When Life Weighs Heavy, Pick Up a Book — Theo of Golden Reminded Me Why

Fairy Tales for Grownups

Or perhaps there’s a better name for a well-written, intriguing, kind, and feel-good novel. Whatever you call it, Theo of Golden by Allen Levi is exactly the kind of book the world needs more of — and exactly the kind of book I needed to find.

Here’s a passage that stopped me in my tracks:

“But I guess if a work of art makes us see something familiar in a new way or makes us feel something we ought to have felt all along or shows us our place in the world more clearly . . . good art varies from one person to another. For anything to be good, truly good, there must be love in it. . . . There must be love for the gift itself, love for the subject being depicted or the story being told, and love for the audience . . . if love is not in it — at the very heart of it — it might be skillful, marketable, or popular but I doubt it is truly good. Nothing is what it’s supposed to be if love is not at the core.” — p. 128–9

That’s a standard worth holding every book — every piece of art — to. And Theo of Golden meets it beautifully.

Meet Theo

The main character is Theo, an 86-year-old man from Portugal, New York, Paris, and points beyond, who arrives in Golden, Georgia. As readers, we follow Theo’s adventures — and they are many. He is that rare literary gift: a character who makes you want to slow down and pay attention to your own life.

His words linger:

“This conversation is my work today.” — p. 135

“There is a mysterious choreography at work in our lives, yes? Talk about mystique! And now our paths have crossed and we get to do this together.” — p. 139

“The older I get, the more convinced I am that every hurt the world has ever known is somehow the fault of every person who ever lived. Maybe not directly and never entirely, but somehow, I fear, we own all of the world’s hurts together.” — p. 161

Art, War, and the Songs Still Inside Us

As I lingered over one of Theo’s conversations and worked on my own story about war, I found myself asking the same question Theo’s world raises: “A ghastly war story — do I need it?” (pp. 192–198). This book has a way of making you examine your own creative choices.

And then, quietly, this:

“It is written somewhere that ‘most people die with all of their songs still inside them.'” — p. 343

That line alone is worth the read.

Heaven, Benches, and the Highest Ends of Art

Walking home from a cello concert, Theo reflects:
“As he walked to Ponder House alone, Theo thought to himself, I have tasted heaven.” — p. 345

And in a letter from Theo to Asher, a fellow artist, he shares what he hopes his legacy will be:

“This old man will someday leave the world knowing that at least for one short season, he was an agent for good and that he used art not for his personal fame or advancement but for its highest ends — ‘to bestow . . . a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.'” — p. 379

That phrase — crown of beauty, oil of gladness, garment of praise — sent me searching. It’s from Isaiah, and what I found was image after image of artists across centuries interpreting what those words mean to them personally. Amazing how many interpretations. Amazing how art keeps multiplying itself.

The book ends with a bench:

“. . . Tony had a plaque embedded in Theo’s bench at the Fedder. All who read it are told that this was a place where heaven and earth met in the form of an old Portuguese man. They are told that all, who choose to be, are capable of saintliness. They are also told that faith, hope, and love endure, but the greatest of these is love.” — p. 394

Fairy tale or not, I loved this book.

I can easily see myself reading Theo of Golden again and again — returning to it the way you return to a favorite park bench, just to sit a while and remember what matters.

If you’re looking for a book that restores your faith in goodness, in art, in the quiet heroism of ordinary lives lived with love — this is it. Pick it up. Let Theo remind you what it feels like to taste heaven.

Dr. Jo Ann Lordahl is a lifelong author, poet, novelist, and speaker whose work explores empowerment, aging with grace, and the deep questions that define our lives. Her books and reflections — from historical fiction to meditations on creative living — encourage resilience, reflection, and positive transformation.

If this post stirs questions about moral courage, shared humanity, or the work of healing in hard times, consider exploring Dr. Lordahl’s writing — especially her essays and books on reflection and personal transformation. Her voice reminds us that even in upheaval, there is a path toward patience, insight, and compassionate action.