Throughout the 20th century, dystopian literature and media became increasingly popular. The genre, sparked by works such as H.G. Wells’s The Time Machine (1895) and Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World (1932), found its stride as writers like George Orwell, Ursula K. Le Guin and Margaret Atwood came on the scene with now-classic dystopian exemplars such as 1984 (1949), The Dispossessed (1974) and The Handmaid’s Tale (1985).

However, many literary commentators cite the massive popularity of Suzanne Collins’s The Hunger Games trilogy—the first installment of which was released in 2008—as a turning point for dystopian media, setting off ripples of books, TV series, movies and video games that have become what Tanner Greer refers to as “the cornerstones of our popular culture” in his essay “Escaping Only So Far.” The  young adult division of the dystopian genre has been especially fruitful, captivating readers who are decidedly outside of the YA category.

And it is easy to see why we are so enthralled.

Dystopian stories take our worst fears, marry them with the most pressing issues of the day and push that union to its gravest, most scintillating extremes. We cannot look away as storytellers unfurl their darkly imagined worlds before us.

And, to an extent, there is value here. Dystopian stories usually feature a powerful government or ruling body that is corrupt and cannot be trusted. Protagonists must challenge this authority—rebel against the status quo—to protect someone (or something, or everything) they care about. Because dystopian authors take real-world scenarios and push them to extremes, readers can make connections between dystopian crises and their own world and see how humanity, if left unchecked, could facilitate disastrous outcomes.

These scenarios, especially as portrayed in YA fiction, feel especially relatable for young people inheriting messes created by earlier generations and over which they have little agency. They give us a sense of feeling less alone in the world and show us that there is still hope that, as Margaret Mead famously said, “a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world.” That is a hope today’s younger generations desperately need to cling to.

In short, these stories provide the perfect escape.

But is there danger in escaping too far into dystopian worlds? Possibly.

“In a time when we are already facing rampant anxiety and uncertainty, situating all our media consumption in dystopian settings could exacerbate those feelings, leading us deeper into paralysis, rather than inspiring us to take whatever positive actions are available to us.”

In a similar vein, we run the risk of becoming overly mistrusting and pessimistic, assuming everything and everyone in the real world is potentially conspiratorial. While a healthy dose of skepticism is wise, it is hard to foster meaningful connections with people when you trust no one.

Finally, in my own media consumption, I have noticed a concerning desensitization from reading stories that dwell in extremes. I find it harder these days to find joy, entertainment or solace in the quietly drawn story—the one that focuses on characters’ inner worlds or their relationships with other characters, God or the natural world. I have been nursed on such a steady diet of high-stakes, high-action drama that I have (temporarily) misplaced my sensitivity to the beauty woven delicately into the many other fabulous stories out there, waiting to be picked up and enjoyed and also to touch.

This is not a call to abandon the thrilling dystopian adventures we love to love, but rather a gentle reminder to look up from those ruined futures now and then and make sure you are still firmly rooted in what is good and true here in present-day Earth.