The Day I Fell in Love With a German

I’m referring to Prince Esterhazy, of course!

Actually, I’m referring to Michael Sowa.

Once, while visiting my brother at college in Princeton, I happened into one of those lovely used bookstores that seem to pervert the bounds of physics in an M.C. Escher style maze of shelves and piles. I found a gigantic complete works of Jane Austen for $5 and took it up to the register. By the counter, the owner had a rack of tattered postcards, mostly of amusing cat photos, but one caught my eye. It was a painting of a man reading a newspaper while a penguin flew past the window. I bought it and turned it over. “Michael Sowa” it said.

Years later, my future husband and I were goofing around in Edinburgh. We had done the Royal Mile, the ghost tour, the haggis, etc. and were hanging around a side street when we saw a twisty old book shop with a rack of postcards by the door. I found one of a little bunny trying on leopard print boxer shorts in front of a mirror. We bought some of them and stepped into an impossibly dark and dank pub. Knut examined one of a girl with her arm around a trotting bear. He turned it over. “Michael Sowa.”

After that, my brother, the same one who had been at Princeton, sent me a birthday card of a few children running in terror from a giant rampaging Easter bunny. I smiled and turned it over. “Michael Sowa.”

Obviously, this was fate. I don’t believe in Fate, but this was fate with a small “f.” Clearly this thing had to be researched.

I searched Amazon and found he has a few books, most of which were in German or I had to buy used. A very small sacrifice, because the man has a sense of humor and a whimsical style that can’t be matched. The children’s books are funny and sweet and The Bestiary is crammed with ticklish creatures.

A few years ago I caught an advert for an exhibition of his work in Germany. I seriously considered hopping on a plane. Alas, the spirit was willing, but the wallet was weak. However, if any gallery in the Mid West would like to give me a birthday present…

In 2001, I was delighted to see a new film by my favorite French director, Jean-Pierre Jeunet. It was Amelie, destined to be a film I’ve watched countless times. So when we get a glimpse of the walls of her apartment and the winsome dog portraits and bejeweled chickens, I smiled to myself. “Ah, Michael Sowa.”