Book Journal: In Cold Blood
In Cold Blood - Truman Capote
I learned to hate this book before I even reached the middle. In full admission, I did not finish it, having stopped halfway through.
Saying that the writing was tedious is an understatement. Capote, either out of fear of missing out on even the smallest detail or simply because he loved the sound of his own words, wrote a grueling true crime novel that was infuriating at times with how long it took to make a point.
It was slightly interesting at first, as I do enjoy watching true crime videos and such, but the amount of time it took him to even just get to the murder was immense. I truly tried to enjoy it. I tried to give it a chance. But it simply was going nowhere. Having to sit there as he describes these personal moments and boring details about town diners and cornfields became too much to bear.
I have since heard that the book was a smash when it was released. And perhaps because I have a shorter attention span than folks from decades ago, it is part of the reason I found it so unenjoyable. Especially considering I can watch a 20 minute YouTube video and get the real story of what happened (as I've also since heard Capote embellished some of the details and events).
I began reading this book in October and came to hate the thought of picking it back up so much I completely gave up on reading. I just felt obligated to get through it because it was a gift. If I am asked, I'll say I enjoyed it.
I can only think of two other books I've hated this much before. Piers Anthony's 'Orn', which like this book seemed like one written by a person who thought using a lot of words somehow translated to great writing and intelligence. And Dan Brown's 'Da Vinci Code', which I can at least give minor credit to being somewhat interesting, if not mainstream schlock.
I am not sure I even want this book on my shelf. I just despised it that much. It makes me think I need to revisit Hemingway soon, since he was famous for getting to the fucking point.
I learned to hate this book before I even reached the middle. In full admission, I did not finish it, having stopped halfway through.
Saying that the writing was tedious is an understatement. Capote, either out of fear of missing out on even the smallest detail or simply because he loved the sound of his own words, wrote a grueling true crime novel that was infuriating at times with how long it took to make a point.
It was slightly interesting at first, as I do enjoy watching true crime videos and such, but the amount of time it took him to even just get to the murder was immense. I truly tried to enjoy it. I tried to give it a chance. But it simply was going nowhere. Having to sit there as he describes these personal moments and boring details about town diners and cornfields became too much to bear.
I have since heard that the book was a smash when it was released. And perhaps because I have a shorter attention span than folks from decades ago, it is part of the reason I found it so unenjoyable. Especially considering I can watch a 20 minute YouTube video and get the real story of what happened (as I've also since heard Capote embellished some of the details and events).
I began reading this book in October and came to hate the thought of picking it back up so much I completely gave up on reading. I just felt obligated to get through it because it was a gift. If I am asked, I'll say I enjoyed it.
I can only think of two other books I've hated this much before. Piers Anthony's 'Orn', which like this book seemed like one written by a person who thought using a lot of words somehow translated to great writing and intelligence. And Dan Brown's 'Da Vinci Code', which I can at least give minor credit to being somewhat interesting, if not mainstream schlock.
I am not sure I even want this book on my shelf. I just despised it that much. It makes me think I need to revisit Hemingway soon, since he was famous for getting to the fucking point.