De Truman Capote li um livro excepcional,"A Sangue Frio" e depois disso ainda nada li que me entusiasmasse ao mesmo nível.
Este é o seu primeiro livro, tinha apenas 23 anos quando o escreveu e há algo de autobiográfico nele.
É um livro interessante, mas cheio de "malabarismos literários", um pouco à imagem que o autor veio depois a construir sobre a sua vida.
Eu chamar-lhe-ia um livro com muita coisa de barroco, pelo estilo demasiado evidente com que ele descreve imagens e situações e que nem sempre resulta.

62-oji XX a. Aukso fondo knyga. Mistinis romanas, kuris pagal kritikus, turėtų žavėti. Deja man tokia mistika per daug primityvi ir amerikietiška. Chaotiški veikėjai, chaotiškas siužetas, chaotiškas ir paviršutiniškas pasakojimas.

"Other Voices Other Rooms" is at times massively confusing, intensely beautiful, and mystical. Often, all at the same time. Capote's command and use of language and style is unquestionably brilliant, and many times the text reads like poetry. Capote is simply a masterful composer of language. Every word in its rightful place.
Capote also has the gift that many writers lack and that is a descriptive prowess that completely surrounds the reader and engulfs them in the world of the text. The first time that Idabel describes the history of the Cloud Hotel to Joel the reader finds themselves seeing this world materialize in front of their eyes. To be so completely lost in a work speaks highly of the writer's abilities!
Another great strength of this text is how accurately it displays how a child left to his own devices has to create and interpret the world around him. Joel is left to figure out the world for himself, and considering his age and limited experience he does a decent job of it. Joel's interpretations of the world are oftentimes not concrete, or even accurate, and this is where the adult reader will find themselves at moments confused. Reread, it will be worth it.
The main theme of this novel is love and acceptance, and how we all pine for it from our earliest memories. Every character longs for it in some form. The successful ones find it first in themselves. The recognition of that is the greatest achievement in this text, and the scariest.

my favorite quotes:

"...all his prayers of the past had been simple concrete requests: God, give me a bicycle, a knife with seven blades, a box of oil paints. Only how, how, could you say something so indefinite, so meaningless as this: God, let me be loved."

"...so few of us learn that love is tenderness, and tenderness is not, as a fair proportion suspect, pity; and still fewer know that happiness in love is not the absolute focusing of all emotion in another: one has always to love a good many things which the beloved must come to symbolize; the true beloveds of this world are in their lover's eyes lilac opening, school bells, a landscape, remembered conversations, friends, a child's Sunday, lost voices, one's favorite suit, autumn and all it's seasons, memory, yes, it being the earth and water of existence, memory."

"the brain may take advice, but not the heart, and love, having no geography, knows no boundaries: weight and sink it deep, no matter, it will rise and find the surface: and why not? any love is natural and beautiful that lies within a person's nature; only hypocrites would hold a man responsible for what he loves, emotional illiterates and those of righteous envy, who, in their agitated concern, mistake so frequently the arrow pointing to heaven for the one that leads to hell."

"What we want most is to be held...and told..that everything (everything is a funny thing, is baby milk and papa's eyes, is roaring logs on a cold morning, is hoot owls and the boy who makes you cry after school, is mama's long hair, is being afraid and twisted faces on the bedroom wall)...is going to be alright."

loved this book. LOOOOVED it.

Other Voices, Other Rooms is a coming-of-age novel but I felt there was no real plot or point; I struggled to understand what was happening for half the novel. I’d finally feel I got to grips with it and understood what was happening, only to turn the page and feel lost all over again. I feel like this novel was meant to be a profound piece of literature but it felt a bit like Capote tried too hard, tried to be too poetic and mysterious and totally lost me, as a reader, along the way.

My favourite parts of this novel were Joel Knox’s interactions with Idabel, mainly because Idabel was such an interesting character – in a world were ladies are supposed to be ‘proper’, she was a tomboy that wanted to run free.

