As an author of space operas set in unique universes, I’ve always created detailed world-building documents—everything from character arcs to intricate plot outlines and comprehensive cultural entries. This is a crucial aspect of my writing process, and I’ve been studying exemplary models in world-building. One outstanding example is the late Ian M. Banks, who passed in 2013 and was an exceptional architect of worlds.

Best known for his Culture series, Banks portrayed this cultural civilization as a “secular paradise.” In his envisioned world, human, machine, and AI coexist in a post-scarcity utopia, managed by a benevolent AI known as the Mind, which oversees societal well-being. Unlike other science fiction narratives that depict AI as tyrants (think The Matrix), in the Culture, humans and machines enjoy equal rights and meaningful, trusting relationships. Ultimately, while machines govern, they generally make sound decisions, leaving the human population free from oppression.

Yet, it’s rarely that straightforward. In Banks’ The Player of Games (1988), the protagonist, Guruge, becomes disenchanted with his seemingly perfect life within the Culture. His visit to the whimsical Empire of Azad reveals a stark contrast as its inhabitants challenge their cultural utopia, driven by valid grievances. This world has a condescending and ethnographic view of other civilizations, leading to debates about whether to leave them be or assimilate them. In the novella Consider Phlebas, members of the Contact Service acknowledge that integrating Earth into their world could lead to billions of deaths, yet they deem it acceptable if it ultimately creates something better. This ongoing struggle between an idyllic culture and a supremacist empire is a recurring theme, skillfully explored by Banks. His world-building richly contributes to this exploration.

As someone fascinated by the intricacies of world-building, I recently immersed myself in Banks’ posthumously published work, Culture: Drawing, which compiles a collection of his handwritten sketches and notes.

In this book, he addresses a question that resonates with my own writing: What languages do my characters speak, and why? What naming customs do I follow for people and places? How does technology influence not just societal structures but everyday life? Banks’ sketches provide insights into these queries, featuring rough designs of ships, elaborate diagrams of weaponry, numerical calculations, and detailed maps that illustrate both the utopian and militaristic elements of the Culture. These documents reveal the depth of Banks’ writing process and how he achieved the distinctive universe and civilization.

Currently, I am working on a novel that involves an advanced extraterrestrial culture. I often think back to Octavia Butler’s Lilith’s Brood, where a benevolent alien race restricts humanity’s agency. Additionally, Jack Sternberg’s short story “So Far From Home” comes to mind, depicting aliens visiting Earth with a persistent disdain for humanity. And then there’s Banks. His writings serve as a comprehensive guide for crafting worlds that feel authentic and relatable, even amidst the unfamiliar. While I may lack Banks’ artistic prowess, I share his inclination to visualize societies, design blueprints for communal spaces, and create star maps to highlight significant locations.

This is the exhilarating allure of science fiction for me—an imaginative world waiting to be explored.

However, Banks’ world-building extends beyond the overt. The reason I am drawn to Banks, as previously mentioned, is his work Consider Phlebas, where the protagonist is an alien visitor to Earth. This character approaches Earth’s culture and history with a mix of curiosity and horror, discovering the complexities of humanity’s past. While the narrative often maintains a light-hearted tone, Banks deftly injects darker undertones that illustrate cultural dilemmas.

A notable scene occurs during a dinner party where the character Lee makes absurd claims about Earth’s destruction. His friends tease him, yet their seeming lack of urgency contrasts with the gravity of historical atrocities, akin to the “Final Solution.” The moment peaks when Lee presents lab-grown human cells for consumption—a grotesque dish of human flesh. “If only they could see us now!” one character exclaims joyously. “Cannibals from outer space!”

This world-building instance captivates me.

Consuming a human steak cultivated in a lab starkly differs in magnitude from historical atrocities like the Holocaust, yet both reveal a chilling numbness toward human life—a farcical detachment from those perceived as lesser beings. This scene offers a glance at a culture that Banks’ illustrations of weaponry and colossal ships may suggest but cannot fully convey on an emotional level. Thus, in Banks’ novels, world-building encompasses more than geography, language, and technology; it embodies tone. His unique blend of levity and unease showcases his mastery of the craft.

If you are new to Banks, I highly recommend exploring his sketches and technical notes. They afford valuable insights into the construction and mechanics of creating new worlds. Pay attention to the inherent contradictions and uncertainties woven through character dialogues and introspections, an area where Banks excels particularly. Observe his tone. Appreciate his humor. For me, this is the most profound lesson.

Bethany Jacobs is the Philip K. Dick Award-winning author of novels. Burning Stars (Trajectory). Ian M. Banks Culture novel The Player of Games (Orbit) is the December 2025 read for the New Scientist Book Club. Join us for the discussion here.