The Boy, the Mole, the Fox, and the Horse by Charlie Mackesy
A Christmas Letter Reprisal
Merry Christmas!
May today bring you and your loved ones peace, hope, rest, and lots of laughter! And, cake! (Or, pie, my personal preference, but not the mole’s.)
This Christmas Letter is an updated reprisal of last year’s as Charlie Mackesy has gone on and won himself an Oscar in 2023 for the animated short film based on The Boy, the Mole, the Fox, and the Horse. (Apparently, fifteen minutes before winning the Oscar, he went and hid in the loo!
A Gentle Adventure at the Flagship Waterstones
Allie’s office is just off of Piccadilly Circus in London, a ridiculously perfect location in the center of things. A few years ago, in early December, she and I went to lunch. The food was delicious (it always is when I’m with Allie) and we talked and talked and then she took me up to her office which was fun. All the uncomfortable and lovely shoes worn by the tech people were stored underneath desks in the open concept office in favor of stocking feet or trainers. I remember this with a smile: I adore heels and how they look, all feminine and elegant and pretty, but I also abhor them as the instruments of torture they are. (The Tower of London could have made things much less complicated by simply requiring prisoners to wear 4- or 5-inch heels and walk around in them for an hour or two! Add in a cobblestone pathway if their infraction was especially egregious — ‘at’ll teach ‘em!) After lunch, with a hug goodbye, I mentioned I was going to amble (almost nothing finer in the whole world than ambling, especially in London), find a bookstore, and perhaps do some Christmas shopping.
When I think of gift buying, I think books. I think books quite a lot in general. They often attach themselves to my thoughts, as if they had minds of their own. Oh, wait! They DO…!!!
(If I had to choose between coffee and books, books would win EVERY time, even if it’s between books and a flat white from Peet’s — I KNOW!!!)
Books are my love language. (HINT! HINT! HINT! HINT! HINT!)
Allie mentioned that just around the corner on Jermyn Street (a street which has been known for its upscale clothing for gentlemen since 1664), the oldest living Waterstones was to be found. Ooooohhh! The flagship Waterstones! I started salivating! (But, subtly…proper and ladylike, elegant even, just like when I wear heels.) It was exactly the right suggestion from my friend, who just always seems to know. So off I went…to the “bookstore of bookstores”… or so they tout:
Waterstones Piccadilly is Europe's largest bookshop offering a peerless selection of titles across every genre. Over eight miles of bookshelves...There is truly something to be found for even the most discerning of readers, from our flagship Fiction, Travel, History and Art sections or from across the wider branch. We are especially proud of our Children's section, modelled on a (Piccadilly) Circus theme and full of activities and events as well as the latest releases and old favourites.1
Oh, please do excuse, I meant, “bookshop of bookshops.”
It is a humongous place and filled to the brim with books. There are Waterstones strewn across London and I love them all. They’re sort of like America’s Barnes and Noble, except usually quite a bit larger (except for the huge B&N flagship store at Union Square in New York City). They have books, books, books! And, I want books, books, books! There’s something for everyone and I was excited to browse to my heart’s content. My afternoon plans were complete, I knew, as soon as I opened the door to the store. Em…I mean shop.
A book display caught my eye immediately. And then I saw stacks of that book EVERYWHERE! The Boy, the Mole, the Fox, and the Horse by Charlie Mackesy was highlighted on tables and shelves, even stylishly stacked on the floor in places. It was obvious that numerous tables had been brought out expressly for this specific book. Ubiquitous it was. “What is The Boy, the Mole, the Fox, and the Horse?” I asked myself. “And, why, in a store containing tens of thousands of books are there seemingly thousands of this particular one?”
I was intrigued.
To say the least.
I walked over to a table laden with the book. A woman stood there, her arms laden, too, with multiples of the book.
“Is it as special as it appears?” I asked her.
Her replied surprised me. “Even better. Just open the book to any page and you’ll see…” She smiled and then left my side, carrying six copies of the book with her.
I smiled back at her and the mystery of her reply, and then beheld the books in front of me. I picked up a copy and held it, gazing at the cover. It was of a boy, a mole, a fox, and a horse. (Of course.) But, the thing about it, even before I opened the book, the thing that struck me, was the fluidity and simplicity and deep poignancy of the cover sketch. There was the little boy, holding the mole and looking at it intently. The fox sat with his back facing me and the tip of his tail rested on the little boy’s shoes. Just so. And, then, there was the horse, his head dipping down with his nose lovingly touching the top of the little boy’s head. Connection. Love. Nearness. Trust. The sketch appeared quite rough, quickly drawn, minimal color added, and, at first glance, may have seemed incongruous on the cover of a book. But, it was not incongruous. It was perfect. And my heart softened and began to glow and my curiosity began to gleam and I opened the book to a random page as instructed. And then I opened to another. And, another. And, tears brimmed my eyes as I continued to read.
