Entertainment

Texas is a big, colorful state with a big, colorful history full of big, colorful characters. The state has been a productive generator of celebrities since long before the celebrity-industrial complex came to dominate American public life.

But two new books pose an interesting challenge: How many famous Texas men and women are so instantly and iconically recognizable that you can identify them based on their paper-doll representations? Based on the content of Famous Texas Men and Famous Texas Women (Schiffer Publishing, $9.95 each), two new collections from "paper doll artist" Tom Tierney, the answer is not nearly as many as you might think.

The novelty here is not the notion of a paper-doll book that is, really, for grown-ups. Mr. Tierney has created dozens on subjects ranging from Civil War fashions to The Nutcracker ballet. What's interesting is the demonstration it presents on the multitudinous nature of fame, a helpful exercise given the celebrity-centric culture we inhabit. It's not just that fame can be fleeting or timeless.

These books showcase the compartmentalization of fame: You can have a famous name or a famous face, but not necessarily both, or the fame of one may outlive the fame of the other. It turns out to be a rarefied realm of celebrity that can survive paper-dollification.

Let's start with the men. Of the seven figures on the cover, only one is immediately and unmistakably identifiable – the long, red hair, the gray beard, the cowboy hat and guitar. It's got to be Willie Nelson and, of course, it is.

How about the guy above him? With the coonskin cap, fringed buckskin ensemble and the long rifle, he looks easy to name. And to anyone with even a passing acquaintance with Texas history, he is: Davy Crockett. But don't be surprised if people's guesses range from "Daniel Boone" to "that Alamo guy."

The only other one who's even close to instantly recognizable is the man in the dark blue uniform. And even then it takes a moment to look closer and see the little pink genie he's holding in his hand so that you can say, "Ah, Major Nelson, I mean Larry Hagman." The rest of the men will be spotted only by Texana sharpshooters as Stephen F. Austin, Audie Murphy, Howard Hughes and Jack Johnson.

And how about the women? Well, there's Ann Richards in her white-fringed leather jacket, straddling her Harley. And most will recognize Renée Zellweger clutching her Oscar statue. And most will also know, perhaps not quite able to conjure her name, that Marilyn Monroe look-alike, a.k.a. Jayne Mansfield – or as one Law & Order fan identified her, "Oh, that's Mariska's [Hargitay of Law & Order: SVU] mom."

TV buffs may spot Carol Burnett (in her best Nora Desmond garb) and theater buffs will probably get Mary Martin, dressed for her signature role as Peter Pan, though some may guess Texas-born Sandy Duncan, who was also famous for playing Peter Pan.

That leaves two that I defy anyone to correctly name without peeking. The gunslinger that everyone will guess is Annie Oakley is, in fact, a woman that few will have heard of: "Texas" Guinan. The other is a performer that everyone has heard of but no one will correctly name. It's Beyoncé Knowles, but here she is pictured as so pale, blond and slender that the most frequent guess is Jessica Simpson.

In a funny, unexpected twist, there is something deeply humanizing about turning these larger-than-life stars of show business, politics and history into paper dolls. There's Howard Hughes – dashing ladies' man, iconic inventor, reclusive billionaire – looking small and shy in his high-waisted (and belted, no less) 1930s swim trunks.

And poor Ann Richards is immortalized here in her anti-Victoria's Secret underwear. When you flip to that page you feel like you've accidentally walked in on your grandmother getting dressed.