Thinking about the readers brings me joy. In Red Mars, the narrative unfolds in the current year, even though I penned this novel from 1989 to 1991. Reflecting on how my predictions for this decade diverge from reality adds a fascinating layer to the reading experience.

This phenomenon is common in science fiction. As years pass, the narrative evolves from envisioning a hypothetical future to representing past speculative ideas. It provides invaluable insight into the mindset of that era, which is often difficult to recover.

Exploring vintage science fiction offers a window into the hopes and fears people held about potential realities, transforming these texts from mere inaccuracies to poignant statements about their context.

Consequently, science fiction is a reflection of its time, even when set in the future. It functions as a time capsule, transporting readers to past ideologies and thoughts.

Upon revisiting Red Mars, it fascinates me how well it aligns with the actual trajectory of the 2020s, despite not being an intended prediction. The U.S. and Russia as waning powers working tandem against emerging nations? Check. The ascent of China and India? Double check.

Additionally, themes of ecological and economic fragility punctuated by climate change and geopolitical conflicts resonate eerily with current events. These issues hint at an evolving social order and ongoing discussions about its shape. Humanity has been in a state of upheaval for ages, but change is on the horizon—because stagnation is untenable in any capacity.

I find it intriguing to reflect on the technological insights from the book, noting both predicted advancements and missed opportunities. Some predictions blend past visions with the reality of today. For instance, if one considers the evolution from videotapes to platforms like YouTube, or John Boone’s fictional Dick Tracy-esque watch equipped with the AI ‘Pauline’—it serves as an early seed for the sophisticated AI in my later work, particularly in 2312. Such speculation underscores the unpredictable nature of forecasting the future.

When I crafted this trilogy, we had just begun to uncover breathtaking insights about Mars, significantly influenced by the Mariner and Viking missions. These explorations gifted us a tangible vision of a new realm—one that, while barren, held immense potential.

The emergence of the terraforming concept was timely, raising the question: could we modify Mars to allow human habitation? The newfound suitability of Mars, with its water potential, gravity, and essential nutrients, left many pondering transformation possibilities. These discussions blended speculative fiction with scientific imagination, underscoring the foundational plausibility of my narratives.

Now, after 35 years, our understanding of Mars and human biology has dramatically evolved. The aspiration for human settlement now appears considerably more daunting than before. Recent discoveries reveal that Martian sand contains toxic perchlorates, a potent reminder of the planet’s hostile environment.

Moreover, we’ve delved deeper into how Martian low gravity may impact human health and the harmful effects of unshielded cosmic radiation on our systems. Current proclamations by some billionaires about imminent Mars colonization remain ungrounded in reality. The vision of restoring Mars to a thriving environment akin to Earth’s is, unfortunately, a fantasy rather than a forthcoming reality.

Like many, I share hope for Mars’s future. While I still dream of visiting, I envision it akin to our current expeditions to Antarctica—establishing a scientific base where researchers can thrive for limited periods, akin to crews at McMurdo Station.

These visitors’ lives could parallel characters in chapters 3 and 4 of my book. Their experiences, while fraught with possible health repercussions, would be pursued for the sake of innovation and discovery. Their projects would garner interest, reminiscent of current research efforts in Antarctica—though perhaps not as intensely.

Human presence on Mars would symbolize another chapter in our Anthropocene narrative. It’s arguably the most realistic iteration of a science fiction tale available. If we extend the timeline considerably and achieve a harmonious relationship with Earth, full habitation and terraforming of Mars may one day materialize.

A significant barrier to our Mars ambitions, more pressing than toxicity, is our ongoing environmental neglect on Earth. We must resolve our self-created issues before venturing beyond our planet. Once we establish equilibrium here, Mars will remain ready for future projects—representing a reward for our success.

Keep this in mind when encountering sensational claims suggesting humanity’s imminent habitation of Mars. As the author of the Mars Trilogy, I call such assertions fantasy.

To conclude, while the speculative aspects of Red Mars are compelling, I believe the story’s heart lies in its characters and their intertwining journeys. These elements propel the narrative and shape the reader’s emotional experience.

Reflecting on my time since writing Red Mars, I recently revisited the book, finding joy in experiencing it anew—not as a memory but as fresh reading. That realization brought immense satisfaction.

The characters—Nadia, Maya, John, Frank, Sax, Anne, Michelle, Hiroko, Arkady, Phyllis, Vlad, Ursula, Spencer, and all their companions—jumped vividly to life in my imagination. They are distinct from me and their origins remain a mystery; they arrived with their tales, a beautiful gift. The intertwining of their relationships, political maneuvers, terraforming efforts, and life experiences weave together a rich history, echoing my esteemed teacher Fredric Jameson’s notion of history.

I’m incredibly grateful that this story continues to resonate with readers and I hope you find joy discovering it.

The New Scientist Book Club is currently reading Red Mars by Kim Stanley Robinson. Please join us and read together here.