Giant crabs, unlikely heroes, and writing empathy into a post-apocalyptic world
“If I’ve done my job, then you come away from one of my novels feeling better about the world than when you first started reading it.”
Mixed Media Magazine is pleased to interview Alex Kingsley, whose novel Empress of Dust was recently named Winner of the 2025 Small Spec Book Awards for Science Fiction. Set on a post-apocalyptic Earth ruled by sentient, gargantuan crab creatures, the book follows an unlikely protagonist navigating survival, moral responsibility, and the limits of empathy. In this conversation, Kingsley discusses the origins of the novel’s strange and striking world, their approach to character and compassion in science fiction, and how humor, tenderness, and danger coexist on the page.
“Empress of Dust” features gargantuan crab-like creatures ruling a post-apocalyptic Earth. What sparked your fascination with monstrous-but-sentient beasts, and why crabs?
I have always been very attracted to the things that freak people out. When you’re queer or neurodivergent or disabled or I imagine really anything that makes you feel different from your peers, you tend to start to see yourself in the things that are often ignored or reviled. That’s why I am really drawn to the “gross” or “unsettling” stuff — pigeons, rats, fungus, and definitely monsters. Because, what even is a monster? What defines monstrousness? I try to stay away from the somewhat played out “but what if humans were the real monsters all along?” and instead look at the broader picture to ask, “Why must anyone be a monster? Why is this a category that exists? To what end? Who lives in this category, and why?” And really it tends to boil down to the question: “Why is divergence from the norm punished?” It turns out there’s not one straightforward answer. So yeah, if you look at my short fiction or my plays or any project I have coming out in the future, you’ll see a lot of CREATURES, and a lot of stuff that is, to put it bluntly, kinda fucked up.
The crabs themselves do have a specific backstory. When I was twelve I read The Time Machine by H.G. Wells. I found that actual story kind of dull, but then the protagonist accidentally travelled too far in the future and saw giant crabs and twelve year old me was like “Damn!!! This is sick as fuck!!!!” (except probably not in those words) and then the guy LEFT to go back to Victorian England!!! WHY would you choose Victorian England over giant crabs??? It made me angry for a long time, so I always had that unfulfilled promise of a crab-future in the back of my mind. Then as an adult I learned about the theory of carcinization (ie evolution tends towards crab because the crab has evolved independently so many times, implying that crab is in fact the ideal form for animal life on Earth) and the conditional immortality of the lobster (the unfortunately false belief that if nothing kills a lobster it will live forever). Together, all these things formed a pretty coherent image of a race of far-future functionally immortal crabs beasts, but I didn’t really have a sense of a story to put them in until I had a dream about desert scavengers. When I woke up, I felt like I had the whole story in front of me.
Harvard is described as small, anxious, and trembling—an unconventional sci-fi hero. What drew you to centering the story on a character who doesn’t fit the typical action-protagonist mold?
Honestly I’ve always hated the action-protagonist archetype. As a kid I was very resistant to superhero stuff — the protagonist was always too competent. It made the story uninteresting to me. Where are the stakes? Where’s the challenge? Beyond that, though, I also didn’t feel very represented. I’ve never had the same physical abilities as my peers. I’ve always been uncoordinated, weak, and like Harvard, very shaky. Only as an adult did I find out that a lot of this was due to a disability. I thought I was just bad at doing things, and all these action heroes only reminded me of that fact.
Basically, my competencies were not the standard competencies you see represented in media, so I was also drawn to characters who seem totally ill-equipped for the situation they end up in. I think this was part of the reason that I loved Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy as a kid. Arthur Dent was the perfect useless protagonist. And that’s what made the story so great! Like, no, he’s not gonna have any of the skills required to go on a space adventure, but he will be kinda a bitch about it, and that’s what makes him so delightful to read.
Even more than that, though, I become attracted to characters who are underestimated because they have a skillset that seems useless, but is actually way more important than people think. That’s where Harvard came from. He’s a pretty terrible desert scavenger, but when he’s in a crisis, it’s not strength or intelligence that can save him — it’s compassion, curiosity, and creativity, all of which he has in spades.
To sum up, I think we as a society tend to value certain characteristics over others in the media we consume, and I strive to shift that balance. Give me more heroes who are soft. Give me more heroes who love so deeply it threatens to destroy them.
The novel puts Harvard in a moral dilemma between saving humans or siding with the “monsters.” How did you approach writing a story where empathy toward the ‘other’ becomes the core conflict?
With care, for sure. When writing a story involving the “what if we were wrong to vilify these people” plotline, there’s a lot of nasty tropes you can potentially fall into. My goal was to approach it from a place of authenticity. The crabs are not an allegory. They do not represent an existing group of people. They are crabs. And because alternative cognitions fascinate me so much, I put a lot of thought into how these crabs think, communicate, and build their societies.
