Dallas author’s book for children focuses on the joys of being yourself
TAMMYE NASH | Managing Editor
nash@dallasvoice.com
Linus by Stuart Hausmann; c. 2023, Atheneum; $18.99; 40 pages.
“I need colors. I need shapes. I need … to get away!” Just about any LGBTQ person who ever grew up in a small town knows what it is like to feel that need to get away, to get out into the great, wide world and find a place full of shape and color, a place where they aren’t being told to straighten up and toe the line.
Even those of us who grew up with families that loved us and supported us still yearned to find a place where we could fit in, where we could find other people who were like us, or who, at least, weren’t afraid to be different.
That is the premise of Linus, a children’s book released this year by Dallas author Stuart Hausmann: It’s not just ok to be different; it’s wonderful to be different.
Linus was written for children ages 4 to 8, and so, like the vast majority of children’s books, it is relatively brief — just 38 pages filled more with illustrations than words. The book tells the story of young Linus, who lives in Linneopolis, where the citizens were “an uptight, straitlaced bunch,” who were always punctual and orderly and who “drew the line at anything that bent their world out of shape.”
Linus, on the other hand, was anything but straitlaced and upright. He loved shapes and colors and any and every reason to celebrate. And no matter how hard he tried to tone it down and fit in, his efforts were in vain: “The more Linus tried to toe the line, the more bent out of shape he became.”
Finally, the Line Leader took Linus to the edge of town to join the Builders Club where he could hopefully “build character straighten back up and return to being, the Linus we know and love.”
But that didn’t work, either. Linus knew what he had to do. “I need colors. I need shapes. I need … to get away.” So he did. And even though he was frightened at being all on his own in a world full of new and strange people and things, Linus finally made his way to Squiggleville, where his dark colors and straight edges and square corners were new and different and frightening, leaving the residents there just a little skeptical. “But they soon discovered Linus made their world a little more special.”
Up until this point, Lnius’ story mirrors the stories of so many of us in the LGBTQ community. We never fit in at home, so we finally found the courage to go looking for our own place in the world.
Linus’ journey works out better than many in the real world, of course. Some of us never find our place in the world, or maybe we never learn how to make our own place. Some of us never even find the courage to go looking and end up living out our lives in our own version of Linneopolis.
But many of us do. We may not be famous and live fabulous jet-setter lives, but we get to be ourselves and make our own choices and choose our own colors, so to speak.
And some of us, like Linus eventually does, come to realize that finding our own space doesn’t have to mean completely turning our backs on where we came from. Some of us realize, like Linus, that we have the ability to make Linneopolis better for everybody.
That’s one of the things I love about this story: Linus finds his own place full of colors and shapes, but he also goes back home and can be himself there, too. Sometimes you find your own place inside yourself and carry it wherever you go.
Hausmann didn’t just write this story of Linus. As an award-winning artist and illustrator, he also created the visual worlds in which Linus lives. And from the straight-edged shades of black and gray in Linneopolis to the wild shapes and colors of Squiggleville, these are worlds sure to inspire and delight the youngsters for whom the books were written.
But don’t be fooled into thinking this book will only appeal to kids. There are plenty of us adults out here who need to learn or be reminded what it means to be ourselves, even when ourselves are different from everything around us.