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On Earth as It Is on Television
In Emily Jane's rollicking debut, when spaceships arrive and then depart suddenly without a word, the certainty that we are not alone in the universe turns to intense uncertainty as to our place within it.
"Weird and sweet … like a 2020s White Noise: loud and colorful Americana with a sprinkle of apocalyptic doom."-Edgar Cantero
"Heartfelt, witty, and secretly romantic … a delightful and poignant story about what it is to be human, and what we owe each other." -Christina Lauren
Since long before the spaceships' fleeting presence, Blaine has been content to go along with the whims of his supermom wife and half-feral, television-addicted children. But when the kids blithely ponder skinning people to see if they're aliens, and his wife drags them all on a surprise road trip to Disney World, even steady Blaine begins to crack.
Half a continent away, Heather floats in a Malibu pool and watches the massive ships hover overhead. Maybe her life is finally going to start. For her, the arrival heralds a quest to understand herself, her accomplished (and oh-so-annoying) stepfamily, and why she feels so alone in a universe teeming with life.
Suddenly conscious and alert after twenty catatonic years, Oliver struggles to piece together his fragmented, disco-infused memories and make sense of his desire to follow a strange cat on a westward journey.
Embracing the strangeness that is life in the twenty-first century, On Earth as It Is on Television is a rollicking, heartfelt tale of first contact that practically leaps off the planet.
"Weird and sweet … like a 2020s White Noise: loud and colorful Americana with a sprinkle of apocalyptic doom."-Edgar Cantero
"Heartfelt, witty, and secretly romantic … a delightful and poignant story about what it is to be human, and what we owe each other." -Christina Lauren
Since long before the spaceships' fleeting presence, Blaine has been content to go along with the whims of his supermom wife and half-feral, television-addicted children. But when the kids blithely ponder skinning people to see if they're aliens, and his wife drags them all on a surprise road trip to Disney World, even steady Blaine begins to crack.
Half a continent away, Heather floats in a Malibu pool and watches the massive ships hover overhead. Maybe her life is finally going to start. For her, the arrival heralds a quest to understand herself, her accomplished (and oh-so-annoying) stepfamily, and why she feels so alone in a universe teeming with life.
Suddenly conscious and alert after twenty catatonic years, Oliver struggles to piece together his fragmented, disco-infused memories and make sense of his desire to follow a strange cat on a westward journey.
Embracing the strangeness that is life in the twenty-first century, On Earth as It Is on Television is a rollicking, heartfelt tale of first contact that practically leaps off the planet.
Editorial Reviews
"Heartfelt, witty, and secretly romantic, On Earth as It Is on Television is a delightful and poignant story about what it is to be human and what we owe each other."
-Christina Lauren, New York Times bestselling author of Something Wilder
"Glittering, strange spaceships appear and hover over every major city on Earth; yes, that's familiar. What is unfamiliar about this debut from Emily Jane is the way first contact with an alien species brings people together and how it tears them apart-as well as the major role of cats [...] If you enjoyed Lindsay Ellis's Axiom's End but prefer lighter fare, you'll find deep comfort and joy in Jane's exploration of what it means to be alien and how we all take turns being on the outside. Like a science-fiction novel that runs in the margins of I Can Has Cheezburger? memes, On Earth as It Is on Television is an unusually fun and absurd take on what might otherwise be just another imitation of Independence Day or The Day the Earth Stood Still."
-Scientific American
"Jane's novel subverts the classic first-contact story to explore humanity's responses to uncertainty in the modern age… [an] energetic and contemporary debut will appeal to fans of family-focused sci-fi like Mike Chen's Light Years from Home."
-Library Journal
"Weird and sweet, On Earth as It Is on Television is like a 2020s White Noise: loud and colorful Americana with a sprinkle of apocalyptic doom--plus cats. It takes aliens (or an Emily Jane) to help us see our society for the bizarre, sugary, microplastic-poisoned dream it is."
-Edgar Cantero, New York Times bestselling author of Meddling Kids
"Pick a direction and throw a stone and you'll probably hit an alien invasion story of some kind [...] is there really room for anything new? Well, as it turns out, yes. Because whatever you're expecting from Emily Jane's On Earth as It Is on Television, think again. On the surface, it seems like any old UFO story. But look a little bit deeper, and you'll find a very absurd, heartwarming, hilarious lo...
-Christina Lauren, New York Times bestselling author of Something Wilder
"Glittering, strange spaceships appear and hover over every major city on Earth; yes, that's familiar. What is unfamiliar about this debut from Emily Jane is the way first contact with an alien species brings people together and how it tears them apart-as well as the major role of cats [...] If you enjoyed Lindsay Ellis's Axiom's End but prefer lighter fare, you'll find deep comfort and joy in Jane's exploration of what it means to be alien and how we all take turns being on the outside. Like a science-fiction novel that runs in the margins of I Can Has Cheezburger? memes, On Earth as It Is on Television is an unusually fun and absurd take on what might otherwise be just another imitation of Independence Day or The Day the Earth Stood Still."
