Theo of Golden

“The old man’s mind began to spin a fanciful vision: each of the ninety-two frames is a window. Each face depicted in the frames is standing outside the building, peeking in with amusement at the customers on the inside. At night, when the shop is closed, the faces in the portraits leave their frames, step inside the shop, mingle, […] and then return home by opening. He smiled at the colorful, if ludicrous, idea. […] He had the imagination of a poet. But he had, too, the eyes and mind of a connoisseur.”

Theo’s imaginative perspective on the Chalice portraits reveals his empathic ability to see Asher’s subjects as living beings rather than mere art objects. This fantasy sequence employs animation as a literary device, for the image of the portraits coming to life and mingling foreshadows Theo’s determination to bring such an occurrence about in real life by connecting the portraits with their subjects through his bestowals. The passage also celebrates his poet’s imagination, which allows him to look beyond the surface levels of reality.

“No, my dear. Sadness might be many things, but it is rarely stupid. The good sadness, I think, is always trying to tell us something very important.”

Theo’s response to Minnette reframes emotional pain as instructive rather than wasteful, challenging conventional perspectives on negative emotions. By personifying sadness as a sentient entity that is actively “trying to tell us” something important, the narrative suggests that this emotion serves a crucial purpose in people’s inner development. This philosophical comment also suggests that Theo himself has considerable experience with suffering. While the details of his life remain hidden, the passage subtly hints at his own past losses while establishing the novel’s theme of Finding Redemptive Value in Sadness and Joy.

“He was a pleasant, reserved man who personified discipline and routine. His daily attire was a starched shirt, expensive tie, suit or sport coat, and shined shoes. That meager level of decorum and formality made him an anachronism in the casual, virtual, tech-driven marketplace of Golden. Nonetheless, and despite his outdated ways, Mr. Ponder was a highly regarded and well-connected presence in the community.”

This description establishes Mr. Ponder as an old-fashioned character who, like Theo, embodies traditional values that contrast with the rushed, technology-obsessed pace of modern society. The juxtaposition of the words “anachronism” with “highly regarded” suggests that despite—or perhaps because of—his traditional ways, he maintains influence in Golden’s changing landscape. The precise details of his attire create a visual character portrait paralleling Asher’s drawn portraits, demonstrating how the author consistently uses careful observation to reveal deeper truths about individuals.

“The oak nearest the Chalice, on the southeast side of the tree, had a scar on its trunk, eight feet above the ground, that bore the unmistakable shape of an eye. Some of the older Black folk in the city called it ‘the Eye of God.’ It harkened back to a time, still alive in their ancient memories, when public executions took place in the median, and hangings unspeakable injustices—were carried out on the strong limbs of those trees.”

This passage introduces “the Eye of God” oak tree as a symbol of Golden’s dark and racist history. The tree’s eye-shaped scar represents both historical trauma and divine witness, suggesting that injustices, though unpunished, were seen by a higher power. The stark juxtaposition between natural beauty and human cruelty underscores the novel’s exploration of how landscapes retain memory, serving as physical markers of historical atrocities that the town must reckon with.

“Mr. Kendrick, I tell you what I saw when I first looked at your picture. I thought, ‘This is a strong man.’ I could see worry and some hurt in the eyes, but still, I said to myself, there is kindness in this face. And now I know it is the face of a good father.”

This interaction demonstrates how Theo uses art as a medium for human connection and affirmation, illustrating the theme of The Transformative Power of Being Truly Seen. The formal address of “Mr. Kendrick” grants dignity to a man whose night custodial work renders him largely invisible to others. Theo’s ability to recognize both Kendrick’s suffering and strength reveals his function as a character who helps others recognize their inherent worth, challenging them to see themselves through more compassionate eyes.

