Heroes 1-6

Hello Everyone,

Last week, I talked about the picture book Of Thee I Sing, by Barack Obama and Loren Long. The book highlights thirteen people whose stories have impacted the history, culture and values of the United States. This week and next, I want to talk about some of the people who have inspired or changed the way I think or act either through their words or by the examples of their lives. It would take the rest of the year to describe how the people who I’ve actually met have affected my life for the better. So here, I’ll limit myself to the heroes I don’t know. Other than that, the list is rather arbitrary. Some of them are still alive, some of them aren’t. Some are fictional, some aren’t. Many have connections to writing or art, but not all of them do. I’m sure I have left many people out, but as with Obama’s list, mine is meant to represent a broader community. So here, in no particular order, are the first six of my personal heroes and the lessons they have taught me, the rest to follow next week:

1.) Leonardo Da Vinci:

(Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man)

While I’ve never really been into naked snow angels and I’ve never seen the big deal about his Mona Lisa, I admire Da Vinci because, perhaps more than anyone else in history, he represents a true “Renaissance Man.” In addition to his role as a painter, he was an engineer, a scientist, a cartographer, a botanist and many other things. His unrestrained curiosity reminds me that art is often stronger when it is influenced and supported by a diversity of interests.


2.) Charlotte from Charlotte’s Web:

(art by Garth Williams)

The title character from E.B. White’s well-known book, Charlotte exemplifies the sacrificial nature of friendship. She uses words that could perhaps more accurately describe herself to save her friend Wilbur. She is articulate, clever and beautiful and, as her last word for Wilbur attests, “humble.” She is willing to stand back and let Wilbur take the glory for her work simply because he is her friend. The last two lines of Charlotte’s Web are as beautiful a conclusion as any I’ve come across: “It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer. Charlotte was both.”


3.) C. S. Lewis:


I appreciate Lewis for many reasons. His desire to explain Christianity in a concise, logical way, coupled with his unabashed belief in the value and truth of stories, shine throughout his varied writings. He said that the only books (apart from books of knowledge) worth reading are those that you will want to reread, and his best work falls into that category for me; I know I will grow old with his writing. Perhaps the most influential concept that I have taken from Lewis is his explanation of what he calls “Joy”: our deepest desires -- whether for peace or beauty or companionship or a sense of home -- cannot be completely filled in this time and this place. However, he says, these longings are hints of an ultimate reality which is both our destination and, miraculously, our guide along the way.


4.) Saint George:

(art by Trina Schart Hyman)

For 13 years, I attended Saint George’s School, and therefore was familiar with the story of Saint George, the patron saint of England, slaying the infamous dragon. However, it wasn’t until college that I read the legend in Edmund Spenser’s Faerie Queene, an epic English poem written in the late 16th century. I was struck with George’s persistence and courage as he encounters the dragon multiple times, getting injured and becoming exhausted. I find it helpful to remember his example whenever I am facing a dragon. Or a tough assignment. Or a spider.


5.) Karl Barth:


I know next to nothing about this important Swiss theologian, but he features in one of my favorite anecdotes of all time. A prolific writer and brilliant scholar, he was once asked how he would sum up all of the works he had written. He responded, “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.” In this story, Barth reminds me that while it is important to recognize the paradoxes and complexities of Christianity, the essence of what I believe can be summed up and understood by a three-year-old. This simplicity of belief is an important reminder when I get stuck in theological brain-eddies.


6.) Père Tanguy:

(Van Gogh's Père Tanguy)

Julien Tanguy, affectionately called “Père,” or “Father” Tanguy, owned an art supply store and informal gallery in Paris. He befriended many young Impressionist and Post-Impressionist painters, and often “bought” their paintings in exchange for supplies so that they could continue painting. His shop was a hub for artists in Paris, and his collection of Japanese prints helped usher in the wave of Japonism that influenced late 19th and early 20th century Western Art. Because Van Gogh was among the least profitable of the artists Tanguy encouraged, I find it fitting that his portraits of this fatherly figure have kept his legacy alive. As I (hopefully!) transition from being a young, penniless student to a self-sustaining adult with a career, I want to remember his support of young people with the resources he had available.


Tune in next week for 7-13.

