Keywords: Arts, Small city life, Mystery
Genre: Literary Fiction
Length: short medium long
Country: USA
His name is Theo. And he asks a lot more questions than he answers.
Theo visits the local coffeehouse, where ninety-two pencil portraits hang on the walls, portraits of the people of Golden done by a local artist. He begins purchasing them, one at a time, and putting them back in the hands of their “rightful owners.” With each exchange, a story is told, a friendship born, and a life altered.
A story of giving and receiving, of seeing and being seen, Theo of Golden is a beautifully crafted novel about the power of creative generosity, the importance of wonder to a purposeful life, and the invisible threads of kindness that bind us to one another.
Review
I’ve read Theo of Golden by Allen Levi, and I must say I have thoughts.
“How is it, Theo wondered, that a piece of paper – a letter, a photo, a ticket stub, a sketch, a painting – is suddenly transformed by placing it in four bits of wood beneath a pane of glass? What does it mean that we place permanent boundaries around transient moments? What does it say of humankind that we take such trouble to freeze specific memories, that we devote such energy to capturing and preserving the “minute particulars” of our lives?”
I actually started reading Theo of Golden back in March. I have to be honest: I couldn’t really get through the physical book. I do think however that had more to do with me than with the book itself. I was going through a very difficult period, so I switched to the audiobook. Honestly, I think that was a great decision because, at least the version I listened to, was incredibly well done.
Theo of Golden is a very interesting book. In the beginning, it doesn’t seem like anything particularly special. We meet this elderly man, Theo, who intentionally refuses to disclose his last name or really any details about himself. One day, he moves to Golden, a small Southern town. People don’t know anything about him because he simply doesn’t want them to, yet he has this incredibly calm, warm, wholesome “aura” about him. Although some characters are suspicious and skeptical of him at first, he gradually becomes someone almost everyone grows to like.
The main driver of the story begins when Theo enters a local coffeehouse whose walls are covered with portraits done by a local artist. He decides to buy those portraits, track down the people in those portraits and return the paintings to them.
Okay, honestly… I didn’t really get it. If I knew there was a portrait of me hanging in a café or a bar, I don’t think I’d necessarily want to own the portrait myself… and if I had an issue with it, I would simply ask the owner of the place to take it down. . But maybe that’s just me. I decided to give the premise the benefit of the doubt however and simply continue with the story.
Through Theo’s mission, we get introduced to nearly all the major characters. We learn about their lives, their childhoods, their traumas, their daily struggles. We meet everyone from very successful people to homeless people. In many ways, the book feels like an exercise in empathy. It’s about recognizing that every life has value and that every person deserves dignity and respect. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that, quite the opposite I would say.
At the same time, throughout all these individual stories, one mystery remains: who is Theo?
We receive tiny fragments about his past, small hints about his family ( well, large hints, but I won’t spoil you now) suggestions that he may have been someone important because of the knowledge he possesses, but until the very last pages we never truly understand why he chose Golden or why he became so invested in those portraits. Only at the very end does the entire mystery finally come together.
Now, I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to open this discussion, but I think I do.
One thing that genuinely surprised me was seeing this book repeatedly labeled as a “Christian book.” Personally, it didn’t read that way to me.
What I find almost comical is the inconsistency in these labels. Apparently, if one character genuinely believes in heaven, the book suddenly becomes Christian propaganda. But if a character believes in magic, nobody calls the novel Witch propaganda. If someone is Buddhist, the book doesn’t become Buddhist propaganda. If all the characters are atheists or agnostics, nobody labels it atheist propaganda. Yet somehow, the moment a character sincerely believes in the Christian God, the entire book gets categorized as Christian propaganda.
For a society that constantly talks about diversity, inclusion, and respecting different perspectives, it seems that those values sometimes stop at Christianity.
I do think it’s disappointing that we’ve become less willing to read critically in the healthiest sense of the word, not filtering everything exclusively through our own personal experiences or traumas, but allowing fictional characters to simply… be who they are. What has meaning for a character doesn’t have to mean the same thing to you. Have we really lost the ability to separate a character’s beliefs from our own?
That being said, if you’re someone who’s immediately triggered by seeing the word “God” on the page, then yes, this book probably isn’t for you. But I genuinely don’t believe it’s hidden Christian propaganda.
Coming back to the book itself, I found it incredibly warm. At times, maybe even too wholesome, verging on unrealistic. But if you stick with it until the end, you’ll discover that some genuinely painful things happen, and the story becomes much more grounded. And here’s the thing: you all know I’m usually not someone who enjoys overly sentimental, feel-good stories. That’s generally not my style.
But I don’t know about you… I’m tired.
I’m tired of constantly reading about wars, conflicts, murders, abuse, corruption, injustice, and people hurting each other. Lately I’ve been reading incredibly heavy books—about the Japanese occupation of East Asia, about trauma, rape, miscarriages, and another book that I’ll be reviewing next week about Jews in Romania during the Second World War and the communist period.
Those books are important, and they’re necessary. We should know our history. But I also don’t think it’s healthy – for me, at least – to live only inside those stories. Sometimes I need something kind, something that reminds me not everyone is awful.
So, do I recommend it? Yes. Is it the best book I’ve ever read? No. Is it controversial? Personally, I don’t think so. But if someone wants to find controversy in everything, then yes, they’ll probably find it here too. Until next week, when we’ll be talking about In Darkness and Light, I’m leaving you with Theo of Golden—a huge bucket of sunshine and wholesomeness.
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