[QCrit] Adult Dystopian - SUN BABY (76,000 words - 1st Attempt)

Dear [],

Julian never wanted a house in the Tallahassee suburbs, a wife, or cash benefits for future babies. But after the Great Flood wiped out most of Florida, it was either join the new Sun Badge program – with God, arranged marriages, and children – or live as a second-class citizen under increased surveillance. Which was a problem, because Julian is secretly gay, and in the new Republic of Florida, queer people are taken away and never heard of again. Determined to survive, he’s matched with a pragmatic woman named Penny, and together they secure their place as husband-and-wife in the new procreative paradise.

  As his Floridian life takes root, Julian pockets the cash benefits in hopes to escape to New York, where he can finally live as an openly gay man. But when the Republic seals its borders—and Penny hints at wanting a baby—his plan starts to unravel. And after an unexpected encounter with Leo, his neighbor’s handsome gardener, he fears the duplicity will be his downfall. As the walls of his closet cave in, he must decide whether to endure his sunny, happy lie or risk everything to break free. Because risking his life could very well mean saving it.

  Balancing humor with urgent commentary on authoritarianism, SUN BABY at 76,000 words, examines the cost of survival in a world where authenticity means death. It’s a queer dystopian novel, which will appeal to fans of John Marrs’ The Marriage Act and Celeste Ng’s Our Missing Hearts.

1 

They said our house was ready. Just like that, we were homeowners, sight unseen. The bus drove off behind us, leaving us on the sidewalk in front of the massive home. Penny glanced at me. “I guess we just—go in?” The front door was unlocked, and the house was empty from wall to ceiling. The foyer had large windows with an abundance of natural light, beautiful hardwood floors, bright white walls, the smell of fresh paint. The silence inside felt eerie. Someone lived here before, they’d told us. Where had they gone? Or been taken to? And where was all their old stuff? There was a rumbling sound from the street, and through the front window we watched a moving van park in front of the house. Several men got out and started to unload the van in lockstep, carrying into the house furniture we’d never seen before: couches, a kitchen table, chairs, end tables, shelves, enormous beds, mattresses, a flat-screen TV. New sets of starter clothes, boxes of towels and toiletries, a gun for each bedroom.

“Is all this for us?” said Penny, aghast.

I asked the men if we could help, but they said they had it all under control. All Penny and I could do was watch as a home – our new home – blossomed in front of our eyes, as though someone was setting up a dollhouse he’d soon play with. Through the open front door, the outdoor air blew into the house, warming everything up, and sweat began to trickle down my back. One of the workers carried into the living room a stack of large rectangular boxes. He cut one open and slid out a dark blue cross with yellow sun beams pointing diagonally from the center: the seal of the Republic of Florida.