“Theo eventually sold the majestic house and moved far away from the parish where his daughter was buried. In every place he ever lived after that, he insisted his home be within walking distance of a river, with a view to the west, and with a bench or a place to put one. And on many days […] he would check the local morning paper for the exact time of sunset to ensure that he would be punctual for his date with a ten-year-old girl whose laughter was a murmuration and whose memory was a single star, the brightest in all the sky.”

This passage reveals the grief that shapes Theo’s character and motivates his acts of kindness toward others. The river motif connects to Theo’s healing moment by the River Marne, representing both passage of time and continuity of memory. The metaphor of the “date with a ten-year-old girl” (112) transforms his sunset ritual into a profound act of connection beyond death, while the comparison of Tita’s laughter to a “murmuration” creates a poetic link to the bird formations that first helped Theo begin healing from his loss.

“For anything to be good, truly good, there must be love in it. I’m not even sure I know fully what that means, but the older I get, the more I believe 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. Whether the art is sculpture, farming, teaching, lawmaking, medicine, music, or raising a child, if love is not in it […] it might be skillful, marketable, or popular but I doubt it is truly good.”

This philosophical statement encapsulates Theo’s worldview and serves as the novel’s central thesis about creativity and meaning. Through parallelism, Theo articulates a comprehensive definition of goodness that transcends artistic boundaries and extends into ethics and vocation. His inclusion of diverse endeavors—from sculpture to lawmaking—establishes this principle as universal, suggesting that the value of any human endeavor lies in its underlying motivation. The qualification “I’m not even sure I know fully what that means” (129) demonstrates Theo’s humility, establishing him as a character who values wisdom over certainty.

“The nurse said, ‘Be real quiet so that you don’t wake up the baby,’ and she took my tiny little girl and laid her on my chest. That was the happiest day of my life. My little child lay there and slept. Her head and her hand were right on my heart, and I thought it would break; I was so happy. […] I don’t know how long I held her, but the nurse and the policeman seemed nervous. […] The nurse finally said, ‘Let me take her, and let’s be very gentle and quiet, so we don’t wake her up. I’ll bring her back later.’ That’s what she told me, but I think the nurse lied so I wouldn’t get upset. She knew what was going to happen. I kissed Willa on the cheek. That’s the last time I ever saw her.”

This passage represents a shift in Ellen’s characterization, as her usually disjointed speech becomes clear and focused when recounting this formative moment. Ellen’s story reveals her deep loss, and the new information casts her quirks in a different light, depicting her fundamental humanity rather than her surface behaviors. The sensory detail of the baby “right on my heart” paired with Ellen’s paradoxical description of nearly having her heart “break” from happiness illustrates the novel’s theme of Finding Redemptive Value in Sadness and Joy.

“Might it be that water from the river of his childhood had found its way to this one, that the cyclical life of rainfall—sky to earth to sky again, over and over—had brought the elixir of the Iberian wine country to this place? That the river of gold in Portugal had come, through cloudburst and current, to this river of gray in Golden?”

This passage employs the motif of rivers to symbolize the interconnection of disparate events and human experiences across time and space. The questions that Theo poses to himself in these moments of solitude reveal his search for meaning and belonging, depicting him as a vulnerable seeker just like his friends and acquaintances in Golden. In this scene, he is not a wise, all-seeing mentor or a guide; he is a seeker of truth just like everyone else. The passage also uses water as a metaphor for the continuous flow of life experience. The contrast between the “river of gold” in Portugal and the “river of gray” in Golden mirrors Theo’s own journey from his vibrant past to his present circumstances.

“The shrill cry of the woman filled the air with insanity. The air sprayed crimson as bullets tore at the attacker’s chest and throat. Their eyes met. The small shirtless body of a child splayed onto the ground. ‘Oh my god. Oh, god, no. No! Oh my god.’ A golf ball rolled from the little boy’s hand.”

This hideously intense revelation employs stark, fragmented sentences to convey Tony’s wartime trauma. The descriptions become choppy and nearly cinematic as Tony struggles to convey the anguish of his fatal mistake. Cruel irony also abounds in the fact that the golf ball was intended to be a good luck charm, an innocent memento of Tony’s honest, well-meaning rapport with the child that he guns down in a moment of war-torn panic.

