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320 pages, Hardcover
First published August 8, 2018
'Last time, shadows and black weeds twisted through Arlo's brain and body, pinning him in his bed. He was exhausted and hopeless and trapped in a spiral of hateful thoughts. Last time, he'd lashed out and folded inwards. Last time, his hurt had injured his mum in the most unimaginable ways. She'd absorbed it as if it were her own.
The low had lasted almost four months. He's two-and-a-half years clear of the worst of it now but it left a trace.
But last time was the last time. It had come out of nowhere and he won't let it happen again. Life is still desaturated, it's colour downgraded, but he's alive. He has medication when he needs it and exercise and drawing and Luke, and Luke's chicken and broccoli.' (9%)*
'What is up with me?
Things that used to feel like luxuries have started to feel like problems and he hates that. He won't let himself become spoiled. He doesn't think he feels sad this time, not yet anyway, but he's definitely sinking again. Arlo doesn't mind some sadness anyway. It's not as easy to share as happiness, but it fills him up more than numbness and it's better than dread and not knowing why he gets so angry. Why he's so claustrophobic in his own life even though it's a good one.' (7-8%)*
'"I'm wrecked, mate. Night.'
"OK. See you tomorrow."
And just as he's done every evening since he left The Beat, when the next logical step is to go to bed, Arlo feels the cold arms of panic tighten around him. Imaginary itches start to crawl his skin and he knows the door to sleep has closed with him on the wrong side of it.
[...]
In the bathroom, he pops a tablet from its silver sleeve and swallows it with lukewarm water from the tap. He was proud of himself for going to the doctor when he first felt himself slipping again. She'd been kind and suggested a short course of sleeping tablet to see if some sleep could get him back on track. Arlo counts the remaining pills. Only three left. If he doesn't feel better when they're gone, the doctor said to come back to discuss trying something else.
You need to get control of this.
Don't let things get bad again.' (9-10%)*
'A man with matching white gloves hurries passengers on to the train.
Arlo wonders what would happen if someone go pushed under it. Would it still leave on time? These thoughts don't surprise him any more. He just goes through phases where he has to peer through the crack into the darkness of the worst possible thought just to make sure it's not true, that he doesn't want it. These thoughts aren't mine. Whose are they then?' (33%)*
'When it hits, it's as if a seatbelt comes undone and he sails through shattered glass into a brick wall.
"I have to get out of here."
"What?"
He says it louder, "I can't be here. I'll wait for you outside."
"I'll come with you, just let me collapse the tripod."
Arlo can't breathe as he's running down the corridor to the clinic exit. Dust and old chemical smells choke him. The place is full of death.
"Wait," Mizuki calls.
He doesn't slow. Needs air.
It's OK. Almost there.' (42%)*
'His mind revs with sugar and chemicals and an energy he's never felt before as branches scratch at the window near his head. He shines his torch out on to the leaves. They're riddled with black pits and scars. Diseased. Dark, tar black. The tree could die at any moment. Could come crashing through the cracked windows and that would be that. When Arlo closes his eyes he hears toxic roots twisting and tangling under the building, the desperate stretching of its arms reaching for him. He can't be sure but it looks like a giant, dying relative of the tree that he and Mizuki had sat under when they met. Her tree. Bronze twisting through two-tone blossom.' (68%)*
'In his different but identical room, he's found numbers to keep him company. Calculations. The sums are inside him, flashing, demanding to be solved despite his exhaustion.
If there are seven circles on the ceiling, how many are extra, how many are missing?
If I send one text home and receive two back, who is coming to get me?
If I go to sleep now and get up then, I'll have this much sleep. If I sleep ten minutes in every hour, I'll have that much.
He can time travel now too; with all the extra waking hours, two weeks to everyone else is three weeks to him.
If I never sleep again, I'll have a third more waking life than everyone else for the time I'm alive but I won't live as long.
