Storytelling Archives - Regenerative Storytelling

Future Visions: Fictionalising Climate Change with the Ministry of the Future

Every so often you read a book that changes how you see the world. The Ministry of the Future by Kim Stanley Robinson is one of those books.

Author of a score of sci-fi (or cli-fi) novels — many with a climate bent, where scientists and policy makers are often the unlikely heroes — this 2020 novel has been a hit during the World Economic Forum meetings at Davos in Switzerland which happen every year.

A Barack Obama TOP PICK

It seems the anyone who knows anything about climate knows about this book, so clearly I’m a bit slow off the mark. Late last year, two colleagues asked simply if I had read ‘The Ministry…’ Then I read a full-page interview with Robinson in the Financial Times.

Described as a cult author, his ‘speculative fiction can offer real-life solutions to the climate crisis.’

More than that, ‘Robinson has become a sounding board for politicians, economists and climate negotiators eager for his take on fringe ideas’. These include things like pumping water under glaciers to stop them melting or “‘carbon quantitative easing’ whereby central banks would pay the worst polluters to stop.’

Whooaaaggh. A fiction author influencing global policy?

Now, this piqued my interest.

I’ve always loved novels. Then March 2020 happened. The world fell off a cliff and fiction seemed pointless… the world around me was more weird than any novel I could lay my hand on.

Since then I’ve only been able to finish one slim novel… that is until I started Ministry of the Future. I devoured it. Now I’m reading Robinson’s backlist. (He’s my official ‘author crush’.)

As an author myself (I’ve written fiction and non-fiction), it’s fascinating to read his earlier work because I can see all the preparation that had to happen in his less good early novels in order to make this latest one sooooo good. You can see that it’s a book that has been 25+ years in the making.

caring for the next generations

In brief, the book, spanning multiple continents and numerous points of view, is about the existential threat posed by the climate crisis.

At the heart is the eponymous Ministry for the Future, an international organisation whose job is to represent the interests of future generations in the face of increasing environmental devastation. It is set in the current and near future, so it feels like you are reading a slice of reality… except it’s told at a slant.

Despite the topic, Robinson writes with humour… teasing out the idea that ‘it’s easier to imagine the end of the world than the end of capitalism.’

How characters bring the climate crisis to life

His characters are sharply drawn and offbeat: a doctor fleeing a war zone, a migrant holed inside a refugee camp for years, a young man enslaved on a fishing trawler who’s rescued by masked eco-terrorists.

There are really only two characters you inhabit deeply in the story but it’s the fact that he writes from so many points of view that leaves you with a dizzying global perspective. It’s a whole-of-systems novel (very regenerative), where you experience life from all perspectives, including that of an atom.

Popularising scary scientific concepts

But it’s the scientific concept of ‘wet bulb temperature’ which Robinson describes in such a terrifying and realistic way that has caught the imagination. Previously buried in a 2010 scientific paper, this true-life phenomena happens when air temperatures rise at the same time as humidity, making it difficult and then impossible for people to sweat.

If humans can’t sweat, we die.

While this scientific concept was known, it was only through Robinson’s vivid portrayal of a mass Indian heatwave that policymakers understood the implications of this as a result of rising global temperatures.

As the Financial Times notes, ‘Ministry is like the first mass-market, general cultural publication of this idea that is quite obvious.’ (Likely, too, that Australian business magnate Andrew ‘Twiggy’ Forrest knows of this concept. Last September he said, ‘It’s business which is causing global warming… it’s business which is responsible for lethal humidity.’)

If it all sounds a bit bleak … stay with it.

The Ministry of the Future is also incredibly hopeful — even though there is hell to go through to get us there. Ultimately the story is about the power of human ingenuity, courage, and willpower to reimagine a much better, fairer, world and a fundamental reimagining of society and its values.

3 WAYS fiction can help us imagine a better world

Humans are sensory beings. We understand the world through sight, touch, sound, smell and taste. When we read great fiction we are able to experience other people’s lives, as if they were our own. This creates real empathy. We genuinely care about characters and what happens to them.
Fiction is great at world-building. Especially genres like speculative fiction, where authors spend a lot of time creating the world of their characters — giving the reader that sense of visceral immersion.
‘Near future fiction’ plays with your sense of reality. The novel starts in 2025 when ‘the big heat wave strikes India’. And yet as I was reading it, some of the weather events described in the novel — atmospheric rivers for example — were on the nightly news. In February 2024, millions of Californians were under flood alerts amid warnings of excessive rainfall as ‘a powerful atmospheric river sat over Southern California’.

