In this blog series, on “HRI, automation, and emotions: Do (not) fear the robots!,” we discuss cultural narratives around automation to explore different articulations of “robotics fear”—societal concerns and anxieties about robots.

Science fiction art, particularly on book and magazine covers, has long been a powerful medium for visualising the promises and perils of technological development. From the surreal landscapes of the Golden Age to the sleek, futuristic designs of later decades, sci-fi art offers an exceptionally rich record of changing technological imaginaries. Covers featuring robots and automated landscapes can reflect deeper cultural anxieties and aspirations tied to the role of machines in society, and our relationship with them. Through these visual narratives, sci-fi art has helped shape public perception of robots, offering both utopian dreams and cautionary tales long before such technologies entered our lives.

A notable example is The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, a long-running and influential publication dedicated to speculative fiction. In addition to its literary contributions, the magazine is also known for its striking cover art, which has featured work by some of the most talented illustrators in the genre. One of its most iconic contributions is the “The Last Man” series by illustrator Mel Hunter. First appearing in the 1950s, Hunter’s portraits of a solitary robot wandering through desolate, post-apocalyptic landscapes evoke a deep existential fear by showing the aftermath of high-tech modernity in which human life has disappeared, and even artificial life seems fragile and uncertain. Its protagonist, also known as the “Lonely Robot,” is in fact “the last man” of the title. This blurring of boundaries between the mechanical and the human invites viewers to reflect on what it means to be human in a world where humanity itself is absent, raising questions about purpose and belonging in the shadow of technological collapse.

Despite its mechanical nature, the Lonely Robot is shown engaging in deeply human-like behaviours and postures. In its first appearance, it crouches to water a single rose—the only sign of biological life in the entire series—with a pose that suggests both awkwardness and care. In another cover, it sits with crossed legs, absorbed in reading a mail-order catalogue, its body language echoing the quiet solitude of human domesticity. Throughout the series, the robot performs activities that range from the playful to the profound. It listens to music under the moon, seemingly relaxed, its legs crossed in a moment of peaceful stillness. It appears startled while visiting a museum, shielding its face like if confronted by something uncanny. At other times, the robot is humorous and awkward—trying on Santa Claus clothes that don’t fit, or attempting to stage a marionette play only to find itself tangled in the strings. Even in scenes of action, like driving a buggy or boat, the robot’s movements are imbued with human-like gestures and expressive nuance.

Several images raise questions about the possible presence, or enduring absence, of other intelligent beings in the Lonely Robot’s world. The robot’s encounter with a partially buried female-shaped robot hints at the possibility of companionship, though it remains unclear whether the figure is active or defunct. In another image, the robot plays baseball with another robot—a mechanical opponent that mimics social interaction but may lack any true awareness. The marionette performance suggests an audience, yet none is visible. Another cover features the robot hunched over a decaying vanity table, repairing itself as if putting on makeup, suggesting there’s no one else around to help with the task. Perhaps most haunting is the last cover of the series, published after a 30-years hiatus, and a year before Hunter’s death. The Lonely Robot is serving as a lifeguard in a sea of sand, gesturing into the emptiness as though trying to warn or save someone, evoking the persistence of responsibility and care in a lifeless world.

Mel Hunter’s robots were featured in different magazines, such as in this issue of Satellite

Mel Hunter’s “The Last Man” series offers a quiet but powerful reflection on human fears about automation, focusing on the dimension of solitude, routine, and loss. The robot, seen performing deeply human tasks in an empty world, becomes a symbol of what might remain when machines outlast their creators. Its actions suggest a kind of programmed memory, with the robot performing its duties with no one left to witness them. This highlights a core anxiety of automation: that technology might replace not just human labour, but human presence and meaning. In this sense, Hunter’s illustrations evoke a profoundly existential fear. The series doesn’t warn against robots turning on us, but against a future where our creations persist without us, mimicking life in a landscape emptied of purpose and community. In this way, The Lonely Robot effectively captures mid-20th-century anxieties about human obsolescence and the cost of unchecked technological progress.

Bibliography

Ashley, M. (2005). Transformations: The Story of the Science Fiction Magazines from 1950 to 1970. Liverpool University Press.

Rowe, A. (2023). Worlds Beyond Time: Sci-Fi Art of the 1970s. Abrams.