“‘Not tender, Asher. Broken. My expertise in sadness is hard-earned. But I realize more and more that it is a gift. Living with sadness, accepting it, is easier than trying to pretend it isn’t there. It is another of life’s great mysteries that sadness and joy can coexist so compatibly with one another.’”

Theo’s distinction between the concepts of “tender” and “broken” reveals his authentic relationship with grief as something that has fundamentally altered him, but his reflections also highlight the struggle of Finding Redemptive Value in Sadness and Joy. His characterization of sadness as a “gift” deliberately inverts conventional thinking, suggesting that the act of acknowledging pain fuels a deeper form of understanding and a greater appreciation of joy. The paradoxical coexistence of sadness and joy becomes a literary motif throughout the novel, illustrating the fact that Theo has transformed his own grief into wisdom that he shares through his portrait bestowals.

“Mr. Derrick. Let me tell you what changed me yesterday. About that little man. Up till yesterday, all I had in my head was an idea about him. He was the ‘thing’ that hurt my little girl. And I didn’t mind what y’all did to that ‘thing.’ But what changed me was I looked at his face. […] And I saw hurt and fear, and it changed me. And when he leaves court tomorrow, I hope he’ll know somebody looked at him and didn’t see a thing or an idea or a label but a man with a soul. And a man with a child. […] I hope he’ll know somebody saw his face. The eye of God sees it. Sees you and me too.”

Kendrick’s passionate words in this passage echo back to the recurring motif of people as portraits; his desire to truly see the face—and therefore the soul—of Mr. Mendez illustrates a more intense manifestation of The Transformative Power of Being Truly Seen. Kendrick’s determination not to see the man who wronged him as an enemy contrasts sharply with the dehumanization of the American justice system. His emphasis upon truly seeing Mendez’s face also shows that he has internalized Theo’s philosophy of seeing deep truths in portraits of people’s faces.

“If a ledger of the world’s gladness is maintained somewhere, he was confident it had been credited with a considerable deposit from all those meetings at the Fedder.

Forty-three handwritten letters.

At least forty-three hours of conversation.

Forty-three acquaintances and a handful of ongoing friendships. There was no self-congratulation in his reminiscence; instead, only gratitude that he was allowed to be an instrument in the process.”

This passage reveals Theo’s perspective on his portrait bestowals, and although Levi employs a financial metaphor, speaking of a “ledger” receiving a “deposit” of gladness, the narrative also makes it clear that Theo does not use the bestowals for self-aggrandizement. Instead, his recounting of the 43 interactions is meant to quantify the emotional impact of his mission, which allows him to embrace the philosophy of Cultivating Connection Through Art and Kindness. The rhythmic repetition of “forty-three” creates a poetic cadence that emphasizes the cumulative effect of his individual acts, with the staccato sentence structure mimicking the inventory items in an accounting book. Crucially, because he sees himself as “an instrument in the process” rather than the primary agent, he maintains a strong sense of humility and gives the full credit for his mission to something greater than himself.

“A week later, we were on a patrol and Bobbo was about ten yards in front of me. We got ambushed, and all hell broke loose. He got hit real bad. Real bad. But he was still conscious. I stayed right beside him in the middle of the fighting till the medic got there.

He couldn’t talk—he was in shock ’cause he was losing so much blood—but he kept looking right at me, right into my eyes. And when we put him on the stretcher to be airlifted out, he reached up to me. His hand was shaking real bad, but he reached up and gave me his little book.

That was the last time I ever saw him. He died the next day. I guess y’all would say he went to heaven. I hope so. God, I want to believe that. It just felt like the end of Bobbo to me.”

