Tenderly written, beautifully illustrated, theologically, sociologically and politically profound, Allister Sparks' and Mpho Tutu's "authorised" (yet caressingly honest) biography of The Great Little Man, this street urchin from Sophiatown (225), is one of those majestic narratives that leads the reader deeper into his or her own selfhood, there to discover whether there is just some spark of the same life force, the same imago dei in them that dwells in Tutu. It is a life force, an energy to change if not the world, as Tutu really has, at least themselves, ourselves, and the immediate nexus of our small influence. Fascinatingly holding together the deep life of prayer and sacramentalism (but never being preachy in doing so) and the political sassy - oh, as well as the personal stubbornness and the ever-supportive presence of Leah in the shadows - the authors generate a real life glimpse of a man who simply makes others find their humanity and their potential as part of the Ubuntu of humanness. Throughout this narrative a man emerges who is greater than mere religion or even more mere politics, but rather the enabler of rainbow faith, rainbow politics, rainbow reconciliation, bearer of the promise of the Creator however we understand that First Cause of Existence and Promise.

Perhaps I may tell a personal story, a private glimpse to corroborate in some tiny way Sparks' and Mpho Tutu's narrative? Nearly thirty years ago now I was privileged to be Tutu's driver for three or four days, delighting as innumerable people have in his integrity, his warmth, his chatter (and his love of cricket!). I chuckled privately as Leah massaged his feet in the back of the car, and as he squealed with laughter at her ministrations (on this occasion it seems he did not entirely use up the car journey as a prayer time, as is his wont: 234 and elsewhere). But above all I watched in awe his ability to make others grow: as we arrived at our destination we were ushered into the kitchen of the host clergyperson. A somewhat burnt out and embittered man, for whom church and world were changing too fast, too uncomfortably, the host had clearly quaffed a drink or two to steady his nerves for the day or the encounter (it was still morning). The host began to pontificate theatrically, flamboyantly, somehow even patronisingly. Somehow, as Tutu engaged the other man in conversation the host's theatrical artifice decreased, the vacuous flamboyance dissipated, and slowly this host appeared to grow in stature, in confidence, and in integrity. It would be embellishment to say the stench of second-hand alcohol was replaced by the scent of incense, yet it almost seemed that way. It was a powerful lesson, a powerful demonstration of the way a great human can spark the life force in others, watering withered statures, nurturing and healing the burned cells of tired being.

Mpho Tutu and Allister Sparks tell the life story of their respective father and friend seamlessly. They collect together (or maybe the unseen editor Doug Adams does) an encyclopaedic collection of impressions of Tutu from giants of public life (Bono, Geldof, Mary Robinson, Bill Clinton, Jimmy Carter, Barrack Obama, Nelson Mandela ... to name just few), and weave them around their text. The photos are exquisite (this is effectively a coffee table book, but so very much more), even the cover is inspirational. Ultimately I cannot find praise sufficient for this magnificent telling of the story of surely one of our lifetime's finest human beings. ( )