation to effective collective action.

Sir Thomas More’s Utopia provides an occasion to delve into how fiscal policy and administrative activity constitute forms of worldmaking. This chapter argues that More’s Utopia places the challenges of defining and funding security at the center of its project, both in Book One’s critique of contemporary rule and in Book Two’s thought experiment about how to govern security. Utopia, as an alternative to contemporary Europe, can be seen as an attempt to resolve the fiscal security dilemmas besetting European governments by eliminating private property and money. The presence of other polities, though, complicates the effort to imagine a world in which security is distributed equitably, a world without fiscal conflict or the violence that monarchical wealth enables. Utopia thus provides both a powerful diagnosis of the shortcomings of contemporary governmental practice and a meditation on the limits of the ability to govern security.

The Introduction makes the case for privileging idealism in our accounts of Zola’s thought and writing, and, in turn for recovering the fundamental role it plays as a cornerstone of naturalism’s self-image. Exploring naturalism’s relationship to its chief antagonist can open up new perspectives on two thorny critical questions. First, how to grapple with the gap between naturalist theory, in all its dogmatism, and the experimental, even contradictory, nature of naturalist writing in practice. Second, how to make sense of Zola’s own eventual destination as the author of utopian novels (1899-1902), where the rhetoric of idealism, of the dream, surfaces as the best expression of the writer’s political commitment. Against prevailing accounts of Zola’s ‘late’ fiction as a product of subterranean, emotional, or instinctual impulses, the Introduction reframes Zola’s idealism as a strategic political and intellectual project.

Although María Irene Fornés is recognized by her peers as one of the great avant-garde innovators of her time, her absence from many critical and mainstream accounts of American playwriting suggests that her experimental techniques were not easily intelligible as part of a movement, even one fabled for the unintelligibility of its creative effects. As a corrective critical gesture, Roy Pérez looks to Art (a short and sparsely documented play from 1986) to understand the role of the avant-garde in Fornés’s larger body of work. Pérez argues that – even as the avant-garde earned a reputation for being fixated on unpragmatic political ideals, aesthetic difficulty for its own sake, or humorless alienation – Fornés wrote plays plays that danced their characters and viewers through spellbinding thought experiments, making lofty questions seem like everyday ruminations, that we might pursue with a sense of play, or at least with authentic feeling.

We offer an integration of temporal approaches to the psychology of violent extremism. Focusing on the role of remembering, we draw attention to how memories and perceptions of the past motivate the use of violence in the present. Reminiscing about a glorious past elicits nostalgia, which, in turn, may increase present-day feelings of relative deprivation, collective angst, and threat. Furthermore, remembering historical perpetrators instills threat perceptions and negative intergroup emotions, whereas remembering past victimization elicits moral entitlement, thereby justifying more extreme means. We explore how different imaginings of the future – for the self and community – function as a double-edged sword either fueling or preventing radicalization in the present. Imagining can stimulate utopian or dystopian visions, which, in turn, may encourage mobilization of more extreme means by instilling a sense of legitimacy and hope in terms of utopias and moral obligation and urgency to prevent dystopias. However, imagining can also elicit a realistic, positive future outlook for the self and wider community, functioning as a protective shield against radicalization into violent extremism instead. We conclude by providing primary, secondary, and tertiary prevention recommendations based on our temporal approach aimed at policymakers and key stakeholders and avenues for future research.

This chapter explores the impact of José Esteban Muñoz’s 2009 book Cruising Utopia on both the creative production and critical reception of queer Latinx literary work in the following decade-plus. While Latinx literature and its study were already “queered” and “queering” before Cruising Utopia, the chapter argues that Muñoz’s work prompted a greater focus on futurity, potentiality, and the speculative, thanks especially to the unique generativity of his (queer, ethnic) performance studies methodology (especially his inquiries into affectivity, ephemera, and brownness) for literary studies. The discussion engages critical work from the 2010s to gauge both the scope of Muñoz’s contributions to salient critical debates over that period and the scope of some skeptical responses to those contributions. It then turns in closing to a targeted close reading of Carmen Maria Machado’s literary production from the late 2010s and early 2020s as a “representative” archive of queer Latinx literature “after” the utopian “turn.”

