I take a seat on the train back to the city and peer into now pitch-black windows showing nothing but my distorted face. The train is much calmer and quieter now, and the droning and rattling make me loose focus and my mind wander.
To Snowpiercer, a Netflix series based on the eponymous movie from 20131 set in a post-apocalyptic dystopian world, where failed geoengineering experiments targeting the reversal of global warming back-fired, causing an ice age. Amidst the frozen wasteland, the last survivors have boarded a train traversing the globe several times a year, which serves as the host for a miniature society including food production, recreation, law enforcement, and class struggles.
I recently finished this series2 and as with several works of fiction in the form of film before it, I observed it to have a captivating and even transforming effect on me. Most notably the character Melanie Cavill, lead engineer on the name-giving train Snowpiercer, made an impression, especially her deep love for engineering and the upkeep of the train. The portrayal of this character changed my perception and intuitive stance on engineering from mild indifference to utter fascination. In a way, Cavill served as an idol for me representing the ingenuity surrounding the science of engineering.
Yet I also observed that I somehow tried to relativise this transformative power of this character, to resist its’ impact. For fiction is not real.3 The ingenious Melanie Cavill does not exist and was instead meticulously crafted to portray a character, an idea. The world surrounding Snowpiercer is (thankfully!) not real, either. In fact, the entire series is precisely crafted to convey first an entertaining story and second an idea, a message. How can I idolise something that is designed to be deliberately distinct from real life, yet is painted in all the colours of it?
Reality snaps back in as the train reaches another stop on my way home. I adjust my posture, focus my eyes on the empty seat in front of me, just to defocus again as I gaze back into nothing.
What is this resistance about? Why do I simultaneously idolise and repudiate this character? Some aspects of fiction, such as the ingenious engineer in Snowpiercer, may certainly serve as motivation for own ideas and goals. Yet they remain fictitious; the deliberately crafted Melanie Cavill is unreachable in her traits, rendering any striving towards those ill-fated.
Taking a step back, I formulate a central question: What role does fiction have in one’s reality? And what role ought it to have? During my time watching Snowpiercer, I observed interactions between this work of fiction and my reality. Yet I am not entirely sure what I shall make of them.
My pondering on this thought in that rattling, droning, empty train driving me home unearthed more questions than answers. The train comes to a stop, forcibly cutting me off. But I intend to return to these questions soon.
> part 2