One trope I really don’t like is “oh, I guess they were human after all!” because don’t living creatures that are inhuman still deserve our empathy? What is humanity the barometer for personhood? So what I really wanted to do was go the opposite direction. It’s not “we’re a lot more alike than we thought.” It’s, “actually we are incredibly different, but I will not let that stop me from respecting you.” I think that’s a way more interesting direction to take the story, and honestly, more relevant. We anthropomorphize way too much, and that is really becoming a problem with the way we treat AI. It’s crucial, now more than ever, that we are practicing our ability to imagine the perspective of a non-human entity, because ascribing human traits to non-human things can have serious consequences.
The book blends high-stakes adventure with humor, a tone you’re known for across your projects. How do you balance dark or dangerous worldbuilding with comedic or heartfelt moments?
To me, these things go hand in hand. It really all boils down to character, actually. I want these characters to feel as authentic as possible. First, I create a Little Guy, full of qualities and quirks and everything else that makes up a person. Then I put that Little Guy in a situation that is easily the worst possible situation for that character to be in. Not only does this create a high stakes conflict, but it’s also an opportunity for comedy, because that character is probably going to have a reaction that seems completely incongruous with that situation.
Like, putting Harvard in the middle of what’s basically a Kaiju battle is 10x more dangerous than putting any other character in that same situation because he doesn’t know how to handle combat, but because he is the way he is, he’s probably more worried about doing something wrong and embarrassing himself than actually dying. Princeton, on the other hand, sees everything as a game because he’s never had to worry about the things that Harvard has. That means he walks into very obvious danger all the time, and then when he realizes too late that he fucked up, he can’t help but try and minimize the situation because he can only cope by pretending it’s not that bad.
Like one of my favorite scenes in the sequel, Relic of Haven, involves him trying really hard to act non-chalant about the fact that he’s been bitten by a venomous snake; he’s like “pft that didn’t even hurt” and then goes to puke behind a tree. Both of these combinations make for drama, but they also make for some pretty funny moments, in my opinion.
But character is also where the heartfelt stuff comes from! As Sol Stein says, you have to know the characters in the car before the crash. A tender moment is only tender for the audience if they really know and care for these people. And often what makes a moment like this so emotionally impactful is the fact that we’re seeing these characters heal from deep emotional wounds. It wouldn’t be possible if it weren’t for some of the darker aspects of the story.
So I guess what I’m saying is: the darkness, the danger, the humor, and heart are all intrinsically connected, and the connective tissue that unites them is character.
Reviewers describe the book as “wild and weird” yet deeply human.
What emotional experience did you most hope readers would walk away with?
If there’s one word to encapsulate the goal of just about all my writing, it’s warmth. (There are some notable exceptions to this. Like I would not call “This is Not a Place of Honor” or “Little Acid Girl” particularly warm-and-fuzzy stories.) Like I am definitely very cruel to my characters. I do not envy the situations I have put them in. But since character is the thing that compels me to write stories, the challenges they face are not as much about plot as they are about developing and exploring those characters’ values and relationships with each other. If I’ve done my job, then you come away from one of my novels feeling better about the world than when you first started reading it.
As a writer, comedian, and game designer, how do your cross-disciplinary creative roles influence your approach to worldbuilding and character design?
Tons of ways! Game design has really changed the way I look at worldbuilding and character. In order to play a TTRPG, you need to have a really strong sense of the world in order to interact with it. Whenever I start creating a world, I make a worldbook. A lot of the information in the worldbook doesn’t end up getting used in the novel, but it’s a great reference for myself. Include basic facts like geography and climate as well as more complex sociological things like cultural values, religion, economy, and class system. One of the biggest ones is language. I have to keep a glossary of all the special vocabulary they use, because I know I will forget. If there’s a magic system, I need to have that codified as well! It’s basically the same as writing the core mechanics for a game, except I’m the only player.
The same is true of character. For every protagonist I write, I make a character dossier, which looks a lot like a character sheet minus the stats. I’ll answer a ton of core questions about the character (motivations, important relationships, fears, etc.) as well as a bunch of questions that seem inconsequential (favorite food, best childhood memory, etc.) because all of that really informs the character and makes them feel like a full individual. This one comes partially from TTRPGs but it also comes from my background in theater. I would always write a bio for any character I played, and the questions were very similar. In fact, when I direct a show, I use a table work document with the actors that looks very similar to my character dossier.
Character is really where theater, games, and writing all coalesce. Playing a character, whether on stage or in a game, is very similar to writing one. When portraying a character onstage, you have to be considering how they speak, how they move, how they hold their body, what they’re doing with their face, etc. You need to know every little detail about them in order to convincingly embody them. In a game, the physical aspects are less important (though you’ll likely do some physical character description) but unlike in a play, you’ll be writing your dialogue yourself, completely on the fly. TTRPGs are more like a form of long form improv than they are like a stage play. Both of those skills are necessary when writing a character. You need to know what they’ll say, how they’ll say it, what they’ll do, and how they’ll move in any situation.
Get the book on Amazon!
Find out more about the author here.
Mixed Media Magazine 