Robinson does a good job in mixing dollops of scientific information (or exposition as it’s known in novel-writing) with a plot that carries you forward. You need to stay with it and don’t be put off by the size. It’s worth it… It’s a book that I can feel in my bones. There aren’t many like that.

But I am glad, after my own fiction drought, this one brought rain… and immense hope. There’s power in imagination that might just save us all.

Hi, I’m Claire. Through my business Wordstruck we help companies bring their sustainability strategy to life. As the Founder of Regenerative Storytelling, we’re helping leaders do more for their people, their community and the planet. I publish regular content about storytelling, regenerative leadership and reframing how to address our rapidly heating world. To see more of my content, please sign up – and join the conversation by sharing a comment below.

Doing community regeneratively

A photo taken by Aden shows the regenerative community of Tarbert - a row of pink, blue and white houses reflected in the water of the harbour, and green hills in the background.

Community — what does it look like for you? It’s something that I keep thinking about as we travel and stay in different places. What sort of community/communities do I want to be part of? To invest emotionally. To cheer on. To rely upon.

Island communities buying land together (rural Scotland). Knitting groups and wellbeing walks in the city (central London). Wild swimming Wednesdays (Sheffield). In-person. Online. WhatsApp groups. There are many ways to do community.

Here are three examples that I’ve glimpsed upon recently. Each has regenerative aspects.

Community-owned castle: Inner Hebrides of western Scotland

We were staying near a small pretty harbour town called Tarbert (see above photo). It’s got a ruined castle: not unusual in this part of the world! The signage proudly describes how Tarbert Castle Heritage Park is ’owned by the community and entirely cared for by volunteers.’

They do the fun stuff: senior pupils from Tarbert Academy illustrated Medieval characters on the historical displays; and the less fun stuff: picking up litter and emptying waste bins.

As a way to increase biodiversity of the castle ruins, the community have created a woodland and orchard, and own a flock of Hebridean sheep to keep the grass cut. They’ve partnered with a local supermarket and rely on donations to ‘achieve their sustainable maintenance plan’.

I like the fact that the community are flipping the script on ownership and how well they’ve thought it through (including using sheep to regenerate the land). Their sense of pride is palpable. Even as a passing visitor, you sense it.

Community buy-out: Island of Gigha

Not far from Tarbert is the tiny island of Gigha (pronounced Gere, as in Richard). Scotland is notorious for absentee landlords. When the entire island came up for sale in 2001, the islanders clubbed together to buy it.

With support from grants and loans from the Scottish government (via the National Lottery and another enterprise), they raised the millions of pounds required. From soup ‘n’ sandwich days to quiz nights and ‘sponsored rows around the island’ they made their vision a reality. According to the Gigha website, this put them ‘in the vanguard of the Scottish land reform movement.’

Clearly, they needed a structure and proper governance to make it work. The Isle of Gigha Heritage Trust was formed. Its aim: to promote ‘community regeneration, employment and sustainability.’

‘The Island is part of me’

Island life might not be perfect. But this short clip gives you a flavour — watch it for the hypnotic Scottish accent. When we spent the day there (travelling via ferry), we were lucky to get a table at the renowned restaurant on the island, the Boathouse. The campsite was busy and so was the tourist trade.

The islanders have overhauled run-down housing and the population decline has been reversed. Plus, they have a viable long-term income through their four wind turbines, selling renewable energy to the mainland grid with all profits ploughed back into the Trust. (According to their website, back in 2004, Gigha was ‘the first community-owned grid-connected windfarm in Scotland.’)

Regeneration: creating a sense of care in the community

According to an article on the Seeds of Good Anthropocenes, not only has ‘community ownership built local self-confidence…. It’s changed the way people on Gigha relate to nature and one another.’ This speaks to the regenerative quality of care. So much easier to care about where we live if we have a vested interest in the place itself. (Another way we talk about this in regen is ‘place-sourced potential’: a bit jargon-ny, I know.)

