Many works of speculative or science fiction involve expressions of imperialism and colonization, both in advocacy and critique. For instance, renowned French author Jules Verne, who is considered a predecessor or even a founder of the genre, incorporated themes of imperialism and its effects into his stories, such as the backstory of Captain Nemo in 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea and the places visited in Around the World in Eighty Days. Verne, a Frenchman living in the 1800s, was very aware of the global activities of the European powers. However, even in modern times, authors invoke themes of colonization, often in meetings or interactions between different groups of people or intelligent species. Imperialism and colonization take many forms, and one form that continues to leave a lasting impact is the control and commercialization of living human bodies. Many speculative fiction works ponder the socio-political mechanisms of human control through novums such as clones, humanoid robots, replicas, and other forms of artificial beings. While such works often parallel the past, they are still relevant to the modern dangers of continued control and commodification of human bodies. Many speculative fiction stories, including Frankenstein, Never Let Me Go, Solaris, and Blade Runner, grapple with how those in authority exploit human bodies for their own ends, revealing anxieties and providing warnings on the dangers of body colonialism and its dehumanizing effects in the past, present, and future.

It has long been recognized that the origins of speculative and science fiction can be linked to the colonialism and imperialism perpetuated by the European powers throughout the seventeenth, eighteenth, and nineteenth centuries. This period also saw rapid technological advancement that fundamentally altered society. It is no coincidence that many of the first speculative fiction stories emerged from Europe during the 1800s, the apex of this era of upheaval and expansion. To many Europeans, it was a time of progress in society and culture, with colonization being a means to both enact this progress and bring it to others, whether they wanted it or not. In turn, as writer John Rieder noted, “The central term that links science [or speculative] fiction to colonialism is the heavily fraught idea of progress.”[1] During this period, science became synonymous with progress, which was considered beneficial and good.



Technological advancement and its consequences were intertwined with colonialist activity. The increasing consumption and industrialization of European states required vast resources beyond the European continent. In a self-feeding cycle, new technology allowed colonial ventures to procure resources which in turn fueled further technological advancement. Thus, the European perception of being technologically superior bled into the science-focused works of the period. Rieder argued that imperialist developments brought forth anxieties “of finding oneself reduced by someone else’s progress to the helplessness of those who are unable to fully inhabit the present, and whose continued existence on any terms other than those of the conquerors has been rendered an anachronism and anomaly.”[2] Colonized communities and their members were designated as inferior, and the usual standards granted to humans did not apply to the same extent. In fact, people were subject to colonization in addition to territory and resources. In the European empires, humans became a commodity and resource as part of the colonization process. Reviewer Alyson R. Buckman wrote, “Those colonized have less access to resources as they are subordinated economically and politically; what resources they do have are tenuous as their bodies, which have become commodities, are dispensable in a surplus labor force.”[3] The Atlantic slave trade was the most prominent example of the colonization of human beings, involving the enslavement and transport of millions of Africans to fuel growing industries in the Americas. Such large-scale dehumanization and othering permeated contemporary fiction, and many speculative fiction stories would come to feature such themes.

Frankenstein, published by Mary Shelley in 1818, reflects an early critique of the imperialism of bodies. Considered one of the earliest speculative fiction narratives, or at least a major influence on the genre, the famous story involves Victor Frankenstein creating a humanoid creature, only to immediately abandon it, leading to a series of tragedies as the creature seeks revenge. In the book, Victor justified his creation through the concept of progress noted by Rieder, saying, “But then I thought about how things were changing in science all the time. New discoveries were being made every day. I was sure that if I had problems, I would find answers. I had to succeed. I knew I would.”[4] Victor shows the same focus on scientific advancement shared by many in the nineteenth century. The emphasis on perceived progress over any other concerns reflects the cultural norm of the time. In analyzing Frankenstein, Kim Hammond notes:

Shelley's launch of science fiction is an elegant historical landmark of the social changes of her time: a society committed predominantly to the promises of the Enlightenment notion of progress epitomized by advances in science and technology and characterized by the apparent (modernist) separation of 'nature' and 'society'. In Frankenstein, Shelley offers a subtle and sophisticated exploration of the potential concerns of a society facing such transformations.[5]

In his actions as a scientist, Victor attempts to reduce the complexity of human existence just to prove he can create life. The creature is thus a tool, but not in the traditional sense. Rather than being a unit of labor, the creature’s very existence is to display Victor’s intellectual dominance and superiority. In essence, the creature is created as an object with life, rather than as a person, despite showcasing human emotions, thoughts, and beliefs.