Tony’s raw account of Bobbo’s death employs precise spatial details (“ten yards in front”) and repetition (“real bad. Real bad.”) to create a sense of visceral immediacy that contrasts with his emotional distance from the issue of faith. The New Testament that Bobbo gives Tony functions as both a physical memento and a symbolic spiritual inheritance that Tony has yet to fully accept. The closing lines place Tony’s existential uncertainty (“I guess y’all would say he went to heaven”) alongside his yearning for faith (“God, I want to believe that”), and the contrast between these two sentiments shows that his trauma has left him suspended between skepticism and spiritual longing.

“Theo broke the spell, speaking as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. ‘Brooke, how would you like us to serve the food?’

With that, dishes moved, plates filled, ‘pleases’ and ‘thankyous’ were exchanged, and an air of polite camaraderie gradually reclaimed the room. In short order, the stench of Pearce’s grand entry was overpowered by the mingled fragrance of warm sourdough, curried fruit, buttered wild rice, cinnamon sweet potatoes, ham, and turkey; in short, the same recipes that had been served on Thanksgiving Day for decades at that table.”

This passage demonstrates Theo’s social intelligence when he strategically redirects people’s attention to the shared ritual-in-progress rather than confronting Pearce’s rudeness directly. His adroit tactic reflects his understanding that he is a guest at the table and does not have the leeway to dictate terms to someone else, no matter how disruptive their behavior. Levi also uses sensory descriptions in a figurative sense in order to convey the visceral yet unexpressed emotions on display. The “stench” of Pearce’s behavior is contrasted with the literal “fragrance” of the feast, and as the implicit comfort of tradition takes hold, the detailed list of traditional foods serves as a symbol of continuity and shared heritage. Theo’s simple intervention illustrates his role as a healer of social wounds, reinforcing the theme of Cultivating Connection Through Art and Kindness.

“I wonder if, like newborn children, we go through our entire lives looking for a face, longing for a particular gaze that calms and fills us, that loves and welcomes us, that recognizes and runs to greet us. Is that perhaps what this day, Christmas, is all about?

It is an imponderable thought that the Giver of Faces, the face of heaven itself, the face for which every heart years, became a wee babe, misty eyed and helpless, looking Himself for the tender face of His mother on the night of the angels.”

Theo’s Christmas letter to Asher explicitly states the novel’s implicit leaning toward a Christian worldview. Just as Theo’s portrait-centered mission is designed to mimic the kindness of charity as described in traditional Christian values, his words to Asher show that this way of seeing the world is deeply ingrained in Theo’s thoughts and behavior. It is no accident that the full version of his nickname, Theophilus, literally means “one who loves God.” His contemplations in this passage also transform a psychological observation about infant development into a theological meditation on human longing for divine recognition, and he once again uses the metaphor of studying faces as a stand-in for humankind’s deeper search for meaning.

“At that point in his young career, Simone was comfortable in front of audiences and felt only a mild energizing nervousness as he anticipated the recital. He had worked doggedly to be ready for that night. […] By the time of his performance, he was a finely tuned combination of discipline, passion, fine motor skills, and muscle memory.”

This passage reveals that Simone carries an artistic maturity far beyond his years; his intense preparations reflect his dedication to achieving excellence within his chosen form of artistic expression. It is also clear that he does not act to boost his own ego. Instead, he embraces the realm of music for its own sake. The phrase “finely tuned combination” creates a metaphor that likens the cellist himself to a well-prepared instrument, blending the artist with his art.

“Tonight, when Simone plays his songs, the music notes will come out of his cello, and they will fly in every direction. You see, all the notes are inside his cello right now. But when he moves the bow, like this,” Theo gestured, “it is like a key that opens the door, and out they come, one at a time.”

In this whimsical scene, Theo creates a story for Lamisha, transforming abstract music into tangible, visible entities through imaginative metaphor. This passage demonstrates his gift for making art accessible through childlike wonder. The personification of the musical notes as living creatures also shows Theo’s own perception of art as a living entity with a mind of its own.