If I get a message from somewhere eight hours behind, someone will come and get me in eight hours' time.' (69%)*
'A 4 a.m. ice cream sundae sits in front of Arlo on the counter, melted back into milk. He eats the too-sweet cherry, aware of his stomach and the tubes leading to and from it.
He stirs the dripping mess, mind fraying, following every thought to and way beyond its natural conclusion.
Ice cream reverts to milk but you can't get it back in the cow. Unless the cow drinks it. You can't un-toast toast or unboil and egg. What comes first, the waking up or the falling asleep?
It's fascinating to Arlo, this inability to switch off. Thoughts starting somewhere and ending up somewhere else entirely. [...]
He can feel his mind disintegrating. Thoughts loop and loop and loop through waves of mania and dullness. Rapid then treacle slow cycling. Buzzing in his ears, the sound of neurons frying and connections fraying. Occasionally he falls down the rabbit hole of trying to figure out why he's like this. Where was the start of this particular episode, or is his life just one long programme of it? The Arlo Show. Airing 24/7, but only in his head. (70%)*
'Part of him thought that the black weeds might wrap themselves around him again the second he got back, but he just feels empty. Maybe it's the jet lag, but all that frantic energy that had sent him on his hunt to the hospital and around the city has fizzled away. The Arlo who thought that charm was a sign seems like someone else.
There's a voice in the back of his head telling him that episode wasn't like the black summer. It wasn't just [redacted] either. It had been bubbling up before [redacted]. It had too much colour, too much bad magic. The same voice knows he needs to get back to the doctor before he flies back up or crashes again.' (77-78%)*
'If someone wrote his life down in a timeline, plotting events, they would make links that aren't really there. People love to attach causes and cures where they don't belong. This happened because that happened, x wouldn't exist without y. Why, why, why? It's in our nature to try to make sense of things.' (70%)*
"You’ve got to go to sea if you want to get really lost; find somewhere deep and watery, somewhere that doesn’t even have a name."
'No such thing as just friends,' says Mizuki. 'Friends are more important than anything else.'
This review originally appeared on Addicted to Media
In my search for a book that would truly move me, I encountered Lydia Ruffles's lucid dream of a novel Colour Me In. Ruffles is a relative newcomer to the New Adult market - her debut novel The Taste of Blue Light was only released in September 2017 - yet she is quickly gaining a reputation for her lyrical writing and focus on issues such as grief, depression and mental health.
Nineteen-year-old Arlo is adrift. He's catching a plane to the other side of the world to get as far away as he can from the most awful event in his life and he is unravelling. Devastated and lost, he is painfully in mind of the last time he fell apart yet is still hoping to outrun the black dog. Amongst the bright lights of an unnamed far eastern city, Arlo meets Mizuki and she seems just as lost as he is. Together they embark on a journey to abandoned places and exotic beaches in the hope that they can find themselves again.
Colour Me In is simply beautiful. Like a spider weaving a web, Ruffles pulls the reader under into Arlo's thoughts, memories and emotions as he reconciles the painful events of his childhood, his friendship with his childhood best friend, his struggle with depression and the events leading up to that flight. As the pages turn and the reader becomes invested in Arlo's story, Ruffles then proceeds break the reader’s heart, as Arlo's heart has been broken.
The writing in Colour Me In is incredible and there were times when I could barely make progress in the book for all the passages I was highlighting, rereading and absorbing. This may just be one of the most highlighted novels I have ever read.
Many authors have written about disassociation and feeling lost across the generations and it is interesting just how universal and timeless this theme is. Lydia Ruffles has written a novel that is very much for the Y Generation but it was reminiscent of Catcher in the Rye, Generation X and the 2003 film Lost in Translation. This is significant. Firstly, I think this book would work perfectly as a film, with its lurid colours and alluring aromas. Secondly, I think that this novel, which Ruffles purposely avoids tying to a time or place, will have an equally universal and enduring appeal.