Remaining Uncertain About Truman Capote

 I have written before about Truman Capote here, but here is a brief recap: growing up I saw Capote on TV and thought he could not be much of a writer; then I learned of In Cold Blood; then came more movies about him, and in prison, I came to read him, and was surprised at his qualities (he was a good short story writer). He does not seem like much of a writer, more like a pathology.

Hallam Bullock's Capote and the Treachery of the Decade does not resolve my uncertainties, only a tilt to compassion for talent that flared and left nothing to support growth.

Either he was going to kill it, or it was going it to kill him. When Truman Capote said this to Dick Cavett in 1971, ‘it’ was still gathering like a cloud in Capote’s mind. For years, Capote had been working the media circuit, joking that the fallout from his magnum opus, Answered Prayers, would make him persona non grata with New York’s glitterati. When the first chapters thunked into print, Capote’s predictions came to be. As a skilled social climber, it seemed Capote had summoned a storm for the sheer thrill of surviving it.

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Disappointment. Dismay. Disgust. Upon first reading Answered Prayers, these are all appropriate responses. Capote’s Women, however, goes some way to recontextualise the unfinished work. It is no surprise that the young Capote cultivated dreams of a different life. He spent most of his childhood as a guest in other people’s worlds, always at risk of being shown the door. In many ways, that never changed. When I imagine Capote’s isolation at the end of his life, I struggle not to see a young boy locked in a hotel room. Screaming. Banging on the door. Hoping that, if it eventually opens, everyone is where he hoped they’d be.

sch 5/5