The Boy, the Mole, the Fox, and the Horse by Charlie Mackesy is a book of aphorisms coupled with illustrations. Much of the material in the book comes from content Mackesy posted to Instagram. Like so many things that got their start on Instagram, the transition from one medium to another often involves so little transformation as to leave me wondering whether anything is gained from the process of reading the material in book form. I know that many people will find a harsh assessment in this, but I don’t think this critique eliminates the need for the book.
If you go to Charlie Mackesy’s Instagram feed, you’ll get pretty much the same experience you get from The Boy, the Mole, the Fox, and the Horse in terms of the content you’ll encounter. But the thing about books is that they are not content, whatever the internet would have you believe.
The currency of the internet is content, and far too much content on the internet is filler. As a legal content writer, I’ve seen the same article, rewritten over and over on a dozen different law firms’ websites. Originality is difficult to come by.
The very fact that a book has literal substance makes it a little more difficult to dismiss.
I read the book in under an hour while taking a bath, and found the book charming in the way Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s The Little Prince is charming. But to compare Mackesy to Exupéry would be doing a disservice to both.
The Little Prince is an allegorical interrogation of capitalism, modern life, and adulthood. The Boy, the Mole, the Fox, and the Horse doesn’t have such high ambitions. The beautiful thing about the obvious is that when it is stated outright and simply, it doesn’t feel so obvious anymore. Mackesy’s straightforward aphorisms placed beside the effortless illustrations set within ample white space, gives the book room to breathe.
A book advocating for kindness and friendship should be so open. The book appeals best to children and to the child within. This is a children’s book, of course, but one that is exquisitely created so as to appeal to adults as well. And while I can critique the book for failing to reach far beyond its life on Instagram, I think this may also be the book’s strength. Much like we might buy a singer’s album to experience something tangible and distinct from the experience of a song on the radio (or iPod), we reach for tangible books to give us something quite distinct from the digital, something that scrolling on Instagram or even reading on Kindle can’t provide. Reading a book is a tactile experience, one that involves the senses, possibly all of them except taste. Mackesy’s spare illustrations live best on the page, freed from the limitations of the digital. The aphorisms speak louder on paper than they could on gigabytes. Why this is the case, I do not know, but I think it is something akin to the mystery and mystical experience that comes from seeing a painting in real life in a museum, something truly distinct from seeing a painting in a book or on the internet. It’s why Zoom meetings can’t satisfy our need for connection in the same way that meeting a friend for coffee could.
The tangible object creates a sense of connection. And indeed, Mackesy’s project is all about connection. It is about the connection of the visual to the written word, sound to sight, and about our connections with each other. Mackesy asks us to “imagine how we would be if we were less afraid.” The old mole in the book reminds us that as we get older we wish we had listened less to our “fears and more to…dreams.”
Mackesy addresses the fundamental rules of connection. His aphorisms urge readers to forgive themselves. His characters remind readers that asking for help can be our bravest act. Self-forgiveness, forgiveness of others, and asking for help are three traits fundamental to nurturing connection.
Mackesy’s drawings and words have offered solace to so many. The images and words have been praised for their therapeutic effects, with the Washington Post noting that therapists have asked to use some of the illustrations in their practice, and another woman noting that the book has offered solace to those in hospice and those in end of life planning.
The New York Times notes that Mackesy himself turned to drawing to heal his own grief, taking it up after a friend passed away in a car crash. Mackesy’s greatest legacy may not be the book itself but the inspiration his effortless-seeming drawings and aphorisms bring. Because, make no mistake, what he has done here looks easy, but it is not. Try it yourself. You’ll see. Mackesy isn’t in the business of creating content for Instagram. He’s making art. He’s making the world a more empathetic and kind place.
The problem with something of substance is that it can seem effortless. With so much of the content on the internet being spun or re-written, or taken from elsewhere, a true original is hard to find.
When we think of content, we sometimes think of it as an asset that can be bought for a few hundred dollars to serve a commercial purpose. But we need more of the kind of content that isn’t just filler, isn’t just another asset, the kind of content that challenges and interrogates our thinking, the kind of content that has the power to change lives and effect social change. As a legal content writer, I find myself constantly trying to challenge the form. I don’t just write about divorce law, I write about peace work, empathy, negotiation, and the psychology of anger and regret. As a legal content writer, I don’t just write for estate lawyers, I write about the importance of finding meaning in end of life planning. I don’t just write for employment lawyers, I write about fear–fear that makes a women scared to report an abuser or fight back when she faces gender bias and discrimination. There is filler and then there is content that can actually change the world. Mackesy reminds me that such content exists. He reminds me of what my work truly entails. As a legal content writer, my job isn’t just to create legal content for law firms. As a legal content writer, my job is to do the hard work of showing how the law can change lives and effect social change.
About the Writer
Janice Greenwood is a writer, surfer, and poet. She holds an M.F.A. in poetry and creative writing from Columbia University.