Genre Fiction
![Karen Lord - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B0033AORVW.jpg)
The Blue, Beautiful World: A Novel
As first contact transforms Earth, a team of gifted visionaries race to create a new future in this wondrous science fiction novel from the award-winning author of The Best of All Possible Worlds.
"A complex story of first contact from a unique perspective that is warm, engaging, and wildly original."-Martha Wells, New York Times bestselling author of The Murderbot Diaries
The world is changing, and humanity must change with it. Rising seas and soaring temperatures have radically transformed the face of Earth. Meanwhile, Earth is being observed from afar by other civilizations . . . and now they are ready to make contact.
Vying to prepare humanity for first contact are a group of dreamers and changemakers, including Peter Hendrix, the genius inventor behind the most advanced VR tech; Charyssa, a beloved celebrity icon with a passion for humanitarian work; and Kanoa, a member of a global council of young people drafted to reimagine the relationship between humankind and alien societies.
And they may have an unexpected secret weapon: Owen, a pop megastar whose ability to connect with his adoring fans is more than charisma. His hidden talent could be the key to uniting Earth as it looks toward the stars.
But Owen's abilities are so unique that no one can control him and so seductive that he cannot help but use them. Can he transcend his human limitations and find the freedom he has always dreamed of? Or is he doomed to become the dictator of his nightmares?
"A complex story of first contact from a unique perspective that is warm, engaging, and wildly original."-Martha Wells, New York Times bestselling author of The Murderbot Diaries
The world is changing, and humanity must change with it. Rising seas and soaring temperatures have radically transformed the face of Earth. Meanwhile, Earth is being observed from afar by other civilizations . . . and now they are ready to make contact.
Vying to prepare humanity for first contact are a group of dreamers and changemakers, including Peter Hendrix, the genius inventor behind the most advanced VR tech; Charyssa, a beloved celebrity icon with a passion for humanitarian work; and Kanoa, a member of a global council of young people drafted to reimagine the relationship between humankind and alien societies.
And they may have an unexpected secret weapon: Owen, a pop megastar whose ability to connect with his adoring fans is more than charisma. His hidden talent could be the key to uniting Earth as it looks toward the stars.
But Owen's abilities are so unique that no one can control him and so seductive that he cannot help but use them. Can he transcend his human limitations and find the freedom he has always dreamed of? Or is he doomed to become the dictator of his nightmares?
Editorial Reviews
"The Blue, Beautiful World is science fiction at its best-unexpected, wise, and compassionate. We all need this book, more urgently than ever."-Zen Cho, author of Black Water Sister
"The Blue, Beautiful World is unlike any science fiction you've read. It is a treatise on global diplomacy, a first-contact adventure, and a meditation on the transformative power of pop culture. Most of all, it is a gorgeous, wise tale of our shared traumatic histories and potential futures together, on a planet whose mysteries humans have only begun to explore. Step into Karen Lord's world and be changed forever."-Annalee Newitz, author of Autonomous and The Terraformers
"This is the thrilling, cerebral, empathetic, and hopeful speculative fiction the world absolutely needs-now and always."-Samit Basu, author of The City Inside
"Brimming with sharp characters, action, espionage, and audacious ideas, The Blue, Beautiful World subverts the idea of first contact, and then inverts it, too-just in case. Lord delivers profound insights on charisma, identity, cooperation, and family, all wrapped up in a cracking high-stakes story of intergalactic intrigue."-Malka Older, author of Infomocracy
"A wise, ambitious, and beautifully crafted novel of first contact, the future of Earth, and the challenges posed by survival, change, and compassionate connection."-Kate Elliott, author of Unconquerable Sun and The Keeper's Six
"An exquisite novel of galactic diaspora, of long-lost humankind coming home, The Blue, Beautiful World is a thoughtful and dreamlike examination of the goodness and potential in humanity. It will change the way you think about family, empathy, and the mysterious ghosts born here on our own world."-Tessa Gratton, author of The Queens of Innis Lear
"The Blue, Beautiful World launches you into an exquisite world bursting wi...