Have a good week,
Sarah/Mouse

Of Thee I Sing -- by Barack Obama and Loren Long

Hello Everyone,

Normally, I avoid politics in these letters. It’s not that I think it unimportant but rather that it is important only when it affects things we care about. I figure I’d rather just cut to the chase and talk about the things we care about. Being one of the primary figures in current U.S. and world politics, President Obama, therefore, hasn’t featured in many of my writings. However, a few months ago, his first children’s book, Of Thee I Sing, was released. This is obviously something I care about. I had mixed feelings about the book before I saw it. On the one hand, I loved his first book, Dreams From My Father, because of his ability to capture elements and themes of his own story in such an eloquent and evocative way. It was written before he entered the political arena, and it is a man’s voice that sustains the narrative, not a politician’s.

And yet, on the other hand, I’m skeptical of children’s books written by celebrities, and I think most people in the industry are. I suspect this stems in part from deflated egos. Who wants to admit that something she does as a full-time profession could be done far more successfully (at least in terms of recognition and revenue) by someone else who considers it a mere hobby?

But there are specific instances where it is clear that it is a person’s name that sells the book, not the quality of the work in it. In my picture book creative writing class, we became convinced that Katie Couric’s The Brand New Kid was actually written not for children, but as a manual to all children’s writers advising them what not to do. And so, I approached Obama’s book warily. He can certainly write well for adults, but how does he fare with the younger citizens he serves? And even if the book were well written, the brilliance of a picture book is the marriage of text and image, and his words would be only half the battle. I could easily see a publisher choosing a second-rate illustrator, counting on Obama’s moniker to ensure sales.




I needn’t have worried. Of Thee I Sing is one of the better books I’ve come across recently. Obama wrote it as a letter to his daughters, and each page highlights a different virtue and a hero from U.S. history who exemplifies that virtue. “Have I told you that you are creative?” he asks, and describes painter Georgia O’Keeffe. “She helped us see big beauty in what is small: the hardness of stone and the softness of feather.”

“Have I told you that you are strong?” he asks, and tells of Helen Keller’s fight “through long, silent darkness. Though she could not see or hear, she taught us to look at and listen to each other.” He uses words like “courage” and “respect,” and well-known phrases like “listened to their hearts,” and “liberty and justice for all.” But the stories of the heroes Obama has chosen are powerful enough that they inject life into any cliché language, and remind us why we invented it in the first place. We use the word “brave” because of people like Jackie Robinson; we use the word “inspiring” because of people like Cesar Chavez.

Like a university viewbook, the diversity represented is obvious. There are men and women from different ethnicities, time periods, walks of life and even countries of birth. Though he highlights only 13 people, the breadth of their experience indicates that they represent the numerous other varied victories in the nation’s history. And like a university viewbook, the blatant diversity is part of the point. It doesn’t just say, “This is who we are,” but “This is who we want to be.”

As I said, text is only half of the effort. Obama is responsible for the variety of characters in the book, but the illustrator, Loren Long, is responsible for unifying them into a cohesive whole. He develops a brilliant conceit of representing each of the heroes as children standing next to Obama’s daughters. They all have their backs to the reader.



As the book goes on, the number of children grows until there is a veritable army of people “watching” each of the heroes' stories.



The final spread opens up to all the children, joined by many, many others, finally facing the reader face on. “You children,” the book implies, “are the next legends. You are this country’s future scientists, musicians, and presidents.” All of these people, Obama tells each of his daughters, are “a part of you . . . and you are one of them.”

I can hear some of you saying, “Now hang on, Sarah Jackson. You are usually wary of such blatant patriotism. Are you really going to be swayed into the Happy-Clappy, Ultra-Sappy, Wave Your Flag, Don’t Be a Drag Camp by a few pretty pictures and some nicely worded text?” Fair point. Normally, overt patriotism makes me nervous and if I’m able to suppress a gag, I can’t help letting an eye roll escape. But there is a subtle but important difference in this case. Whereas most patriotic books, songs, and speeches begin with how wonderful the country is, this one begins with individuals -- a huge variety of them. The United States is not great in and of itself, and it never will be. That is the beauty of it all: any greatness this country has comes from people like the ones described in this book.

We are great because we live in this country.
This country is great because we live in it.

These two sentences are so similar. They are made of the same basic components. It would be easily to gloss right over them. And yet the subtle distinctions between the two mean the difference between blindness and truth; between bigotry and compassion.

That I recommend Of Thee I Sing is obvious. But I also recommend thinking about who your heroes are. Which characters, real or fictional, have made you who you are? Who has changed you irreparably? Who do you try to emulate? Next week, I’ll talk about some of mine.

In the meantime, have a good week,
Sarah/Mouse