A book about grief is bright pink. Not muted, not solemn, but unmistakably pink, and it is sitting beside a book with a cartoon dog on the spine. They share the same shade of red. That, it seems, is sufficient qualification. Colour is the only credential required here.

It is late summer in Brisbane, Australia, and the sky outside the State Library of Queensland is thick with an incoming storm. The air presses heavily against the glass and I stand under the eaves for a moment before stepping inside.

Out there, the floor is white tile and shoes click with authority. Every movement sounds recorded and reading runs on what I think of as the letter-line… number, surname, number again. If you approach correctly, the books respond correctly. The serious system prefers accuracy and it rewards fluency.

In here, crossing into the Queensland Writers Centre, the floor turns to red carpet. Sound softens, footsteps disappear into fabric and the room lowers its voice.

And the books have changed their manners.

There is a large shelf immediately upon entering, and it defies the good behaviour of the library outside. It is not arranged by author, nor by genre, nor by topic. It follows what might be called the ‘rainbow rule’.

All the red books together. All the blue books together. All the yellow books together.

From across the room, the effect is orderly. Pleasing, even. Up close, it is another matter. A serious political history sits in lemon yellow, looking almost optimistic. A memoir about illness glows in peach. A thriller hides in baby blue, attempting calm. Blue lies, while orange shouts. Green attempts to grow everything at once, placing forests and finance shoulder to shoulder like polite strangers at a conference.

Colour has no authority… but it has influence.

A thin book of poems is pressed between two thick paperbacks as though under supervision. A glossy hardback with gold lett

ering leans into a faded spine that looks sun-tired. A practical manual wedges itself beside a novel in looping script. One spine is cracked clean down the middle from repeated reading, the one beside it has never been opened, its edges still sharp.

A severe blue volume in tight typography sits next to a rounded, friendly font that appears to want to be hugged. They share a colour, and that seems to be enough.

A slim red paperback about love hides behind a thick red hardcover that occupies more space than necessary. Some books lean into one another, while some hold themselves upright, refusing contact. From a distance, the shelf appears harmonious and up close, it feels negotiated.

Out there, I am fluent in ‘systems’, I know how to search, spell, retrieve. I know how to move along the dewy system without hesitation. In here, none of that competence is particularly useful.

Someone passes behind me and I shift slightly. The carpet absorbs the sound.

My hand reaches, not toward a name but toward a colour. It hesitates over red, then blue, then settles somewhere between certainty and doubt. My hand votes before my head does.

I pull one book free… ‘The Search for Galina’.

The title lingers with faint irony as it makes me stop searching. I do not know who Galina is, nor what her story entails. I only know that this shade held my attention long enough for my hand to follow. The cover is warm from the room and it feels heavier than it appeared on the shelf.

I do not open it.

Outside, the white tiles resume their authority and shoes click clack again. The storm edges closer, a low roll of sound behind the glass. Order remains patient back in the library and the numbers are intact while the alphabet is still standing straight.

I walk back across the threshold carrying a book chosen by colour rather than category, aware that the serious system will receive it without objection when the time comes to return.

For now, the rainbow rule has had its say. Thanks for drifting with me.

Note > This season and episode were produced from within the Queensland Writers Centre at the Queensland State Library, as part of the Fishbowl Writers Residency. My sincere gratitude.

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit driftingnotes.substack.com