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“After a moment, Theo spoke. ‘Then I propose that we make a trade. Give me that old picture in your head, and take this new one home with you.’” —Allen Levi, Theo of Golden
If you’ve been hearing about the novel Theo of Golden (Atria Books, 2025) lately, you’re far from alone. People around the world are reading and talking about this special book. As a 69-year-old writer who has self-published five books, I was delighted to learn that the novel’s author, Allen Levi, also initially self-published the book—at age 69! Unlike my modestly selling tomes, though, Theo of Golden became a breakout hit, now on The New York Times Best Sellers list for 29 weeks and counting.
The main character, Theo, is an older Portuguese gentleman with a mysterious background. He arrives in the little town of Golden, Ga., and sees a gallery of portraits on the wall at the Chalice, the local coffee shop. Theo is mesmerized by the faces of the people in the portraits. They’ve all been created by Asher, a talented young artist who seems to have captured the souls of everyone depicted. Theo decides to buy every picture and give each to its subject as a gift.
As the story unfolds, clues about Theo’s true identity, and his reason for coming to this small Southern town, are revealed. More important, Theo’s encounters with the people in the pictures reveal much about their essence, as well as the nature of the gentle, goodhearted matchmaker of portraits and people.
I won’t spoil the book for would-be readers—I encourage you to discover the joys, sorrows and secrets for yourselves. But I will share this: The people Asher draws come to see God in one another’s faces, as well as their own. That is Asher’s and Theo’s true gift to the town of Golden.
After finishing the novel, I found myself observing more closely the people I noticed on the street, in the grocery store, at the park. I’ve long played a little writerly game with the subjects of my observations, in which I imagine details about their lives.
That gentleman ahead of me in the checkout line with a single pork chop and one baking potato? Could be he’s a recent widower, learning to make his own dinners. Those raucous teens, giggling as they pile junk food into their cart? Looks like they could have the marijuana munchies. The little girl who has thrown herself on the grass, screaming, when it’s time to leave the playground? Maybe her mom is raising her alone and is digging deep to find just a little more patience and compassion for her daughter at the end of a long day.
Obviously, I don’t know if there’s any truth to my imaginings, but they do help me focus on my fellow humans for a bit. And, inevitably, I come away feeling real tenderness for them—for all of them and all of us, coping as best we can to navigate this beautiful, terrible life.
Which brings me back to our friend Theo. I believe this book is so popular because we are at a defining moment in our world. It’s not just a nice idea to care for our neighbor; it is survival itself. Surrounded as we are by the forces of darkness, there is an urgent need to recognize and share the good, the light within us. To wrap one another in love and protection. To truly see ourselves, and one another, as our God sees us.
Surrounded as we are by the forces of darkness, there is an urgent need to recognize and share the good, the light within us.
My sister Carolyn is an incredible watercolor artist. I recently visited her in Hawaii and watched her sketch and paint. Like Asher, Carolyn has an eye for the beauty in all her subjects. I was with her for a plein air (outdoor) painting session, and we both painted a picture of the same tree. Hers, predictably, was just lovely. I was tempted to crumple mine into a ball and throw it in the trash. My “artwork” didn’t even look like the same tree!
However, at my sister’s direction, I kept it, and my silly little painting now sits on my desk at home. When I look at it, I remember that morning in Honolulu—the gentle breeze, the sun glinting on the leaves—and it doesn’t look so silly after all. I’ll never be an Asher or a Carolyn, that’s for sure. But I’ve come to a conclusion, and I offer you an invitation.
I ask you to believe that we imperfect people have everything we need, not only to see one another as God sees us but to become artists ourselves. Let’s pick up our pencils and paintbrushes and approach that blank paper. I promise, even if we fall (far) short of great talent, we will capture the souls of our subjects. Because the soul is found not in the final product but in the process. In the sacred connection.
Let’s be a loving and giving community, spreading our vision of the divine in everyone, to everyone. It’s not too late. We can still make our world a Golden place.