While Frankenstein shows the European obsession with progress, Shelley also uses the text to show its limitations and dangers. Victor’s creation of the creature and his subsequent treatment of the being are not portrayed as noble or beneficial. In fact, the creature ruins Victor’s life. Hammond argues that Victor’s arrogance is his undoing, saying, “His intended experiment is potentially dangerous and ethically flawed. His rush to develop the technology is motivated by the anticipation of his own reward over and above due care and caution.”[6] The created being is a marvel of science, but it was made purely due to selfish reasoning, without regard to others or the well-being of the creature itself. Similarly, European imperialists, in their quest to expand their power and supposed progress, treated those they colonized as unworthy of respect and caused them great harm physically and psychologically. Victor’s carelessness and lack of empathy drive the creature into misanthropy, as the creature itself notes, “‘I stopped feeling sad. I began to feel angry.…Then I began to think about you, Frankenstein. It was your fault that my life was so unhappy. I decided to punish you.’”[7] Victor’s undoing comes from his unrestrained scientific endeavors, and his actions destroy numerous innocent lives rather than bring progress. Hammond notes, “In Frankenstein we see that knowledge and expertise, in the wrong hands, and with no structures of social accountability, can be dangerous, and as such present a risk to society.”[8] Frankenstein is an early warning of the abuse of technology that would become a key element in future speculative fiction stories.

Frankenstein might have been the first, but many stories written later demonstrate similar themes involving the ill-treatment of human-like beings by authority figures. Solaris (1972), Andrei Tarkovsky’s film adaptation of Stanislaw Lem’s novel of the same name, features a dynamic reminiscent yet distinct from the relationship between Victor and his creature.



In the film, Dr. Chris Kelvin goes to a space station orbiting the titular planet; there, the mysterious ocean that covers the planet somehow creates a replica of Kelvin’s late wife Hari. When first formed, Hari’s replica lacks most of the real Hari’s memories, and she feels compelled to remain in Kelvin’s presence despite his unease and confusion at her existence.[9] The mystery of Hari’s copy forms the crux of the movie’s plot as Kelvin comes into conflict with two other scientists, Snaut and Sartorius, over Hari’s true nature. In the context of the colonization of bodies, Solaris parallels Frankenstein in how a being created by unknown science raises questions on how such lifeforms should be treated. In describing Victor’s creation, Hammond argues that communication, or lack thereof, is more important in influencing one’s nature. Hammond writes, “The 'being' is produced under particular socio-natural relations, relations that are consequential in the disasters that follow.”[10] Similarly, Hari’s replica forms her identity in relation to the people on board the space station. In fact, Hammond’s belief in formation through relationships manifests literally in Solaris; eventually, Hari’s copy becomes more independent as she takes after more of Kelvin’s memories of his late wife, and he becomes more attached to her.[11] Hari’s replica struggles to find meaning and value in her life, and she can form a consciousness based on her relationship with Kelvin.

However, Solaris shows the darker side of this process, particularly in the questions surrounding the status of Hari’s copy as a human being. Snaut and Sartorius disparage the replica’s existence, with Sartorius stating, “There’s no Hari. She is dead. You’re only a reproduction. A mechanical repletion of the form! A copy! A matrix!”[12] Sartorius dismisses the idea of Hari’s replica being a human being. By using industrial terms and equating her with machinery and other nonliving objects, the scientists dehumanize Hari’s recreation, despite her possessing human qualities such as intelligence and emotion. Like Victor Frankenstein’s creature, Hari’s replica is seen as a mistake by entrenched authority figures, dismissed as an obstacle to the study of Solaris, or even as a physical and psychological threat to the people on board the station.

Hari’s replica raises questions about human existence and the nature of the Solaris ocean, and such things are frightening and intimidating. In part, Hari’s copy represents the unknown, something beyond the human experience. Morton Klass, writing on mechanical robots, writes that humans fear robots as potential agents of harm and economic turmoil, and thus they seek to control and limit what robots can do.[13] Despite not being a robot, Hari’s copy raises many of the same concerns, as well as adding a sexual component to her danger. She is an uninvited visitor who distracts Kelvin from his duty as a psychologist while simultaneously threatening the assumptions about what it means to be human. Every time she is killed, she returns, making her impossible to truly control. Thus, the other scientists emotionally torment her until she cannot take it anymore. Hari’s duplicate leaves a letter explaining her suicide, saying, “Chris, I’m so sorry I had to deceive you, but I had no choice. This is the only solution for both of us.”[14] Despite being designated as nonhuman, Hari’s replica expressed human emotions and decisions. Her annihilation comes about due to qualities the scientists refused to acknowledge to justify their actions. Buckman refers to this process of constructed dehumanization as “imaging,” which involves creating and reinforcing beliefs of the “colonized as deserving of their lower status.”[15] Snaut and Sartorius engage in imaging to denigrate the Hari duplicate’s personhood, no matter what the duplicate says or does. As colonizers like Victor Frankenstein, the scientists Snaut and Sartorius seek to destroy what they cannot control.

