A powerful coming-of-age novel pulled from personal experience about the meaning of friendship, the joyful beginnings of romance, and the racism and religious intolerance that can both strain a family to the breaking point and strengthen its bonds.Growing up in an affluent suburb of New York City, sixteen-year-old Nevaeh Levitz never thought much about her biracial roots. When her Black mom and … her Black mom and Jewish dad split up, she relocates to her mom’s family home in Harlem and is forced to confront her identity for the first time.
Nevaeh wants to get to know her extended family, but because she inadvertently passes as white, her cousin thinks she’s too privileged, pampered, and selfish to relate to the injustices African Americans face on a daily basis. In the meantime, Nevaeh’s dad decides that she should have a belated bat mitzvah instead of a sweet sixteen, which guarantees social humiliation at her posh private school. But rather than take a stand, Nevaeh does what she’s always done when life gets complicated: she stays silent.
Only when Nevaeh stumbles upon a secret from her mom’s past, finds herself falling in love, and sees firsthand the prejudice her family faces that she begins to realize she has her own voice. And choices. Will she continue to let circumstances dictate her path? Or will she decide once for all who and where she is meant to be?
“Absolutely outstanding!” –Nic Stone, New York Times bestselling author of Dear Martin
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What I Liked
From the very first chapter (which I guess is more of a prologue!), I was struck emotionally by the theme of the book. Child Nevaeh and her mother are at a playground, and a white mother mistakes Nevaeh’s Black mother as Nevaeh’s nanny. This chapter also shows us the woman Nevaeh’s mother really is–patient, proud, and strong–versus what we’ll see for most of the rest of the book. Devastated by Nevaeh’s father’s infidelity, her mother is largely paralyzed by depression and grief.
The development of Nevaeh as a character is slow and thoughtful, like a flower blooming one petal at a time. Her dual identities are weighed equally and balance each other back and forth. The poetry throughout the book, both what Nevaeh writes herself as well as the poetry of her peers, is beautiful and lyrical and at times sad, but always powerful.
Nevaeh’s father is Jewish but not terribly observant, a Jewish background that is similar to my own. Knowing vaguely that this is a piece of your heritage, but not knowing how to interact with it, is a strange feeling of disconnection and longing to be allowed into a space that you ultimately do have the right to occupy. Nevaeh’s Torah study with a rabbi-in-training opens up her understanding of the Jewish side of her heritage, and is done in a very realistic way. Those of us Jews who were not involved in synagogue from a young age, who had to struggle to learn Hebrew as adults, who felt like we were stray balloons floating on the periphery of the party, will understand Nevaeh’s feelings toward her late bat mitzvah.
Díaz artfully brought Nevaeh closer to her mother via her mother’s old journals from when she was in college and had just met Nevaeh’s father. This glimpse into her parents’ past shows not only their budding love and a side to her parents that we don’t really see in the present, but also the racism that Nevaeh’s mother deals with, and her father’s own casual (unintentional? but still harmful and unexamined) racism that he imposes upon her. Díaz’s own experiences informed Nevaeh’s interaction with racism within the Jewish community–anti-Blackness is an ugly part of some Jewish communities, and Díaz brings to light that anti-Blackness in a sensitive and enlightening way.
Content Warnings
Sexual assault: It happens very early in the book, and is not an assault of Nevaeh but of her mother, told in a journal entry. The assault itself is detailed enough to make the reader uncomfortable, but vague enough that it isn’t gratuitous. It is not an arbitrary assault for shock value; it informs much of Nevaeh’s mother’s character as she goes to college and interacts with Nevaeh’s father. The psychological effect it has on her self-worth is poignant and heart-breaking, and as the journal entries progress the reader is at the same time joyful that Nevaeh’s mother is able to work through her feelings of guilt and worthlessness via her positive interactions with Nevaeh’s father, but also furious that one day, her father is going to undo all of that trust and love by betraying her in the worst way possible. This is another of Díaz’s skillful emotional push-and-pulls when it comes to Nevaeh’s understanding of her parents, and helps us understand why her mother, who is demonstrated to be a powerful woman otherwise, is brought so low by her father’s cheating. This old, deep psychological wound is reopened violently by his betrayal, and her near-catatonic response is not only a response to the betrayal itself, but a re-triggering of her previous certainty that she is worthless and unlovable. If you are disturbed by depictions of sexual assault, it occurs during Nevaeh’s first reading of her mother’s journal (this is framed very clearly), and should be skipped for mental health protection.