"The Blue, Beautiful World is unlike any science fiction you've read. It is a treatise on global diplomacy, a first-contact adventure, and a meditation on the transformative power of pop culture. Most of all, it is a gorgeous, wise tale of our shared traumatic histories and potential futures together, on a planet whose mysteries humans have only begun to explore. Step into Karen Lord's world and be changed forever."-Annalee Newitz, author of Autonomous and The Terraformers
"This is the thrilling, cerebral, empathetic, and hopeful speculative fiction the world absolutely needs-now and always."-Samit Basu, author of The City Inside
"Brimming with sharp characters, action, espionage, and audacious ideas, The Blue, Beautiful World subverts the idea of first contact, and then inverts it, too-just in case. Lord delivers profound insights on charisma, identity, cooperation, and family, all wrapped up in a cracking high-stakes story of intergalactic intrigue."-Malka Older, author of Infomocracy
"A wise, ambitious, and beautifully crafted novel of first contact, the future of Earth, and the challenges posed by survival, change, and compassionate connection."-Kate Elliott, author of Unconquerable Sun and The Keeper's Six
"An exquisite novel of galactic diaspora, of long-lost humankind coming home, The Blue, Beautiful World is a thoughtful and dreamlike examination of the goodness and potential in humanity. It will change the way you think about family, empathy, and the mysterious ghosts born here on our own world."-Tessa Gratton, author of The Queens of Innis Lear
"The Blue, Beautiful World launches you into an exquisite world bursting wi...
Short Excerpt Teaser
One
The emissary kept on digging his own grave, centimeter by centimeter, word by word. He had been ill served by a poorly trained spy service, but that was no excuse. A coronation was a time for traditional platitudes and ceremonial courtesy, all the small flourishes and grace notes that such formal occasions demanded to ensure that the usual hierarchies were firmly in place and the new names alongside the ancient titles would be honored and respected.
It was certainly not a time to bring up family gossip.
The newly crowned monarch all but glowed with attentiveness, and her attendants, knowing the trap well, made no attempt to hustle the emissary away and move the next dignitary forward. They waited. One idly adjusted the fall of ice-blue fabric that poured from the monarch's left shoulder to puddle at her feet. Snow white her robe, ice blue her mantle, platinum bright the embroidery on her vestments, telling in symbol and sign all the tale of her dynasty.
The dynasty the emissary presumed to speak of.
How her mother must be proud of her . . . at last.
How their blood had returned to the purity of prior generations . . . eventually.
How reassuring it was that her brother-apologies, adopted brother-would no longer embarrass the chronicles of their line with his whims and oddities.
The monarch made no reply but smiled and smiled until at last the emissary, uncouth as he was, faltered in his performance, like an actor who realizes he must have missed a cue somewhere.
"Esteemed Lady, where is your brother?" No nonsense about his adoption then, the old fool. Simply a direct question that she could answer freely in the comfortable knowledge that the information was too late to be of any use to anyone.
She matched the now-sincere smile on her lips with a gleam of hungry humor in her eyes. "Paris, my dear ambassador. Did you not know?"
In Paris, the streets were screaming.
Not literally. But nearly. The sound reverberated from every paved road and brick wall. A vibration of thudding feet strummed through lines of traffic stopped by bodies moving too thickly to be pushed aside by mere motors and machinery. Up ahead, a few cars still managed to press forward through the crush of the crowd. One car, anonymous with dark-tinted windows, made as if to break away. The crowd scented quarry and surged toward it.
Another car took advantage of the space temporarily created to nudge its way into an alley. To the uneducated eye, in the darkness of evening, this vehicle appeared to be normal in every respect. The make and age were common, and the occupants were visible behind clear glass-but then the left rear window rolled down, and the high-tech VR glass flickered, dropped its display of an upset and frustrated family of four, and showed instead the pop star, his driver, his manager, and his security.
The family had been fake, but the frustration in the car was real.
"Get that window back up," the manager snapped.
The pop star gave her an apologetic glance, quickly blew a stream of smoke outside, and obediently put the window, and their disguise, back in place.
"Can't you do something about the crowds?" the bodyguard asked him quietly, as if already knowing the answer.
The star took another drag on his cannabis cigarillo and exhaled slowly, not caring where the smoke went. His eyes were very tired. His fingers trembled slightly as he leaned forward and tapped the ash into a used mug sitting between his feet. "Well," he said simply, "it's a lot."
The driver said nothing. In a few minutes the street behind them cleared. The decoy had done its job. The driver maneuvered the car around with a precision that was entirely her own human skill and turned onto the main road.