“The demure Simone, with cello cradled in his arms, was a force of nature. Electrified. Ravished and ravishing. Arms, hands, shoulders, neck, head, eyes, legs and feet: every part of him felt the song and brought it to life for the audience. Or perhaps for the angels.”

The passage employs fragmentary syntax and vivid physical descriptions to capture the transformative moment when Simone transcends his usual reserved self and becomes possessed by the beauty of the music that he is creating. By characterizing the young virtuoso’s performance as spiritually transcendent, Levi once again invokes his deeply Christian worldview. His claim that Simone is essentially playing “for the angels” introduces a spiritual dimension, suggesting that heartfelt artistic performance is a form of communion between earthly and divine realms.

“Fado is usually played on Portuguese guitar, classical guitar, and a four-string version of acoustic bass called Viola Baixo. And there is always a vocalist. I would like to end the night with a song called ‘Fado for Theo,’ written for my dear friend from the Douro River Valley of northern Portugal.”

With the fado, Simone honors Theo’s Portuguese heritage even as he expresses appreciation for the old man’s presence in Golden. In this way, his music becomes a vehicle for deeper bonding, and the song becomes a symbolic reciprocation of Theo’s bestowals. Simone’s gesture illustrates the fact that genuine generosity creates a cycle of giving that moves in multiple directions. This moment represents the culmination of community-building that Theo’s quiet presence has inspired, with the disparate trio of Simone, Basil, and Kendrick creating something beautiful specifically for him.

“[The attacker] shattered [the cello] against the bench, then threw the remaining shards into the water. Theo leaned forward to utter a final plea. ‘Oh, please no! Please no!’ At that, the threesome sprinted away into the shadows, leaving behind a bleeding woman, a battered musician, a splintered cello, and a dented bicycle.”

These anguished, disjointed descriptions depict the violent destruction of Simone’s cherished cello in the vicious attack that shatters the young man’s hand, deeply wounds Ellen, and indirectly claims Theo’s very life. Because the violent scene occurs just after the successful completion of Simone’s virtuoso cello performance, this brutal contrast stands as Levi’s cruelest example of the blended nature of joy and sorrow. The stark, unadorned prose style of this passage contrasts dramatically with the lyrical descriptions of Simone’s music earlier that same evening. The forlorn list of damaged objects and people in the final sentence creates a devastated tableau that emphasizes the fragility of the community that Theo has helped to cultivate.

“And so, I say to you, my friends and neighbors, followers of Christ and those not, if you would honor the memory of Gamez Theophilus Zilavez, then do good, bestow kindness, strive for beauty, seek and find the river that leads to life everlasting, and draw from the fountain that never runs dry. Like Theo did. For heaven’s sake. Amen.”

Father Lundy’s eulogy distills Theo’s life philosophy into actionable imperatives, transforming grief into purpose. The language deliberately incorporates the novel’s key symbols—the river and the fountain—reframing them as spiritual metaphors that connect Theo’s earthly actions to transcendent meaning. The double entendre in the phrase “For heaven’s sake” serves as an entreaty to the congregation and an acknowledgement that it is incumbent upon humans to create a sense of the divine in everyday life, “like Theo did.”

“I am forever thankful for these days, when a chalice light and broad filled my soul with a peace and joy I never dreamt possible. I am a grateful old man. A proud father. Press on, dear boy. Seek truth. Make beauty. Live well. I love you, my son.”

The revelation of Theo’s paternity emerges through simple, direct sentences that stand in stark contrast to the magnitude of their emotional significance. The reference to “a chalice light and broad” creates a dual meaning, referring both to the Chalice coffee shop and to a deeper form of spiritual illumination. The text’s layered use of symbolism combines with the staccato rhythm of Theo’s final imperatives to “seek truth, “make beauty,” and “live well,” distilling Theo’s life philosophy into a legacy that reaches out from beyond the grave to embrace his long-lost son.