After watching Capote, the 2005 film tonight (for the umpteenth time), I’ve decided that I must re-read both To Kill a Mockingbird and In Cold Blood as part of my Favorites Project. I need to read To Kill a Mockingbird simply because it’s been years, but In Cold Blood is such a personal — intimate — favorite of mine. As I lay there weeping as quietly as I could tonight … at the end, when Perry is hanged … all I could think about is that there very few books that capture the totality of the human experience. Very few books are written so beautifully. Capote’s writing is (I have always thought) strong, clear, powerful, almost lyrical. The story is a perfect tragedy, a modern tragedy.
Boggles the mind to think about it. So I won’t for too long. My Harper Lee (the kitten version) is announcing that it’s time to go to bed. Probably best.