Delenda Carthago's favourite sci-fi books about how we build absurd societies and keep justifying them

Don't panic.

Science fiction can be hilarious without becoming merely ridiculous. It can bend the genre’s conventions without losing its way, and unleash its imagination while still taking sharp aim at human arrogance.

I read this book before it was widely recognized as a classic, and immediately loved its mixture of adventure, unforgettable characters, and jokes so brilliant that they became cultural touchstones around the world.

Most of all, I loved never being able to imagine what would happen on the next page. Few books offer the same combination of speed, adventure, unpredictability, and genuine laughter. Ever since I finished it, I have kept a small towel nearby, just in case the world ends.

Not everything that seems harmful does us harm, and not everything that seems good does us good.

I love books that make me reconsider the world I live in, and although Brave New World was published in 1932, its use of empty entertainment, sex, drugs, and medicated happiness as instruments of social control feels startlingly contemporary.

In dystopias built around punishment, power forces people to obey; here, pleasure makes them willing. The Romans already understood this through panem et circenses, and I see the same mechanism around us today. We fail to notice the cage because we are too busy seeking it out and locking ourselves inside.

This book broadened my perspective and taught me to look at apparent comforts with more suspicious eyes.

This book gave me two pleasures: following its story and discovering how ingeniously that story had been assembled.

Its 127 short chapters sometimes contain little more than an idea, a joke, or a shift in perspective. At first, they require some patience. A few may seem disconnected or even unnecessary, but gradually they build upon one another like pieces of a mosaic.

Vonnegut leaves me room to assemble the whole, connecting science, religion, politics, and catastrophe without explaining every link. The form made me an active reader rather than a passive one. Its compression creates space for me to participate while allowing every absurdity to land with greater force.

I believe short stories are especially well suited to exploring human nature. Their brevity forces out everything superfluous and brings the heart of the matter into focus.

That is why I love The Star Diaries, a collection in which alien civilizations repeatedly become mirrors for different aspects and limitations of the human condition. Through them, Lem probes our faith in progress, our appetite for systems that promise perfect order, and our conviction that we know what is best for everyone else.

I find Lem’s use of irony and comedy to approach profoundly serious questions particularly effective. As I read, I laughed wholeheartedly at human imperfections, only to realize that I was also laughing at myself, and that perhaps some of it was not funny at all.

At first, I expected the monster to come from the eggs.

By the end, I realized that the real monster was already outside the shell: political pressure, media hysteria, and a blind bureaucracy convinced that policymaking can govern nature.

I found the novella imaginative, rich, and gripping, but its grotesque science-fiction catastrophe also felt connected to the politics I encounter every day. I often wonder how our foolish decisions (wars, pollution, disastrous policies) have not made us extinct already. Have we simply been lucky?

Bulgakov’s book is a wonderfully satirical adventure through 1920s Soviet Russia, yet much of it feels suspiciously like an ordinary visit to my local government office.