Green spaces and heatmaps

We left Scotland reluctantly. But now my husband Aden and I are finding our ‘London legs’, staying in Bloomsbury. Just in the past day, I’ve seen a host of signs that point to the community initiatives here. From the Marchmont Community Centre to ‘improve the quality of life of local residents’, to farmers markets (everywhere in London these days, like in Sydney), to awareness about heatmaps. (Inevitably the less green in a city, the hotter they become. You can chart the hot-spots through heatmaps.)

City community does things differently. In central London the garden squares create a focal point. I’ve missed Bloomsbury’s ‘tell the stories behind the trees’ event. But I’m signing up for the ‘wellbeing walk’ to increase my weekly step count. Last night our lovely 94-y-o neighbour, Betty, invited us for drinks. (Lovely, as we are only here a week!) She told us ALL about the colourful characters she’s known living here since 1976.

Each place has certainly given me ideas on how I want to see communities thrive.

What about you? How does community feed and nourish your life and work? Thoughts? Stories?

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Why Stories About Climate Change Need a Hook

Catrina Davies reading from the start of her third book based on the recollections of Hedley Ralph Collard. Why Stories About Climate Change need a hook. She sits in a small marquee on a seat, with a guitar to the right of her.

Finding an emotional hook is the first place I start when crafting a story. Now, as I’m getting knee-deep into my next book, I’m grappling with how to do that when writing about two big, abstract topics: climate change and regeneration.

In May, I caught up with my literary agent. She was clear: ‘You need people to care about the climate in an emotional way. Read this.’

She thrust a hardback book into my hands. Once upon a Raven’s Nest by Catrina Davies. It’s beautiful and sits (unopened) on my desk like a talisman. Meanwhile, I pace around, drinking too many cups of earl grey as I try to find this illusive ‘hook’.

Meeting author Catrina Davies

Last Saturday I saw Catrina Davies speak at an author event. It was pouring outside the marquee and the venue was noisy. She sat, quietly, wavy blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, and picked up a guitar at her feet. In a raspy voice, a voice that suited the wild weather of this temperamental English summer, she sang one of her own songs. My husband Aden nudged me. ‘You’ll have to expand your repertoire.’

Then, Catrina read from the start of her third book based on the recollections of Hedley Ralph Collard. She told us that when staying in Wales in 2014, she met him on a walk. He was in a wheelchair. They struck up a conversation, and over time, developed a remarkable friendship.

In her book, she writes as if she is him: in the first person. ‘The book wasn’t working when I was writing about him. I had to inhabit his voice,’ she said. With his permission that’s what she does. (No mean feat.)

Regenerative storytelling: a bridge between us and the planet

What she’s done is really interesting — and smart. Catrina has interwoven the life of one man (who’s name has been changed to Thomas Hedley) and pitched it against the much larger backdrop of life on Earth, starting 4.5 Billion Years Ago.

By interspersing his human story — which began in the mid-1950s, at the time that we as a species began directly, unalterably impacting the planet — we care about the individual AND the whole.

As the rain lashed down, Catrina explained how she’d been trying to capture the fragility of his life. ‘It expressed something universal and urgent about all of our lives at this moment in history.’

Thomas, she said, is both an everyman and an extraordinary individual. He grew up on Exmoor in southwest Britain and knew the names of all the trees. He had a tough, rural upbringing, accident after accident, until one left him paralysed from the neck down.

Getting people to care: how stories do this

Stories work best when they are universal AND particular. It’s a Hollywood cliche but it’s true. When we can see ourselves reflected in the life of a protagonist on screen, we leave the cinema with that rush of having experienced a great movie. We feel validated, our lives that bit richer.

At the end of the talk, I bought another copy of Catrina’s book as a present. I introduced myself and she asked my name. Her forehead puckered. ‘I know that name. What did you write?’

I think I stammered. ‘’My first book was Last Seen in Lhasa—’

‘Aagh,’ she exclaimed. ‘I read that. Came out about twenty years ago? I’ve still got a copy.’ She handed me hers. ‘It was a great book.’

I think I blushed because it’s been a while since I’ve had anything published. It was a sweet moment: my own validation. An unexpected endorsement that I am on the right track with this new work about climate change.

I still haven’t opened her book. The time isn’t right. But I look at it differently now when I’m procrastinating. It gives me hope.

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