Have you ever noticed how your reading habits develop a go-to sameness, and you head for books, often by the same author, in the hope of reliving an old high? From time to time I would find myself checking out sci-fi, for the ideas and imagination it offered, going through the likes of Isaac Asimov, and then Stanislaw Lem and Olaf Stapledon, who zoomed out to give me a view of the universe. But then I would drift away. I found their characters flat, always overshadowed by the Big Idea. I couldn’t find myself inside the frame. The writers belonged to a Western world, one they saw as the default setting. Didn’t we also have a place in the future?