Elaine U. Cho On Redefining Sci-Fi in “Teo’s Durumi”

If you’re like me, you’re sick of the pervasive “techno-orientalism” in mainstream science fiction. What do I mean by that? Countless sci-fi books and movies imagine a hyper-capitalistic, dystopian Asian-influenced West without Asian people. While white protagonists struggle to navigate the growing rift between humans and technology — somehow always the fault of China or Japan — we fade into the neon backdrop as cyborgs and side characters at best, and nameless holograms and stereotypical food hawkers at worst. Writer Elaine U. Cho says that despite not seeing herself represented in these stories growing up, she “just subconsciously read them and [thought], ‘Oh, I guess that’s what the future is.’”

A Space Opera With Asian Leads

That’s why when I stumbled upon Cho’s space opera “Ocean’s Godori” (2024) earlier this year in my local library, I got goosebumps: a disgraced Korean space pilot and an Indian tech conglomerate heir drawn into an interplanetary conspiracy? Sign me up.

In “Ocean’s Godori,” Ocean Yoon carries on the badass legacy of her Jejudo haenyeo mother, but instead of diving for conches in the sea, she weaves spaceships in between Seoul’s skyscrapers and asteroid belts for the Alliance, Korea’s space agency. Ocean has spent more time in space than her homeland and is therefore ostracized for not being “Korean enough” (know the feeling?) and rejecting the traditional chain of command. So when her best friend Teo Anand, whose family has built their tech fortune terraforming planets, gets framed for murdering said family, Ocean doesn’t think twice before teaming up with space pirates to help clear his name.

Both “Ocean’s Godori” and its recently released sequel “Teo’s Durumi” are filled with epic space battles reminiscent of “Cowboy Bebop” and “Firefly,” but what’s refreshing about these books is Cho’s outright refusal to play into the tropes of techno-orientalism. 

Cho centers fully realized Asian characters in a future where Korea is the galactic superpower and cultural hegemony, and although these characters must grapple with the complexities and consequences of space colonization, this is decidedly not a bleak, dystopian future. With its celebration of cultural differences and (non-toxic!) heteronormative and queer romances, Cho’s duology made my nerdy little heart sing. For the first time, I could imagine a world where people like me weren’t depicted as the downfall of civilization, but rather the adventurers and the trailblazers.

What Makes “Teo’s Durumi” Different

Cho doesn’t just focus on futuristic tech (the idea of a deepfake skinsuit where someone can imitate another and use it for evil is especially concerning); she also folds in elements of traditional Korean culture and identity politics. 

“Both books are sci-fi through a Korean American lens,” says Cho. When writing “Ocean’s Godori,” she admits to having “a moment of panic” where she thought, “I need a ‘real Korean’ to read this and tell me if I’m doing this right. But my hope for Ocean throughout the book was her going from ‘Am I Korean enough?’ to ‘Well, I am Korean, so what does that mean for the word ‘Korean’?”

While “Ocean’s Godori” is about exploring your identity, Cho says that “Teo’s Durumi” asks, “Well, now you figured out who you are, or you think you have, so what do you do with that?”

Plot Twists, Love Triangles, and Lunar Politics

Like most sequels, this one is plot heavy; Teo, Ocean, and her crew crash-land on the moon, where they must maneuver political intrigue and intricate social dynamics in order to find trustworthy allies, fix the Anand family’s mistakes, bring them justice, and take down the real villain in order to save their solar system. Did I mention there’s also romance? There are admittedly a lot of characters and ambitious worldbuilding — and not just one, but two separate love triangles. (If it were up to me, this series would have absolutely been a trilogy rather than a duology so that all of these elements could get the development they deserve.)

The complex plot can be hard to follow when there’s subtle storytelling, when everything that’s said is equally important as what’s left unsaid. For readers like myself, some of these cultural nuances like noonchi (the art of reading the room in order to preserve social harmony) and wordless yearning (K-drama fans, you know what I’m talking about!) are second-nature, but other readers will have to work a bit harder to understand cultural context behind characters’ words and actions, as well as some of the Korean vocabulary that they use.

“I hadn’t realized that people would have issues with it because it’s a sci-fi book,” says Cho. “People seem to have no problems if a character goes into a tavern and orders a sort of meat that they’ve never heard of before. There’s an acceptance of going into something and not knowing everything.”

This was an intentional choice, says Cho. “It’s very much an experience that Ocean has throughout her life; she does feel a little bit outside of the culture. Sometimes, people say a word, and she doesn’t know exactly what that means. She has to figure it out from context, or she has to pick it up as she goes along. The whole experience of the book was embracing that.”

Imagining a Unified Korea

It’s precisely this concept that gives “Teo’s Durumi” its heart: that the outcasts and misfits are the ones who are able to feel compassion and fight for a harmonious future for all of mankind. In Cho’s world, North Korea and South Korea are able to “work together and build towards this future where they are dominating space.” This idea of a powerful, unified Korea was especially exciting for me, as my maternal grandparents were from Pyongyang before the Korean War and never got to reunite with their loved ones before they passed. 

Cho says, “People might feel differently now that families uniting isn’t necessarily as big of a push as it was, but I do think that there’s still a hope for unification, and also just an acceptance and understanding of each other. This is something I thought a lot about for the book as a whole: empathy. What do you do when you’re so different from someone and disagree with them, but care about them deeply?”

Cho’s speculation of a kinder world counters the fearmongering against rising Asian economic power and fights the erasure of our voices. Terraforming can be ethical. People can acknowledge their differences and find forgiveness and grace. Star-crossed lovers can have happy endings. And although at times, those points may feel naive, it’s a much needed narrative for many of us right now. She says, “I think it’s good to have hopeful sci-fi as well as dystopian.”

With both “Ocean’s Godori” and “Teo’s Durumi,” Cho has set the bar higher for science fiction depicting Asian futures with Asian people — and it’s way more of a fun ride.

“Teo’s Durumi” by Elaine U. Cho is available at your local bookstore or Bookshop.