-Scientific American
"Jane's novel subverts the classic first-contact story to explore humanity's responses to uncertainty in the modern age… [an] energetic and contemporary debut will appeal to fans of family-focused sci-fi like Mike Chen's Light Years from Home."
-Library Journal
"Weird and sweet, On Earth as It Is on Television is like a 2020s White Noise: loud and colorful Americana with a sprinkle of apocalyptic doom--plus cats. It takes aliens (or an Emily Jane) to help us see our society for the bizarre, sugary, microplastic-poisoned dream it is."
-Edgar Cantero, New York Times bestselling author of Meddling Kids
"Pick a direction and throw a stone and you'll probably hit an alien invasion story of some kind [...] is there really room for anything new? Well, as it turns out, yes. Because whatever you're expecting from Emily Jane's On Earth as It Is on Television, think again. On the surface, it seems like any old UFO story. But look a little bit deeper, and you'll find a very absurd, heartwarming, hilarious lo...
Readers Top Reviews
Jennifer GibsonHanna
I read the blurb and was exciting to dive into this based on that, but this missed the mark. What am I reading? Even ignoring the terrible formatting for the ebook, this is just a big ramble. You are just shoved it 0 to 100 and it just seems like a big acid trip.
Rebecca
On Earth as it is on Television is the perfect summer read. Lightweight, fun, funny, engaging, and filled with cats!
Roy Martin
This book was hard to put down. I didn’t know what might come next. Cats, bacon, plastics, aliens. What a creative mind Emily Jane has!
JLValdez
Take all of the BEST things on earth (I completely agree with Ms. Jane, about what those things are!) add in a great plot, and there you have it! Plus, many of the mysteries of life, childhood, sibling rivalry, and feline superiority are delved into and FINALLY explained! Thank you. The world finally makes sense. Please enlighten us further in your next book! And the sooner, the better!
Stephen Smith
I don’t usually review media, but sometimes it’s too good not to, especially when it’s a debut artist. This, book, like many great books before it, isn’t going to be everyone’s cup of tea, but some people (quite a few, I’d wager) are going to freaking love it. Maybe they like books about aliens or maybe they like cats on the internet. Maybe they like books about road trips or maybe they just really like bacon. Hopefully they like books that can make them laugh, while occasionally making them cry. Or maybe they just love a good story that leaves them feeling good at the end, uplifted. The point is, this book’s got all that and more, lots more. You know what it’s like to feel like you’re an alien? So does this book? Enjoy watching television? Any kind at all? If so, you might love this book. I hope you all love it as much as I do, but I don’t want to spoil anything or mess with your expectations. I suggest not knowing what to expect, aside from what I mentioned. I know some of you will love it though. Enjoy!
Short Excerpt Teaser
EPISODE ONE
The Husband
WOULD YOU BELIEVE in alien life, if it didn't come right out and smack you in the ass? Blaine wouldn't, his wife said. He remembered that later; how she gave a little smack as he walked past, en route to the kitchen to grab that tray of sliders.
He remembered how she had speared each slider with a plastic toothpick molded to the shape of a tiny sword. His wife, who hailed from a land of infinite plastic, Blaine joked. To their guests, he alluded to a vague thrift-store origin: recycled vintage toothpicks, to be washed and reused at the next happy hour. The toothpicks were, in fact, new, but Blaine felt embarrassed by this wanton consumption of disposable plastics. After their guests departed, he collected all the tiny swords and hand-washed them. He suggested to the wife that maybe-maybe-they should gravitate away from plastic and toward more compostable toothpick options. The wife looked slightly hurt. But, Blaine, she said, don't you love them? They're so cute!
So where was he when it happened? What did he remember?
He had just eaten lunch: leftover sliders.
The weather had turned unnaturally hot for February. Blaine remembered hot breeze, littered with last year's dead leaves. The climate change models said southwest Ohio would become southwest Missouri, or Oklahoma, and it hadn't happened yet, but here was a sneak peek. Blaine ate lunch in the van with the windows down. Blaine's work partner, Dave, in the passenger seat, chattered about spy drones. Microscopic spy drones that collected data for the deep state, carnal stuff, shower stuff. You ever pick your nose when you think no one's watching? You slip that salty bit into your mouth? Those drones got that video footage.
Dave was a flat-earther and an RVK adherent. He believed that the tap water was contaminated with slow-release poisons and that Mount Rushmore was a projection designed to conceal a secret military base and that the conspiracy cult figurehead Harvey Kayman had come back from the dead by way of an interdimensional portal. He believed in all of it long before it all happened. He was born believing. He was born with the cord wrapped round his neck, head stuck in the birth canal. The doctors had to cut him out. My kids too, Blaine told him. This was about the only thing they had in common. The C-section. The same employer. The same moment in the van on that hot February day when the radio blared:
TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONE
THIS IS THE EMERGENCY BROADCAST SYSTEM
TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONE
Where were you when it happened?