Solaris also explores human possessiveness through the relationship between Hari’s replica and Kelvin. The duplicate’s presence generates mixed feelings for the psychologist. He knows the real Hari is dead, but he becomes attached to her copy over time. Klass argues that traditional robots are limited in their dangers, stating, “But we have never believed [robots] would dishonor or corrupt us, something we have always assumed that other aliens wanted most of all to do.”[16] The Hari duplicate is closer to an alien being, yet it appears as Kelvin’s deceased wife; indeed, Snaut and Sartorius think Hari’s copy is corrupting Kelvin, preventing him from doing his duty. Furthermore, Hari’s copy is solely reliant on others to maintain her existence. While Kelvin is emotionally and psychologically affected by the replica’s presence, he is not dependent on her for survival. But Hari’s clone only comes into being due to Kelvin’s presence near the Solaris ocean. He never treats her as a servant, but she is nevertheless shackled to him in body and mind. In Klass’ analysis, a robot in speculative fiction “must become and must remain the servant of the human.”[17] Hari’s replica is like an unwitting robot in that she has no choice but to be bound to Kelvin through his memories of his late wife. Even when Kelvin tries to dismiss Hari’s duplicate, she states that she cannot leave his side, saying, “I’ve such a feeling I need to see you all the time.”[18] Even death cannot free her from her predicament until she is subject to the scientists’ annihilator. Hari’s replica, through no fault of her own, is deprived of the ability to make meaningful choices about her life that do not end with her permanent cessation. Almost unknowingly, Kelvin comes to exert singular authority over Hari’s copy, showing how even unwitting or well-intentioned individuals can perpetuate the colonization of bodies.

Frankenstein and Solaris detail efforts to physically and psychologically control individuals who express human qualities without being human in the traditional sense. In those stories, the colonization of bodies occurs on a personal level. However, other works of speculative fiction detail the wider societal impacts of body imperialism. Never Let Me Go by Sir Kazuo Ishiguro showcases a world where a remorseless society controls and exploits clones who share many similarities with Frankenstein’s creature and Hari’s replica. In Ishiguro’s novel, cloned humans are raised to provide organs for non-clone people; as Miss Lucy explains to the protagonists Kathy, Ruth, and Tommy, “You'll become adults, then before you're old, before you're even middle-aged, you'll start to donate your vital organs. That's what each of you was created to do.…You were brought into this world for a purpose, and your futures, all of them, have been decided.”[19] The full truth is initially obscured to the clones, who grow up in an isolated boarding school in Hailsham, England. For much of the novel, Kathy and her friends appear to be living a normal life, excluding several strange events and details.

But everything they see and do is carefully regulated to prime them for organ harvesting, in turn preventing them from making meaningful choices. For instance, Miss Lucy insists the students of Hailsham cannot smoke, saying “Keeping yourselves very healthy inside, that's much more important for each of you than it is for me.”[20] Such a statement makes sense with hindsight, but it shows the tight control enacted over the clones’ lives; they are unable to even procreate. Their bodies are industrialized resources, and they are limited from making any decisions that would interfere with their intended purpose, good or bad. Such control is reminiscent of slavery concurrent with the birth of speculative fiction. Like the clones in Never Let Me Go, captured Africans and their descendants were subjected to attempted authoritarian management by their enslavers. They were considered property and forced into hard labor for the sole benefit of their owners, and authorities tried to keep enslaved individuals in bondage, continuing the colonization of bodies. Never Let Me Go reinvents slavery in a speculative reality, intertwining it with concerns over the dehumanizing effects of technology. In analyzing the novel, Karl Shaddox writes that Ishiguro’s story parallels abolitionist writings from the nineteenth century, which emphasized the emotional trauma of slavery, generating sentiment for the abolitionist cause.[21] Ishiguro shows that clones like Kathy are human in their mannerisms, beliefs, and goals, yet they are condemned to exploitation and early death. The sentiments of the protagonists contrast with the cold and distant science and medicine of the unseen leaders of the world, who enforce the status quo.