Behind them, the streets continued screaming.
OWEN OWEN OWEN!
Only the rich could buy that special kind of identity-the fame of a single name, the hush of origins unknown. Whoever he had been in the past, he had been wealthy enough to completely bury his old self before embarking on a new career. Which, given the fawning curiosity of the world of film, virtual reality, and media, was still amazing.
People considered the manager, Noriko Fournier, to be the real brains of the operation, but to what degree was anyone's guess. Did she pluck him from obscurity and train him in the way that she wanted him to go? Was she the Higgins to his Eliza? She was legitimately, verifiably pre-moneyed when it came to the Owenmania ...
The emissary kept on digging his own grave, centimeter by centimeter, word by word. He had been ill served by a poorly trained spy service, but that was no excuse. A coronation was a time for traditional platitudes and ceremonial courtesy, all the small flourishes and grace notes that such formal occasions demanded to ensure that the usual hierarchies were firmly in place and the new names alongside the ancient titles would be honored and respected.
It was certainly not a time to bring up family gossip.
The newly crowned monarch all but glowed with attentiveness, and her attendants, knowing the trap well, made no attempt to hustle the emissary away and move the next dignitary forward. They waited. One idly adjusted the fall of ice-blue fabric that poured from the monarch's left shoulder to puddle at her feet. Snow white her robe, ice blue her mantle, platinum bright the embroidery on her vestments, telling in symbol and sign all the tale of her dynasty.
The dynasty the emissary presumed to speak of.
How her mother must be proud of her . . . at last.
How their blood had returned to the purity of prior generations . . . eventually.
How reassuring it was that her brother-apologies, adopted brother-would no longer embarrass the chronicles of their line with his whims and oddities.
The monarch made no reply but smiled and smiled until at last the emissary, uncouth as he was, faltered in his performance, like an actor who realizes he must have missed a cue somewhere.
"Esteemed Lady, where is your brother?" No nonsense about his adoption then, the old fool. Simply a direct question that she could answer freely in the comfortable knowledge that the information was too late to be of any use to anyone.
She matched the now-sincere smile on her lips with a gleam of hungry humor in her eyes. "Paris, my dear ambassador. Did you not know?"
In Paris, the streets were screaming.
Not literally. But nearly. The sound reverberated from every paved road and brick wall. A vibration of thudding feet strummed through lines of traffic stopped by bodies moving too thickly to be pushed aside by mere motors and machinery. Up ahead, a few cars still managed to press forward through the crush of the crowd. One car, anonymous with dark-tinted windows, made as if to break away. The crowd scented quarry and surged toward it.
Another car took advantage of the space temporarily created to nudge its way into an alley. To the uneducated eye, in the darkness of evening, this vehicle appeared to be normal in every respect. The make and age were common, and the occupants were visible behind clear glass-but then the left rear window rolled down, and the high-tech VR glass flickered, dropped its display of an upset and frustrated family of four, and showed instead the pop star, his driver, his manager, and his security.
The family had been fake, but the frustration in the car was real.
"Get that window back up," the manager snapped.
The pop star gave her an apologetic glance, quickly blew a stream of smoke outside, and obediently put the window, and their disguise, back in place.
"Can't you do something about the crowds?" the bodyguard asked him quietly, as if already knowing the answer.
The star took another drag on his cannabis cigarillo and exhaled slowly, not caring where the smoke went. His eyes were very tired. His fingers trembled slightly as he leaned forward and tapped the ash into a used mug sitting between his feet. "Well," he said simply, "it's a lot."
The driver said nothing. In a few minutes the street behind them cleared. The decoy had done its job. The driver maneuvered the car around with a precision that was entirely her own human skill and turned onto the main road.
Behind them, the streets continued screaming.
OWEN OWEN OWEN!
Only the rich could buy that special kind of identity-the fame of a single name, the hush of origins unknown. Whoever he had been in the past, he had been wealthy enough to completely bury his old self before embarking on a new career. Which, given the fawning curiosity of the world of film, virtual reality, and media, was still amazing.
People considered the manager, Noriko Fournier, to be the real brains of the operation, but to what degree was anyone's guess. Did she pluck him from obscurity and train him in the way that she wanted him to go? Was she the Higgins to his Eliza? She was legitimately, verifiably pre-moneyed when it came to the Owenmania ...