This chapter surveys attitudes to and depictions of whiteness in nineteenth-century speculative writing. These genres (the gothic, science fiction, utopia, and dystopia) were in conversation with and shaped by cultural and scientific discussions throughout the century that treated whiteness as both a biological and social concept that could shift, expand, and potentially degrade. Speculative texts articulated and often exorcised fears that whiteness could be lost and white Americans could experience the dispossession associated with the non-white Other due to failures to embody white civic values and shifting demographics. Across three categories (gothic whiteness, fantasies of white transformation, future whiteness) this chapter demonstrates that whiteness itself became speculative and open to change beyond the physically possible. As part of each category, this chapter also draws attention to how African American writers used speculative genres to return the othering gaze to whiteness and briefly imagine worlds without white supremacy.

In the United States, white nationalism forms one part of an originary contradiction, dialectically entwined with an aspiration toward egalitarian openness that can, but often doesn’t, include people considered to be outside the boundaries of Americanness. The resulting tension animates struggles to define national identity in the past and present and both the contradiction and struggles loom over its future. Drawing on work in multiple disciplines, the chapter traces the persistence of this structuring antinomy by highlighting instructive literary examples at particular historical moments. What is now called “white nationalism” has long been part of mainstream – not just marginal or extremist – literary and intellectual discourse; thus, consideration of white nationalism takes precedence. However, the discussion also notes the equally tenacious hopes for a society open to those who are excluded based on conceptions of race. Lastly, the chapter identifies the utopian genre as an especially useful arena showcasing the contradiction.

The chapter resituates the ideas of empire and nation in relation to the category of space. It delineates the centrality of the concept of space for understanding the imperial and contemporary world-system and the development of colonial capitalist modernity. Drawing on theorists that include but are not limited to Karl Marx, Frantz Fanon, Henri Lefebvre, Nikos Poulantzas, Raymond Williams, and Edward Said, the chapter seeks to understand how their works engage with space as a critical concept, and how their theorizations deploy the category of space to illuminate the production of new kinds – and conceptions – of space in colonial capitalist modernity: the metropole and the colony; notions of the core, periphery, and the semiperiphery; and the modern world-system as a concatenation of spaces – that is, a set of contiguous and nominally equal nation-states separated out from each other through the novel spatial form of the border. The chapter also examines theorizations of the nation to underline it as an ideology of space.

This chapter focuses on “imaginary space” – literary spaces without a real-world referent. The question of how detached fantasy worlds like C. S. Lewis’ Narnia came to be thinkable in the twentieth century frames the chapter, which argues for fantasy space as a strategic response to the alienations produced by twentieth-century capitalism. Weaving together a history of exploration with a history of different types of imaginary space, the chapter traces the emergence of works like Lewis’ The Chronicles of Narnia out of earlier forms of imaginary space. Types of space reviewed include the settings of the traveler’s tale (e.g., Jonathan Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels and Wu Cheng’en’s Journey to the West), Thomas More’s Utopia, and the Romantic atopias of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein and William Wordsworth’s Prelude. The chapter draws on the theories of Yi-Fu Tuan, Fredric Jameson, Henri LeFebvre, and Michel Foucault to explain the distinctions between different formations of imaginary space. It concludes with a reading of Susanna Clarke’s Piranesi as a text reflecting the changing value of fantasy space in the twenty-first century.

In the seventeenth century British natural philosophers explored the cognitive value of mechanical trades. From the beginning, these explorations of down-to-earth manual processes were expressed in oblique and ironic texts. In utopian fictions by Thomas More, Francis Bacon and Gabriel Plattes, mechanical trades were presented as at once near-at-hand and alien to the world of books and codified knowledge. Bacon’s mid-century followers tried to negotiate these difficulties in plans to compile a comprehensive ‘History of Trades’. In the period’s most widely circulated didactic text, Izaac Walton’s Compleat Angler, the tacit and haptic dimension of a humble pass-time was explored through genial satire and eccentric textual design. Later, one highly literate artisan, the printer and instrument maker Joseph Moxon, gave thought to the difference between the artisanal expertise he employed as a manual technician and the theoretical knowledge he dealt with as a writer and fellow of the Royal Society.

