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It makes good sense for science fiction novels in which sea level rise figures prominently to be set in iconic locations such as Venice, New Orleans, Holland, and low-lying Pacific islands. These are assuredly not the only human habitats threatened by the ocean’s incursions. Nigeria is another natural choice, one that forms the backdrop for Lost Ark Dreaming. It happens to be where Suyi Davies Okungbowa spent his younger years. The novel explores the premise that in the not so distant future, a scant five high-rises, termed “the Fingers,” are all that remain of Lagos after sea level rise transformed it into a human refuge off the coast of West Africa. Life in these towers comes off as considerably grimmer than in the New York high rises that Kim Stanley Robinson envisions along the mid-city canals in his New York 2140. For openers, Okungbowa’s towers are extraordinarily stratified. Their inhabitants grasp at whatever means they can find to better their situations, while being terrified of sinking or tumbling down to the lower levels, both figuratively and literally. Some have survived the collapse of other towers, which caused them to become refugees in others, including “the Pinnacle.”
Lost Ark Dreaming interweaves three story strands, told from alternating viewpoints. The first is a midder named Yekini, an analyst for a police department of sorts. She is assigned to look into a possible breach of the outer wall of the Pinnacle. Next comes Ngozi, an arrogant upper-level bureaucrat who fears losing so much. Lastly, we meet a courageous and pragmatic lower named Tuowo, a foreman/superintendent doing everything he can to keep all the residents of his level safe. Circumstances force the trio to work together despite their considerable disdain for one another. These circumstances consist of a mysterious—seemingly impossible—incursion into the high-rise by a mysterious being from beneath the ocean. The creature appears capable of breathing not only under water but also in the air. I first interpreted this being as a fantasy element injected into a futuristic story, one I was tempted to dismiss as a fanciful invention to further the plot. Eventually, it is revealed that this sea being, and others of its kind, evolved at an ultra-accelerated pace from humans enslaved in Africa. These ancestors were forced to board slave ships bound for the western hemisphere, but they jumped overboard and managed to survive under the ocean.
Having enjoyed science fiction stories that depend on faster-than-light travel, various forms of teleportation, and instantaneous ansible communication, I decided not to let extraordinarily rapid evolution capsize my enjoyment of Okungbowa’s novel. To do so would not only feel curmudgeonly but would also miss the point of this cautionary tale. Besides, people have always told stories about remarkable creatures dwelling in deep waters. There is indeed much we have yet to discover about the oceans around us and the creatures living in at considerable depths. I am reminded not only of coelacanths, dubbed “living fossils,” which were long thought to have gone extinct when the dinosaurs did, only to be recovered alive in fishermen’s nets in 1938. Nor are coelacanths the only species to astound zoologists. Orcas were long believed to live exclusively in coastal waters, until they were observed in recent years hunting grey whale calves and northern elephant seals in the open ocean.
Intriguing interludes provide considerably more context as to how contemporary societies evolved into the one portrayed inside the Pinnacle. It involved doubling down or tripling down on rigid economic stratification. This class-based society is not so restrictive that it would be impossible for individuals to improve their lots or to fall down into worse circumstances. In fact, all three viewpoint characters did suffer a detrimental change in status due to the loss of beloved family members—parents, a sister, and a wife. Memories of the deceased drive their desires to maintain or regain their social stratas.
Okungbowa paints vivid landscapes—or rather seascapes interspersed with high rises—filled with people whose lives and spirits get distorted and eroded away. The message is that this includes all of us, even those tempted to draw comfort from the seeming security of residing in the upper reaches of tall towers, those who want to believe that strong doors and locks will forever keep the midders and lowers out. It’s one thing to mythologize what beings might navigate the deep ocean currents all around our tower. It’s quite another to learn that those beings have vital reasons to climb up among us. As a former archaeologist, I am mindful that for thousands of years, people have enforced social hierarchies through the buildings they erected. Must it be inevitable that future generations will do so?
Lost Ark Dreaming depicts the ravages of centuries of capitalism, built upon the widespread institution of slavery, culminating in ecological disaster. As the oceans rise, those who control socio-political institutions respond by increasing the rigid economic stratification, literalized in the high-rise buildings of inundated Lagos. All in all, Okungbowa gives us an unflinching, vividly imaginative contribution to contemporary climate fiction, one that fights against despair sparked by rampant greed, one that rallies us to rise to the challenges ahead.
