Dear Mr Rothfuss,
A red headed friend of mine, who always knew what books would keep me up at night, lent me your book "The Name of the Wind" a few years ago. His name was Johnny. I called him that our whole lives, until high school, when he said it made him sound like a little kid. I proceeded to tell him that I earned the right to call him whatever I wanted. This April, he committed suicide with a shotgun. I took that copy of the book (the one he lent to me but never managed to get returned) with me to a beach in North Carolina and re-read it. Johnny always bemoaned the lack of red-headed role models, of people who looked like him. Our seven words were, "well, we will always have Bora Bora". This refers to a joke he made about us traveling to Bora Bora and reading together on the beach- only because it was so expensive and we were always reading. It was a nice dream.
Anyway, I'm writing to you because I re-read your book and I wanted to talk to you about one of your biggest fans and one of my best friends. He was one of the broken people, and I didn't even know it until it was too late. He always said that you, Mr. Rothfuss, should take your time writing a book, rather than rush it. I wish he had stuck around long enough to read it with me.
Thank you for writing something that he and I enjoyed together.
Thank you for writing something that will always make me think of him, even when it hurts...
Especially this quote:
“He would be here soon, all sweet and brave and shattered and kind. He would come carrying and clever-fingered and oh so unaware of oh so many things. He was rough against the world, but even so. . . .”
I guess that's what I was really writing you for.
Kara
Photo is property of Johnny's family, used with permission
Words are property of Sunravelme