Waiting for the train this morning, I noticed another passenger reading In Cold Blood. I pointed this out to a friend. She groaned. Naturally, we assumed that the timing had something to do with Capote; after which the conversation went something like this:
Her: I mean, it was ok, but...
Me: yeah...
Her: well, ok, it's actually really good.
Me: yeah, I read it about 6 or 8 years ago, and I really liked it, but since then for no good reason, when others have talked it up, I've had a tendency to downplay it.
Her: it's more the resurgence of interest, I guess...
Me: I think it's more that, for many people, it's one of the only quasi-literary books they read...
Her: Yes! I felt the same way about Kavalier & Clay--I loved that book, but not only was everyone reading it, but it was all they would read...
Would you believe me if I told you that it reads much snottier than it actually was?
In any event, here's an excellent recent appreciation of the book by Ellis Sharp.
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