TURNING MULTICOLOR

“Turning Multicolor” is a book for all ages. In the narrative aimed at the youth audience, two children reach the rainbow and find their inhabitants: colorful people. The “colored ones” resist mixing, for fear of transforming the wonderful arch of 7 color bands into an immense gray blur. The fanciful narrative is an allegory for an adult background narrative, which seeks to combat real prejudice and resistance to the mixture of races and cultures, respectively represented by the color of the skin and the personality of the characters.

Available in 2 options: 1) eBook in Portuguese; 2) eBook in English.  

Conception

The idea for this book came up decades ago. As soon as Cristie started writing fiction, her mind was overflowing with ideas. A lot was because she was living with children at the time, her children. Inspiration came and she struggled to take notes before they dissipated. The other day she found the original draft, written on an old agenda, while she was waiting for her husband at IBM's lobby, company that she also worked for.  The story was born in one piece, she remembers. The sheet of paper was imprisoned in a drawer, waiting for Cristie to minimally professionalize herself as an author to release it.

The truth is that somebody said that we are more creative in our youth, and Cristie decided to test the theory on herself. It is curious that young people question the established rules even among animals. A research showed that after spent generations eating fresh cassava, the young had the idea to bathe them in the sea and started to eat them not only clean, but salty. Many are the examples. Perhaps they deserve a book of their own. So, as with other projects, Cristie took advantage of the creativity of her youth to start the book, and the responsibility of her adulthood to finalize it.

She describes how interesting it was to revisit her writing from the past and meet the person she used to be through the lens of the person she became. Back a few years, Cristie was more interested in the journey to the wonderful world of colors; nowadays she is more interested in the society that we intend to be, in the combat against racism, prejudice, and extreme positions, to name some of the conflicts that appear in a subtle way in this book. Before, fantasy was an end in itself; today fantasy is a means to something greater, and this something greater is part of something even greater: building a better world for the next generations.

Illustrations

The techniques used in the illustrations were drawing with ink outlines, and highlighting in watercolor the colors of the characters' skins. The finalization was done using graphic publishing software.

Excerpt

   [...]

   - Vamos, Bárbara, depressa! Vai molhar tudo! - E as duas, mãe e filha,  apressaram-se para fechar as vidraças, recolher os brinquedos espalhados pelo quintal e a roupa pendurada no varal.

   O vento parecia uma vassoura varrendo tudo, suspendendo a poeira que entrava nos olhos. Com um fôlego admirável, ele soprava nas casas, nos portões, nas pedras, nas portas, nas janelas, e penetrava nas frestas como se fossem furos de uma flauta, assobiando uma música assustadora.

   Um estrondo se ouviu e a menina resolveu não se mexer mais, como se um mínimo gesto seu fosse capaz de fazer chover ainda mais forte. Ficou ali, debruçada na janela, observando o corre-corre na rua, a garotada a gargalhadas divertindo-se com o banho de chuva surpresa, enquanto retornavam às suas casas.

   Parecia que estava chovendo pedra de tanto barulho que as grossas gotas d’água faziam ao atingir as telhas. Os raios cortavam o céu, como se estivessem dividindo-o ao meio. A chuva caía feito tinta, tingindo o mundo de negro. Há muito não se via uma tempestade como aquela.

   - É, filha, está caindo um “pé d’água”!

   Então Bárbara ficou imaginando os pingos d’água em formato de pés sapateando no telhado.

   [...]

   [...]

   "Let’s go, Barbara, hurry up! It will soak everything!"

   Both mother and daughter hurried to close the window panes, pick up the toys scattered in the yard, and the washing hanging on the clothesline.

   The wind was like a broom sweeping everything, suspending the dust that came into their eyes. With an impressive breath, it blew in the houses, the gates, the rocks, the doors, the windows, and penetrated the cracks as if they were the holes of a flute, whistling a frightening song.

   A crash was heard and the girl decided not to move, as if a minor gesture of hers could make it rain even stronger. She stood there leaning against the windowsill, watching the agitation on the street, kids laughing out loud, enjoying the surprise rain shower before their parents called them to return home.

   It looked as though it was raining stones because of the noise that the thick drops of water made falling on the tiles. And the rays cut the sky as if dividing it in two. The rain was falling like ink, tinting the world black. A storm like that had not been seen in a long time.

   "Yes, my child, the rain is falling in sheets!"

   Then Barbara imagined the foot-deep water tap-dancing on the roof.

   [...]