Perhaps the scariest element of Never Let Me Go is how the protagonists do not realize the horror of the world they live in. Brought up in a controlled and isolated environment, they never question the injustice of their predetermined lives. Kathy begins and ends her narration with a resigned acceptance of her fate and the fate of her friends; she even reminisces on “just how lucky [they’d] been” growing up in Hailsham.[22] In contrast to the African slaves trapped by colonialism and imperialism, no clone is shown outright criticizing the system present within the novel. To them, that life is normal, no matter how tragic and unfair it is. This only makes it easier for society to ignore its collective guilt to extract medical benefits from the clones. Shaddox writes, “Avoiding the fact of their individuality made slaughtering the clones for their organs ethically palatable for the normals. Reading Kathy H's memoir, an account of the affective reality of herself and the other clones, reveals what this collective evasion has wrought: institutionalized genocide.[23] Similar to Victor’s reaction to his creation and Snaut and Sartorius’ attitudes towards Hari’s duplicate, the non-cloned humans of Never Let Me Go attempt to justify their hatred for those they deem inferior and treat them per that fear and loathing. However, it is much worse in Never Let Me Go as it is on a societal and institutional scale, rather than a few individuals. This entrenches and reinforces those beliefs, especially as the normals benefit greatly from the suffering of the clones. As a result, Never Let Me Go is frightening in its realism; Ishiguro sets his story not in the far future but in an alternate 1990s, as established on the first page.[24] Outside of the advanced cloning and its impact, the setting resembles the real world. Shaddox argues that this date is“to show that the challenges of a post human future are already upon us.”[25] The line between fiction and reality becomes blurred, and the clones’ tribulations are applicable to the real world. Never Let Me Go expands on the themes found in stories like Frankenstein to warn of the human cost of technological advancement as the body becomes a resource to exploit.



Never Let Me Go describes a world functioning under its status quo of colonialism of artificial humans. Still, other speculative fiction stories emphasize another aspect: the humanity of such beings, especially in relation to so-called normal humans. Blade Runner, a cult classic cyberpunk fiction directed by Ridley Scott, shows a future where artificial humanoids called replicants are hunted down on Earth after an attempted uprising.



The opening crawl states that replicants are “superior in strength and agility, and at least equal in intelligence” to regular humans, and that they are used as slave labor on other planets.[26] Like Never Let Me Go, an entire group of beings is created to serve the interests of an elite, but unlike in Ishiguro’s novel, the replicants in Blade Runner recognize their terrible conditions and find the will to resist. Its critique of body colonialism is upfront and obvious, in contrast to the subtle horror of Never Let Me Go. Indeed, the replicants seen in the film are like Frankenstein’s creature, lashing out at their cruel creators. In the film, Roy Batty, the leader of the rebel replicants, seeks to find and kill his creator, Tyrell, which he eventually succeeds in doing.[27] Society’s cruelty and apathy push the replicants into becoming murderers seeking survival and revenge. As Hammond writes on Frankenstein’s creature, the replicants are “guilty of inhumane crimes” but “are driven by social circumstance” rather than being “innately bad or evil.”[28] The replicants have to act in open defiance of their programming to assert their humanity.

In Blade Runner, the replicants embrace vivid imagery and spectacle to display their humanity, often appearing more emotional and relatable than normal humans. With their artificially reduced lifespans, the replicants seek to make the most of their limited time. They are vibrant, emotive, and unashamed, contrasting with the protagonist's cold and sometimes dull persona. Shaddox argues that stories with artificial humans show a path to individuality through “the accumulation of life's emotional experiences”  that come to form a “permanent identity.”[29] The replicants were designed mostly for manual labor, but through their camaraderie and colorful activities, they find new meaning and value. If they are not human at creation, then they become human through their experiences as both individuals and a collective. These moments of being are most exemplified by Roy Batty’s final monologue to protagonist Rick Deckard, where he describes his rich experiences throughout the universe, lamenting, “All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Time to die.”[30] In his short life, Roy is able to find some meaning and independence. His time is brazen and bright, but it is cut short due to his programming. In his final moments, Roy demonstrates his humanity even as he suffers his fate as an artificial construct. This stands in contrast to Deckard, who had been cold and indifferent up until that point. Only with Roy’s death does he begin to live his own life, finding that humans and replicants are not so different and avoiding the trap of body colonialism for his own sake.



Many speculative fiction stories have used artificial humanoids to examine the dangers of treating humans as commodities and resources on both the beings in question and humanity as a whole. By using artificial constructs, whether they be robots, clones, or something else, writers explore the complexities of identity and the oppression of human beings deemed different and separate from the rest of a certain society. As seen in stories like Frankenstein, Never Let Me Go, Solaris, and Blade Runner, the estrangement of artificial humans often leads to and reinforces prejudices and stereotypes. Replicated beings become metaphors for the treatment of marginalized groups in the real world. Deemed inferior, they are forced into predetermined roles to suit the needs of the dominant elites, often meeting depressing or violent ends. Frankenstein’s creation is rejected by all and becomes a monster; the clones of Ishiguro’s novel are resigned to their fates of lethal organ harvesting; Hari’s copy is seen as a pale imitation of the original and bullied into suicide; the replicants rage against their designated roles and limited lifespans. No matter their circumstances and reactions, the artificial humans must contend with the reality imposed on them. They find freedom through their emerging humanity, even if that freedom is fleeting. When such beings are abused, subjugated, and dehumanized, it reflects on the potential cruelty of humanity and its capacity to damage and destroy itself. Whether the stories are ones of hope or despair, they warn of how humanity’s flaws are not destined to disappear as science advances. Technology can easily become a tool of oppression, and only by embracing humanity can its excesses be averted.