I stood there, in the flagship Waterstones bookshop and read…
this art…
from a man’s heart…
and I was overcome.
I stood there in the flagship Waterstones in Piccadilly and began at the beginning and read the entire book.
Within this work of sketches and heart ponderings, within this story of a little boy, a cake-loving mole, a fox friend, and a wise horse, were the achings and yearnings and hopes that lay embedded within me.
My husband, George, had died the previous year. Greg, my daughter’s husband, had died an excruciating death a few months before this trip to London, about a year after George. And, between the two deaths, as if they were not evil and barbarous enough, another unspeakable heart-rending cruelty had occurred. I was raw and rough, indeed, as vulnerable as the drawings and words in the book. I had returned to London, a place I sincerely love, to try to heal a bit. Time with Allie and my ambles had surely helped. But, there was something about this book that specifically addressed my deep, still-fresh hurts:
“Tears fall for a reason and they are your strength not weakness.”
“Sometimes,” said the horse.
“Sometimes what?” asked the boy.
“Sometimes just getting up and carrying on is brave and magnificent.”
I didn’t realize how much I needed to read those words until I saw them in front me.
The book was kind and gentle. It was good, and everything I longed for. Everything I always long for.
Sometimes being kind feels weird. Like I’m a strange alien being in a foreign land where my sort has never been encountered. (“Kindness? Kindness??? There’s no kindness in basebal2..uh…I mean in the land! Off to the tower with you! Put the 5-inch stilettos on her feet and make her walk for two whole hours! On COBBLESTONES!”)
Finding another who understands the deep healing significance of kindness and gentleness does something wonderful to a tender heart.
I set the book down, paused, absorbed…
Then I picked up EIGHT of them and carried them to the checkout desk! I could fit four in my suitcase and, fortunately, Waterstones was able to deliver the others directly to my home in California.
And the Christmas gift for a few special family members and friends that year - including Allie - was The Boy, the Mole, the Fox, and the Horse by Charlie Mackesy.
And, then, just a few months later, the world exploded with a fast-multiplying virus and locked itself down into isolating fear.
The book came at just the right time.
I kept one copy for me and I’m using it for the photos here.
If you haven’t already, please read The Boy, the Mole, the Fox, and the Horse. Even better, purchase a copy and read it regularly. It will never disappoint. Give as gifts to warm hearts you care about.
A Few More Simple Profoundnesses from Charlie Mackesy:
And, so, dear friends and family, Merry Christmas. Although we can often forget our great need for it, may we, each of us, find kindness and gentleness and goodness today and in this coming year. May we know friendship and share our hearts with safe and trustworthy souls. May we find Love.
With all of my love,
Renate
P. S. Here is the trailer to the short movie created from this book.
P. P. S. And, while I was looking for the trailer to “The Boy, the Mole, the Fox, and the Horse,” I came across a TEDx talk of Charlie Mackesy’s. It’s 16 minutes long and gives you a glimpse into who this artist is. He came onto the TEDx stage with his two dogs and introduced them. He waited until his 15yr old dog made it to the center of the stage before beginning his talk. This is what I would expect (and, possibly swoon over) from the man who wrote The Boy, the Mole, the Fox, and the Horse. Although unscripted, this talk was beautiful and evocative, an artist inspiring others to just try. He spoke of the tragic loss of creativity and imagination epidemic to adults. And he tells the story of a chance encounter with the Queen Mum, who tells him he is courageous for drawing. No one had ever told him that. She said, “Be brave, Charlie. And, carry on making a mess.”
Merry Christmas, again, my friends.
Be brave.
And carry on making a mess.
https://www.waterstones.com/bookshops/piccadilly
Tom Hanks’s character in A League of Their Own: “There’s no crying in baseball!!!”
I got this book last year after talking with you. It is profound in all aspects. Wishing for you a time of joy, kindness and peace, I can’t wait to read anything you write!!!! Keep writing Renate!!
Artists restore my faith in humanity and my conviction that the tyrants will never succeed!