The Colour Of Memory: A Novel (2014) - Plot & Excerpts
Sometimes the characters let you know what’s going on in THE COLOUR OF MEMORY by Geoff Dyer, like when one, a writer, explains that he never applies plot. Plot kills. This first novel kills, but not mortally, and, of course, it’s plotless. The other way Dyer pops into the narrative is by an aside, slipping next to you and whispering in your ear, such as when he explains that memory, like this book, is more a collection of snapshots that capture not only a moment of your time and place, but those extras that have wandered into the picture when the shutter opened. These disjointed pictures, connected by a half-dozen recurring characters, develop into a place and time that feels real because it reflects a place and time we’ve all lived through, young adulthood. If your youth was aimlessly spent in pursuit of unambitiousness and leisure then this will ring true to you as well. Dyer likely lived through this, for, as he also notes in the book (or was it the introduction?), for him fiction is an inch away from the truth. It’s in that inch that this book lives. And like the young, the book is very funny, not that all kids are humorous. No, most are too earnest for that. But these kids without interest in prospects lay claim to a dry, straight-faced jokiness that makes hanging out with them fun. Dyer writes in the introduction (this time I’m sure) that he did a little editing for this American reissue, deleting a joke he stole from a friend, who he later discovered stole it from Woody Allen. I wished he kept it in. It’s important to have shared memories. If you didn’t have a wayward past, a nonlinear excursion en route to adulthood, then by all means take his.
Luke kindly gave me this, and said "not much happens" which I nearly gave as a three word review, but it deserves more.Set in Brixton in the mid 1980s The Colour Memory follows a group of young adults enjoying themselves, hanging out and generally doing what young adults do. There isn't much of a plot (derided by one of the characters in the book, who is an aspiring writer, as "the ruin of a good book") and the whole thing feels more like looking at a sequence of paintings rather than reading a story.Given that I did pretty much the same stuff in the same places (The Effra, The Ritzy, dodgy house parties) the book has a particular resonance and interest for me, but I doubt it would have for anyone not lucky enough to have spent formative days in south london.Luke doesn't want this back, so anyone else can have it if they want.
What do You think about The Colour Of Memory: A Novel (2014)?
How does one review a book like this that has virtually no "story", although it's classified as fiction? But then Geoff Dyer is hardly about plot/story. And in that sense, it's exactly what we Geoff Dyer fans would expect. Plus, this one seems much more "natural", unlike some of his other fictional works which although still carrying the similar ingredients, seem forced -- the characters seem orchestrated/manipulated by the author, not real characters, more archetypes. Here the characters seem entirely on their own doing exactly what they would be doing, despite what the author wanted them to do/be. Peppered with bites of wisdom that you come to expect from Dyer after reading him for a while, it's a nice read -- a quick peak into the lives of "others". In the end, the narrator asks: "what will remains of us", a question Dyer has mulled over in a separate article as well, and The Colour of Memory is really an attempt at answering it, even though not quite.
—Amit
I have really liked other works by Dyer, and there is some nice imagery here and there in this book, but as a whole it rambles a bit without any point. "Color" sets out the interlocking lives of college-aged kids in 80s Brixton, including a narrator loosely based on Dyer himself - hanging out, doing drugs, moving in and out of relationships, living on the dole, going to bars. He nicely evokes a specific time and place, with a good eye for detail, but this reads to me like an early work (which it was) without any big ideas behind it. I think his fiction has taken much more interesting turns since. Still, it's an amiable enough work.
—Colin N.
