Political theory has been historically rich with commentaries taking the form of utopias. The collection reviewed here revisits this genre through short stories using sci-fi projects as entry points. Written by 12 Palestinian writers, Palestine +100 poses the question of what utopia means for the colonized. The book offers crucial insights into how utopia, as a mode of political theorizing, could leave behind its Eurocentric parochialism and construct alternatives to it. The land of Palestine/Israel has been at the center of quite a few powerful utopian visions. The utopian project of Zionism, elaborated most forcefully in Theodor Herzl's Altneuland (1902), imagines a sci-fi future unleashed by European Jews “returning” to the Promised Land and making its ‘deserts bloom’ with European reason and technology. From Palestine, to the United States and South Africa, settler colonial expansions have relied heavily on a combination of biblical and sci-fi futurism where “New Jerusalem” become established, “Canaanites” expelled, and new paradisiacal eras unleashed by the White settlers and their technologies. In this sense, Palestine is part of a global utopian imaginary. The logic of expelling the natives seems to be central to the genre of utopianism in general. From Thomas More's Utopia to Francis Bacon's New Atlantis, the dream-society is always established on indigenous lands. It is not thus surprising that many contemporary scholars of utopian political theory—from Duncan Bell and Barnita Bagchi to Lyman Tower Sargent—have concluded that utopian thinking and colonialism often grow from a shared dreamworld. Departing from this long history, Palestine +100 develops an alternative, anticolonial reading of Palestine as a space of utopia. The stories of the collection begin from the year 2048, 100 years after the beginning of Nakba, the Palestinian catastrophe marking the expulsion of Palestinians from their homes, and the founding of the Israeli state. The themes of technology, violence, and memory are central to all the 12 pieces of the collection. First, the technologies of the future—cyber networks, robots, and cyborgs—appear as key protagonists in these stories. In Rawan Yaghi's Commonplace, Gaza has turned into a total cyber-panopticon where the thinking machines of Israel follow every Palestinian step and breath. In Ahmed Masoud's Application 39, a few of the Israeli machines develop a conscience and change alliances to the Palestinian side. Masoud's story ends in the massacre of Palestinians, while the majority of machines remain loyal servants of Israel. The centrality of technology should not be read only as characteristic of the utopian genre, but also as the shadow-side of Zionism's current image of the future: high-tech Zionism (Tarvainen 2022). The Zionist narrative has evolved from Herzl's agricultural and industrial dream-spaces, to the post-Fordist, high-speed visions of the “start-up nation” where Israel presents itself as the global center of innovation. Instead of farms and farmers, it is cyborgs, artificial intelligence, and cyber security giants that now function as signs of Israel's destiny. Staying true to Herzl's vision machines in Palestine +100 belong to particular White bodies and their futures. The modern image of technology as the signifier of reason and universalism collapses in Palestine +100 as the underlying coloniality of these machines comes to the surface. In Palestinian futurism, technology does not portend a bright future for all, but works for colonial desires and projects of expansion. Second, the stories of the collection highlight how utopias are always representations of particular memories. As Bagchi in her Politics of the (Im)possible puts it (2012, page 8), utopias move “restlessly between the past, present, and future, much as the work of memory does”; through this movement, utopias do the important “work of remembrance.” Whose time is made present and whose repressed are the political questions we should ask when reading utopias. In Palestine 100+ this work of memory takes the form of tragedy. The memory of 1948 is so much alive, so unbearable in these short stories that the Palestinian characters often numb themselves with drugs or even take their lives rather than live in the present dominated by Zionism. Thus, in Saleem Haddad's Song of the Birds, liberation comes through suicide, and in Abdalmuti Maqboul's Personal Hero the protagonist escapes to a virtual reality where the Palestinian heroes of 1948 are still alive. By portraying seemingly hopeless futures filled with acts of despair, the authors of this collection are bringing the memory of Nakba alive. The lesson here is that to fight against a hegemonic utopia is to overcome its amnesia, and that even an act of self-destruction can be a form of remembering. This, I think, can only be described as a utopian mode of writing, a strategy filled with hope. The logic here echoes what the philosopher Simon Critchley has written about tragedy (2019): that it is only by reminding the future of the violence it tries to forget that any kind of departure from catastrophe becomes possible. Third, Palestine 100+ introduces unique readings on the relationships between violence and utopia. Perhaps most interestingly, the pieces of this collection demonstrate how it is not just the Palestinians but also the Israelis that suffer from the living history of Nakba. In Anwar Hamed's The Key, the Israelis have built an invisible cyber-wall that keeps the Palestinians and their memories out of sight. Despite this “solution,” the Israeli protagonists in Hamed's tale are waking up each night to sounds of old keys scratching against the keyholes. The ghosts of the past return to the houses from which they have been expelled and erased. While the future Palestinians of the 2048 keep on facing violence in the forms of bombings and ethnic cleansing, the violence—albeit in crucially different forms—also runs on the heels of the Israelis of the 2048. Suffering from sleeplessness, from existential emptiness, and from serious mental health issues, the Israelis are portrayed in the book as themselves victims of the violence their state imposes. This resonates with the insights of Ashis Nandy, the postcolonial theorist who in his Intimate Enemy (1989) wrote extensively on how the destructive logic of colonialism also, eventually, catches up with the one who is colonizing. The colonized is not thus the only one in need of emancipation. Palestine 100+ offers some powerful lessons for those interested in avoiding the traps of Eurocentric utopias. First, the space of utopia matters. Instead of beginning from “New Worlds” and “Promised Lands,” the utopias of Palestine +100 begin from marginalized spaces where violence is inescapable. Perhaps it is only from such places that the violent march of the future and its technologies can be truly seen and re-imagined. Second, if Eurocentric utopianism is characterized by its messianic nature—evident in the Zionist images of “making the desert bloom” and in American dreams of Manifest Destiny—then the decolonial utopia is about showing the tragedy embedded in that messianism. Instead of celebratory visions of progress and reason, these utopias portray a wounded world populated by people on the brink of collapse. By projecting the suffering of Palestinians further into the future, Palestine 100+ makes us all witnesses and participants in the slow unfolding of the catastrophe. Perhaps it is only through futurism, as Basma Ghalanyi puts it in the introduction of this collection, that non-Palestinians can approach the Palestinian present, and find themselves intertwined with it.