The daughter, Avril: I don't know, it was weird. Gym class? I kind of blacked out.
The son, Jas: They let us go home early! And we all got to pick extra candy from the points jar and Mom couldn't come and get me, so I went home with Foster-and we got to play video games all afternoon! Dad!
The dad, Blaine, had parked the van in an industrial lot along the river. Smokestack scenery imprinted his memory. The brick-walled warehouse, the smoke pillars, bare branches stark against the blue sky. The branches would blossom early that year from unnatural February warmth, but the blossoms would freeze up, fall off. He remembered dead brown petals on the cold spring earth. He remembered the river that day, blue as the sky. But it wasn't. His memory tricked. The river always ran brown.
TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONE
It had to be, what, a test, right?
Blaine believed in Occam's razor. The simplest explanation was the incontrovertible truth. He ripped open a packet. He squirted ketchup on his slider. The wife had a point about the ease of the ketchup packet.
But landfills, he said.
But unnecessary packaging.
The simplest explanation for his reliance on single-serving condiments was that the reusable condiment containers had been requisitioned for the kids' sparkle-slime mixing endeavors and the wife always requested extra ketchup packets with takeout, and there they were in the cupboard, ready to grab when he packed his lunch.
The wife's name was Anne; classic yet succinct; a short, definitive name. She was, when he thought about her ...
The Husband
WOULD YOU BELIEVE in alien life, if it didn't come right out and smack you in the ass? Blaine wouldn't, his wife said. He remembered that later; how she gave a little smack as he walked past, en route to the kitchen to grab that tray of sliders.
He remembered how she had speared each slider with a plastic toothpick molded to the shape of a tiny sword. His wife, who hailed from a land of infinite plastic, Blaine joked. To their guests, he alluded to a vague thrift-store origin: recycled vintage toothpicks, to be washed and reused at the next happy hour. The toothpicks were, in fact, new, but Blaine felt embarrassed by this wanton consumption of disposable plastics. After their guests departed, he collected all the tiny swords and hand-washed them. He suggested to the wife that maybe-maybe-they should gravitate away from plastic and toward more compostable toothpick options. The wife looked slightly hurt. But, Blaine, she said, don't you love them? They're so cute!
So where was he when it happened? What did he remember?
He had just eaten lunch: leftover sliders.
The weather had turned unnaturally hot for February. Blaine remembered hot breeze, littered with last year's dead leaves. The climate change models said southwest Ohio would become southwest Missouri, or Oklahoma, and it hadn't happened yet, but here was a sneak peek. Blaine ate lunch in the van with the windows down. Blaine's work partner, Dave, in the passenger seat, chattered about spy drones. Microscopic spy drones that collected data for the deep state, carnal stuff, shower stuff. You ever pick your nose when you think no one's watching? You slip that salty bit into your mouth? Those drones got that video footage.
Dave was a flat-earther and an RVK adherent. He believed that the tap water was contaminated with slow-release poisons and that Mount Rushmore was a projection designed to conceal a secret military base and that the conspiracy cult figurehead Harvey Kayman had come back from the dead by way of an interdimensional portal. He believed in all of it long before it all happened. He was born believing. He was born with the cord wrapped round his neck, head stuck in the birth canal. The doctors had to cut him out. My kids too, Blaine told him. This was about the only thing they had in common. The C-section. The same employer. The same moment in the van on that hot February day when the radio blared:
TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONE
THIS IS THE EMERGENCY BROADCAST SYSTEM
TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONE
Where were you when it happened?
The daughter, Avril: I don't know, it was weird. Gym class? I kind of blacked out.
The son, Jas: They let us go home early! And we all got to pick extra candy from the points jar and Mom couldn't come and get me, so I went home with Foster-and we got to play video games all afternoon! Dad!
The dad, Blaine, had parked the van in an industrial lot along the river. Smokestack scenery imprinted his memory. The brick-walled warehouse, the smoke pillars, bare branches stark against the blue sky. The branches would blossom early that year from unnatural February warmth, but the blossoms would freeze up, fall off. He remembered dead brown petals on the cold spring earth. He remembered the river that day, blue as the sky. But it wasn't. His memory tricked. The river always ran brown.
TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONE
It had to be, what, a test, right?
Blaine believed in Occam's razor. The simplest explanation was the incontrovertible truth. He ripped open a packet. He squirted ketchup on his slider. The wife had a point about the ease of the ketchup packet.
But landfills, he said.
But unnecessary packaging.
The simplest explanation for his reliance on single-serving condiments was that the reusable condiment containers had been requisitioned for the kids' sparkle-slime mixing endeavors and the wife always requested extra ketchup packets with takeout, and there they were in the cupboard, ready to grab when he packed his lunch.
The wife's name was Anne; classic yet succinct; a short, definitive name. She was, when he thought about her ...