Now this is where real life gets more interesting than fiction; after finishing this novel, I was thoroughly confused so I decided to read the Introduction, written by John Berendt, hoping it’d shed some light on the novel. I found out that Capote and Harper Lee, the very Harper Lee who wrote ‘To Kill a Mocking Bird’, were childhood friends. Capote based the character of Idabel on Harper Lee [which probably explains why I liked her character], in return she based one of her characters in ‘To Kill a Mocking Bird’ on him.

Throughout this read, I took a particular disliking to Joel’s stepmother, Miss Amy, mainly because she said things like:

“Just a hotbed of crazy nigger-notions, that girl.”

“Her mouth worked in a furious way. ‘Niggers! Angela Lee warned me time again, said never trust a nigger: their minds and hair are full of kinks in equal measure.’”

I just didn’t care for the language; this novel was first published in 1948 so I completely understand language is used in this text that wouldn’t necessary be used today but Miss Amy was just so vulgar in her speech at times, always thinking she’s better than everybody else. As I read the Introduction, it turned out Miss Amy was based on one of Capote’s relatives.

The plot thickens…. Capote always denied this book was somewhat autobiographical, despite himself sharing so many similarities with Joel, for example, they were both born in New Orleans and longed for their fathers, they were both sent South to live with relatives, both took their mother’s surnames. Later Capote said he was not aware, except for a few descriptions, that he had made the book so autobiographical.

Berendt in the Introduction, also mentions that for Capote’s career his real life would go on to interest people more than his written works. So, while this book didn’t hold my interest because I wasn’t sure what was happening half the time, I certainly found its comparison to Capote’s real life interesting.

Truman Capote's "Other Voices, Other Rooms" is a beautiful, creative, delectable novel. In short, it is like a magnificent and diverse banquet that overwhelms all your senses. This is the book, his first book at the age of 24, that immediately shot him to literary and international fame.

It is lyrical, enchanting, spiritual, haunting, and at times it hinges on the supernatural. The writing at times is so effortless that it reminded me of Byron (a super high compliment), at other times so painstaking and thoughtful and descriptive that it reminded me of Conrad (another super high compliment). The dialogue, the story, and the location reminded me of Faulkner (still another super high compliment) and finally the creative and imaginary vision reminded me of Twain (another super high compliment). But, have no doubt, in the end it is one hundred per cent Capote.

The characters are unforgettable, even characters seen only in a photo are bestowed with a richness and distinction that makes them unforgettable. The struggle of young Joel and his ability to survive under the strangest of circumstances while living in a house without electricity and running water and a with cast of individuals that are both eerie and unpredictable, yet, fascinating is engrossing and gripping.

This is the work of pure genius. This is the book that you hand to an aspiring writer and simply remark, "If you ever want to know what great writing is, just read this book. Don't try to imitate the style because that would be futile and stupid but try to set your standards as a writer at the level of this book and the dedication to detail and character development that is required to be a great writer.

Suggested by Greg as pure southern Gothic, and good to read before rereading Carson McCullers

Why is it that when I find a book worthy of five stars I'm at a loss for words, and can't write anything sensible about it? Well, let's just say that I fell head over heels with Capote after this one. One hundred percent more skill than his friend Harper Lee. The way Capote uses words is simple yet it creates a strong sense of place. The lack of plot doesn't really matter for me personally, because there's everything I could ever need from a Southern Gothic novel. Eccentric characters, ambiguous sexuality, abandoned houses, weird stories told by even weirder people, suffocating sense of alienation, dream-like sequences and overall cigarette and brandy fumed melancholia.

Exquisite. Beautiful. A masterpiece.

Прекрасният описателен език на Труман Капоти за съзряването на едно момче (което може би е той самият). Думи, които наистина оживяват и се преживяват. Не може да не се пренесеш там и да не чувстваш това, което чувстват и героите. Иначе, няма кой знае какви случки, но е красиво и доста тъжно, меланхолично и носталгично.


n  ... любовта е нежност, а нежността не е съжаление, както немалко хора смятат; още по-малко са тези, които разбират, че щастието в любовта не е в абсолютното фокусиране на всички емоции в една: човек трябва да обича много неща, а любимият трябва да се явява само като нещо, което ги символизира; истинските възлюбени на тази земя в очите на своите любими са люляков цвят, корабни светлини, училищен звънец, пейзаж, запечатани разговори, приятели, детска неделя, изгубени гласове, любим костюм, есен и всички сезони, памет, да, памет, пръстта и водата на всяко съществуване. Все носталгични неща, но пък има ли по-носталгична тема от любовта?

