Dead Character

I have known R. for a good while now.  He is the author of fantasy novels aimed at older teenagers and young adults, although he has readers and fans of all ages.   Whenever we meet, which hasn't been often lately, both of us aware that I don't read this genre and know next to nothing about it (not even Tolkien, and definitely not J.K. Rowling!), whenever conversation turns to writing, we discuss everything, publishing, grammar, etc, but never plots or contents.  R. is a forgiving soul and tolerates my off-beat literary tastes.

He recently published the third volume of a series (niche literary genres are especially rich in series), and did a tour of local bookstores reading and signing his books.  (As he must still maintain a day job to support his family, R. is unable to embark on promotional tours to faraway places, except occasionally on long weekends and holidays.)   He described to me an incident which happened in November a during a reading at a bookstore in our town we both know.

"A character dies in this new volume.  He is a man in his twenties, and I describe him as being tall, blue eyed, prematurely balding.    Anyway, I finished the reading, and I noticed in the audience a woman that I dated 15 years ago, who broke up with me over my relationship with her son, then a teenager.  He didn't care for me.  I sit down at a table, and the readers line up with books for me to sign.  She's one of the first in line.  She hands me the book, and I see that it's been read already, she must have brought it in with her, it's easy to tell with soft cover books - I haven't yet graduated to the hardback edition copies - and she says "You killed my son here!"  I say, "I did?"  "That's my son who dies in this book!" she says.   I don't know how to react, so I say, "Perhaps we can discuss this afterwards?!"  She replies "Yes,  I would very much like to!" in a decisive tone.   I sign her book, she walks away.

I noticed that the woman standing behind her, and this crowd was mostly female, it's always like that at this bookstore, I'm not sure why, the women's college in the neighbourhood, or what, I noticed that this woman was very interested in that exchange.  She now hands me her book, saying, "You killed this woman's son in the story?"  I answer, "People who know writers, come to believe that they and others the writer knows appear as characters in his books, but that's  seldom if ever true."  She doesn't seem satisfied with the answer, but says nothing and walks away with her signed book.

Fortunately, none of the others in line  picked up on this theme, but I notice with a side glance that the woman has approached my ex-girfriend standing in the back corner of the room and they are conversing.   I turn to my daughter behind my chair and ask her to fetch Joe the owner of the bookstore.  She does that, Joe walks up, lowers his ear and I whisper to him describing what happened, and ask him that perhaps he can gently separate these two ladies.    This is because, I explain,  I noticed Leslie C., the POST''s celebrity gossip and trivia columnist in the crowd, who's always on the lookout for spicy material, and the kind of publicity based on that bizarre exchange I'd rather avoid.  Joe goes away, I apologize for the second time in 5 minutes to the waiting readers, saying that too many things always pop up at once during a book's premiere, which isn't quite true. 

Afterwards, I spoke briefly to my ex-girlfriend, telling her that I haven't seen her son in many years, which isn't quite true either, as I've seen him around town without as much as a 'Hello',  but what's true is that I didn't base this dying character's appearance on the appearance of her son.   What else was I to say?!

Two days later, a note in Leslie C.'s daily column in the POST. "One reader, Joanne K. at a recent reading of local writer R's. new novel informs us that Mr R. uses the plots his novels to settle scores with relatives and former friends.  At press time, Mr R. has not responded to our enquiries." 

Indeed, Leslie sent me an e-mail to which decided not to reply.   I don't know who this Joanne K. is, perhaps the woman who listened in on the conversation with my ex-girlfriend."

"So, how is the book selling?" I asked R. 
"Oh, it's selling quite well."

I couldn't resist the temptation, and  I said, "Perhaps such killings will help you graduate to the hardback editions!"