Does 'The Astonishing Color Of After' Have Magical Realism Elements?

I just finished 'The Astonishing Color of After' and yes, it's packed with magical realism done right. The story blends reality with fantastical elements so smoothly that you barely notice the transition. When the protagonist Leigh starts seeing her deceased mother as a vibrant red bird, it feels natural rather than forced. The color symbolism throughout the book serves as this beautiful bridge between grief and the supernatural. Objects change hues based on emotions, memories physically manifest as tangible items, and ancestral magic feels like an extension of cultural heritage rather than pure fantasy. What makes it work is how these elements enhance the emotional core instead of distracting from it.

As someone who analyzes narrative techniques, I find the magical realism in 'The Astonishing Color of After' particularly sophisticated. The novel doesn't just slap supernatural elements onto a contemporary setting—it weaves them into the protagonist's psychological journey. The moment Leigh arrives in Taiwan, the boundaries between reality and imagination start dissolving with purpose. Her mother's transformation into a bird isn't presented as a literal event but as a manifestation of unresolved grief.

The cultural context adds depth to these elements. Taiwanese folklore about hungry ghosts and ancestral worship provides a framework that makes the magical aspects feel authentic rather than arbitrary. When Leigh interacts with her grandparents' bakery, the descriptions of food take on almost alchemical properties—scents trigger time travel-like memory flashes, dough shapes itself according to unspoken feelings. These details create a world where magic operates by its own consistent internal logic, which is crucial for effective magical realism.

The book's structure reinforces this blend. Flashbacks aren't marked by standard transitions but by color shifts and sensory triggers. A sunset might melt into a childhood memory; a piano's sound becomes a portal. This technique mirrors how trauma and longing can distort perception in real life, making the magical elements feel emotionally true even when they defy physics.

Reading 'The Astonishing Color of After' reminded me why magical realism works best when it serves character development. The supernatural elements here aren't world-building flourishes—they're emotional translators. When Leigh chases her mother's bird form across Taipei, we understand this represents her desperate need for closure. The magical components amplify real human experiences rather than replace them.

What struck me was how grounded the fantastical elements felt. The talking objects in Leigh's grandparents' house don't come across as gimmicky because they reflect how possessions can feel charged with memories after a loss. The color-based magic system ties directly into Leigh's artistic nature and her mother's depression—her palette literally changes as she processes grief. Even the time-bending scenes where past and present overlap feel organic, mimicking how memory actually functions during bereavement.

The book avoids over-explaining its magic, which preserves that essential dreamlike quality. Rules aren't spelled out but discovered through sensory details—the way certain foods taste differently when eaten with ghosts, or how shadows lengthen during emotional revelations. This approach makes the realism/magic balance feel effortless and true to life.