The unanswered prayer of a writer at the time of his decline
Capote could write. Oh if he could. Not that my opinion counts anything, but I would never let anybody else get away with a tedious book like this one without feeling at least slightly homicidal. Tedious is a compliment, actually. But let's not be
Capote could write. Oh if he could. Not that my opinion counts anything, but I would never let anybody else get away with a tedious book like this one without feeling at least slightly homicidal. Tedious is a compliment, actually. But let's not be so harsh. It's always sad to come to the realization a great talent is gone. Or rather, a great mind behind that talent.
Answered Prayers is an unfinished posthumously published novel by Truman Capote. It's no secret Capote expended the greatest part of himself and of his talent compiling the impressive and incomparable true crime novel that is In cold blood. In his unfinished work Capote takes a look, through the eyes of an alter ego called P.B.Jones, at the world of the rich, the famous and the artsy. Without much complimenting any of these categories. Still he finds time and space to be sort of apologetic, through his sarcastic bouts. His depiction of this world and of its inhabitants it's not overall a cheerful and optimistic one. But I'm tired of reading apologies of the ineptitudes of those that are spoiled and rotten at their core. I'm tired of reading books pointing out how fascinating and terrible the life of those people travelling back and forth from St. Moritz to New York is; of how tortured the souls of the habitués of the Ritz are and how difficult is for them to carry on in the face of existential disasters showered in litres of champagne and daiquiris. And what about the apology of prostitution as the ultimate means of giving vent to maladjustement? Bullshit.
Despite my love for the prose, which is charming and addictive and it's the only trace of Capote's genius - and that's what got me to the end of the book - I couldn't feel anything but bother and frustration. But not the kind of bother and frustration books with a purpose induce in the readers to make them acknowldge something, to give them more scope on a given problem; rather, the kind of bother and frustration one experiences when forced to skim through gossip flooding the first page of magazines and newpapers with poor sense of editorial integrity.