Racist violence: When Jesús meets Nevaeh at her school and Nevaeh gets into a fight with Abby, a school security officer steps in, resulting in physical and emotional violence against Nevaeh and Jesús. There are no firearms involved. Jesús and Nevaeh are not harmed in a way that requires medical attention. This occurs in Chapter 36 and is mentioned without details in Chapter 37. If you are sensitive to depictions of racism-instigated violence, this part of the story can be skipped for mental health protection.
Cyberbullying: Abby uses nude photos she took of Nevaeh to humiliate her at school. The bullying itself happens in Chapter 36 and the photos are described again in Chapter 38. If you are sensitive to depictions of sexually-focused cyberbullying, this part of the story can be skipped for mental health protection.
What I Would Have Liked to See
Some of the antagonists, especially Nevaeh’s father’s new girlfriend, are unsubtle in their deviousness and are bordering on sitcom villain levels of evil. Several of them turn out to be at least sympathetic villains: Nevaeh’s snobby classmate who she’s forced to do science projects with is a jerk because her father is a very true-to-life conservative bigot who is racist, transphobic, and isn’t afraid of expressing those opinions loudly. The classmate’s outright meanness begins to make sense as we’re exposed to her home life and upbringing. I wanted to apply this same understanding of villainy to Nevaeh’s father’s girlfriend, but she appears to be an uncomfortably evil presence without pathos who is terrible to Nevaeh for no real reason (and cooks disgusting food lol). I definitely don’t want her to be forgiven for being an unrepentant home wrecker, but I think she would have been a slimier villain with some subtlety folded in.
My Favorite!
My absolute favorite part of the book was Nevaeh’s bat mitzvah. Throughout the book, Díaz skillfully set up the two seemingly opposing sides of Nevaeh’s life in such a way that they seemed incompatible, like oil and water. When Nevaeh is going forward with her bat mitzvah even after her father’s girlfriend bungles everything about it, I was wondering how on earth this was going to turn out to be something that would carry any sort of significance for Nevaeh. The coming together of all parts of her life into one stunningly unique ceremony brought me to actual tears. The bat mitzvah scene is absolutely beautiful.
TL;DR
When Nevaeh’s parents separate, she unsteadily traverses their two separate worlds to come to embrace who she really is.
This is definitely going to be one of the best books I’ve read this year. There was so much to this story, things that if you aren’t in that situation, you have no idea about what really happens. Knowing that the author grew up with this type of life totally made this stand out so much for me. But not only was it a really deep look at that, it totally was a teenager’s story. First off, as much as Nevaeh was going through herself, she soon had to realize that she wasn’t the only one going through things. Her friends were; her family, including her cousins, mother, aunt, uncle, grandpa, were all going through stuff. And not just them, but even people like her rabbi that was helping her go through to get ready for her bat mitzvah. There was also poetry in the book, poetry that the main character was fitting to her current feelings and situation. Nevaeh also found her mother’s diary, and for her to see what led up to her mom and dad getting together, as well as what her mom dealt with as a teenager was so perfect for this story.
Personally, at my age, it really stood out to me that now we have stories about teenagers who their parents were young when 9/11 happened. As someone who was a teacher at the time, that really makes me feel even older. But reminds me of all the things that I hear my parents talk about that I wasn’t alive for, but that was such a major event in their lives.
COLOR ME IN is rhythm. Music. Poetry. It’s a thrumming in your chest, a pulse in your veins. Diaz’s words reveal the power of Nevaeh, a young woman torn between two worlds, not knowing who she is or where she fits in, as she fights against the privilege that comes with her skin. It’s filled with strong female characters who challenge Navaeh’s sense of normalcy, and young males who prove that societal expectations are wrong when it comes to men of color. As Nevaeh learns about her Jewish faith from her father’s side, and her Baptist faith from her mother’s side, she also catches a glimpse into the reasons behind her parents’ crumbling marriage as she reads through her mother’s old journal.
COLOR ME IN is a poignant, important story filled with faith and family that will challenge your experiences in every way as you read. Highly, highly recommend.
A beautiful book about identity and privilege written with heart. The last quarter had me zooming through pages – my heart beating – to get to its beautiful conclusion.