The mock arts written by Jonathan Swift, Alexander Pope and their circle touched on issues of mechanical instruction, but their satire depended on its application to incongruously non-mechanical subjects. It was in Gulliver’s Travels that Swift turned more directly to descriptions of material production and mechanical ingenuity. The framing of those descriptions in a travel narrative recalls Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe. Both texts reduced scenes of human ingenuity and manufacture to a proto-anthropological ground zero in distant and solitary locations. But reading Gulliver and Crusoe from a mock-technical perspective reveals a surprising reversal in their authors’ attitudes to mechanical ingenuity. Defoe, the propagandist for commerce, is sceptical about the value and cognitive significance of handicraft skill. Swift, by contrast, uses his commentary on mechanical technique to depict different richly-imagined ecologies of mind in the four parts of Gulliver’s Travels.

The Bolshevik Revolution of 1917 proclaimed its goal as the creation of ‘new people’: the transformation of human bodies and minds to correspond to the transformation of society. Literature became a space in which this new model of human life could be explored. This chapter traces the genealogy of the ‘new person’ from the nineteenth century to the figure of the ideal worker in Socialist Realist texts of the 1930s and beyond. The temporal focus of the chapter lies in the decade following 1917, when urgent but often contradictory political imperatives shaped the new person in literary texts. The chapter focusses on three key tensions: the relationship between the individual and collective; competing ideals of spontaneous energy and iron discipline; and the ideal of the transformation of body and mind. It shows how texts explore the relationship between abstract ideals of humanness and their lived reality.

Sanja Perovic’s chapter treats one of the most significant events in French history and an unprecedented period in theatre history. While the Revolution is often overlooked as a ‘dead period’ in French theatre, Perovic describes the scale and ambition of this extraordinary period. Never before had so many newcomers been able to forge successful careers as writers, actors and directors. Artistic innovation peaked, as revolutionary performance was more akin to what today is termed performance art, than to the kind of repertory theatre that preceded or followed it. Covering some of the major events, influential figures and key texts of this extremely fertile period, Perovic shows how theatre addressed the questions key to revolutionary culture: who is the audience? Where is it located? Who speaks on its behalf, and in what (theatrical, artistic) language? She concludes by contrasting two utopian works – Louis Beffroy de Reigny’s Nicodème dans la lune, ou la révolution pacifique (Nicodème Goes to the Moon, or the Peaceful Revolution, 1790) and Sylvain Maréchal’s Le Jugement dernier des rois (The Last Judgement of Kings, 1793) – with Beaumarchais’ La Mère coupable (The Guilty Mother, 1792), an altogether more sombre assessment of the effects of revolution.

This chapter suggests paths along which the futures of international relations as subject matter and International Relations as an academic discipline may develop. First, it stresses that the division between the ‘traditional’ and ‘new’ or ‘non-traditional’ agenda is intended as a device to facilitate learning for new students of international relations. Second, it outlines how novel intellectual developments in the field are shaping its future trajectory, with a specific focus on the continued development of a ‘Global IR’; IR’s increasing intellectual engagement with the sociology of Science and Technology Studies (STS) and STEM subjects as sources of conceptual innovation; and recent attempts to define the International as a condition of interactive multiplicity in an effort to clarify its distinctive contribution to the wider social sciences. Finally, the chapter notes that thinking about the future itself is becoming increasingly central to the discipline, with methods of counterfactual analysis, social imaginaries of future histories and utopian idealisations emerging as important theoretical and political projects.

American scholar and theorist David M. Halperin convincingly reveals the correlations between gay subjectivity and the Broadway musical and shows how the aesthetic form of the genre is in itself prototypically queer. Additionally, musicals can impart a sense of shared identity and cultural connections that ease the coming-out process, and they may confer common bonds within gay communities. Examining key historical eras and significant productions, this chapter builds on the work of D.A. Miller and Halperin and explores the sociological linkages between U. S. gay male culture and the musical, asking how the theatre became associated with male homosexuality. The study analyzes five musicals, Show Boat (1927), West Side Story (1957), La Cage Aux Folles (1983), Fun Home (2013), and A Strange Loop (2019). Each was originally produced in a notable moment in queer history and implicitly or explicitly manifests the tensions of its time. These five musicals reflect distinct ways musicals appeal to gay consumers and suggest opportunities for imagining possibilities of the gay genre as a queer utopia.