Okay, Maybe I am Haunted

So when I heard the news about Paul Newman today I was upset. All out of proportion upset. Not upset for the same reasons as other people were-of course, I admire his work greatly (I think his Brick in "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof" is just about as perfect a match of actor and character as you can find) and one can't imagine a cooler, hotter, more charitable soul than he but I was upset on behalf of someone else.



Here's where it gets complicated.

That someone else is a fictional character.



As any regular reader of this blog knows I am a huge fan of Willy Vlautin's novel, Northline. The protaganist of that book, Allison Johnson, copes with the challenging situations in her life by having imaginary conversations with Paul Newman. So, when I heard that he was sick and not expected to live much longer I kept thinking of Allison and how upset she would be when he left this world for good even though I know

1) she is a fictional character and

2) that their unique relationship wasn't bound by the physical world.

And now that he's gone I'd like nothing more than to tell her I'm sorry. I also feel like I should write Willy Vlautin though I'm not sure to say what. Maybe just to commiserate or note this passing, rather like you'd elbow someone you were skywatching with to say, "Wow, that was a bright one."



Yeah, that.