Theo of Golden

I'm not much of one for reviewing adult books here.  I like the connection kids' books give me but I can and often get lost in explaining the meaning of adult books.   Especially when they are completely out of my comfort zone.  

I avoided this one because of a preconceived notion it was too sweet. Something along the Mitch Albom genre.  I like thick, meaty, original fiction.  Someone tell me a story.  Escape.

But friends handed this to me last week hoping I'd like it and one of them said her brother said it was the best thing he'd read in a year.   I had just that evening before finished the book I was reading so timing was right.

Well.  Do you do Lent?  I once knew a priest who read Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee by Dee Brown for his Lenten reading. That's a book that stares you in the face.

If you haven't read Theo of Golden this is a simple synopsis.  A man mysteriously travels to the town of Golden in a southern state and notices in a coffee shop that a local artist  sketches, draws, creating people's portraits - their faces - and they hang on the wall of the coffee shop.  Theo decides to purchase each painting and give them to the subjects as a gift. And listen to their story.  

This simple act transforms people.  They feel seen.  A complete stranger is telling them of their worth, something none of them thought they had. He remains mysterious, offers just the one name, refuses publicity or thanks.  Just take the portrait and feel seen.

Immediately upon reading those first few pages I thought of a Michigan artist who has a studio and gallery in Saugatuck, Michigan.  His name is James Brandess and on the wall of his shop/gallery/studio he has lined the walls with the residents of Saugatuck.  The portraits are small, maybe 5 x 7?  4 x 6? In the winter quiet he paints these people and sometimes their dogs and hangs them on the surrounding walls.  They belong to James.  I'm quite sure while he is painting there are stories being told.  So, in a small way I connected with the book.

In this horrid time of ridiculously dangerous people (I refuse to call them leaders) beating their chests, playing at war, the anxiety in my brain is trying so hard to take over.  As friends march and protest I do not.  I feel it a complete waste of time - who is listening?  Who cares? The more we do the meaner and worse he gets.  I am hiding under a rock, every morning asking PH "Well? are we still here?  Is the world?"  I truly don't know how much more we/I can take.  

Then this little book was put in my hands and after thinking of James Brandess's studio I started thinking Lent.  Someone put a small, tiny, spark of light in my hand.  Hope.  Someone has to have some. Will this change anything?  No. Nothing will tame the dragons, I truly believe that, but I can hope.