Нали знаеш, че след злополука, физическа, духовна или каквато и да била друга, човек си мисли, че ако е следвал знаците (в такива случаи човек почти винаги си въобразява знаци) нищо не би се случило; и все пак дори и да знаех абсолютно всичко от това, което щеше да се случи, щях да постъпя по същия начин, защото в живота на всеки човек има ситуации, в които той се явява само един конец от гоблена, предварително извезан от... кой да кажа? Бог?

Мозъкът понякога се вслушва в съвети, но не и сърцето; по същия начин любовта няма география и затова не познава граници - дори да я завържеш за камък и да хвърлиш дълбоко под водата, тя ще изплува и ще намери път към повърхността: и защо не? Всяка любов, която се таи в природата на човека, е естествена и красива: само лицемерите държат човек отговорен за нещата, които обича; емоционални невежи и завистници, те са тези, които често са прекалено загрижени и бъркат стрелата, която сочи към рая с тази, която води към ада.

...ние сме самотници, скъпо дете, безнадеждно изолирани еди от друг; гротеската наречена свят е толкова ужасяваща, че не ни позволява да изказваме и даваме израз на нашата нежност; за нас смъртта е по-силна от живота, всмуква ни като торнадо в мрака и превръща всички наши ридания в безрадостен смях; и самотата се трупа в нас, докато не се пръснем и разплискаме зелена кръв, а дотогава ходим по тази земя и крещим, умираме в стаи под наем, кошмарни хотели, вечни обиталища за преходните ни сърца.

Същата нощ излязох по улиците, покрай доковете и на глас умолявах себе си да замина, са бъда отново сам, сякаш и така не бях сам, да си наема друга стая в някакъв друг живот.

Когато открият някой човек за себе си, повечето хора биват завладени от илюзията, че откриват самите себе си: очите на другия отразяват тяхната истинска прекрасна цена.

...небето навсякъде е еднакво, а само долу на земята нещата са различни.n

n  I can truthfully sayn that I was not expecting such a spooky southern gothic romance as this coming from the guy who wrote Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

I’d seen both movie versions of Capote, which depict him as pretty much an asshole, and you can see the germinations of such a stance even in OVOR, but what no one ever told me how bloody awesome this book is! The specific tone—gothic to the core, and southern, and so familiar…—is so spot on the achievement rises above any other consideration of the author and his own personal history.

For anyone who fawns over tales told as the burning dusk melts upon a blackened horizon, for anyone who has ever wandered into the Tunnel of Love past midnight, when the carnival was closed down, or who has realized that the melancholic ache is one of life’s sweetest delights, delight in this thee shall, tremendously…



The prose—labelled by some critics as rococo, as if that’s a bad thing—are, for me, word perfect; there is a sheer controlled minimalism sustained throughout that make it a joy to read and ultra-accessible. To think, Truman was only 23 when he wrote this… some writers come out of the gate fully-formed.

I suspect that the novel is somewhat autobiographical and in that sense we can understand the maturity on display. It made me think of various forms of “otherness” and how that is so often key to a poetic look at life. Mr Capote balances this with a shrewdness that is likewise beyond his years, and crucial in seeing something deeper in this already deep well of a book.

One could be forgiven for breezing through the chapters and solely admiring the ornaments (esp. if you’re a fan of antique doll museums or find yourself awakening out of a fugue state in a hall of mirrors). But there are snakes in this grass, and TC is their charmer. Shockingly graphic scenes (which I shan’t spoil) dot the landscape, but the tone never shifts, and you could easily miss them. Beware.



Truman Capote reminds me a bit of Gus van Sant: both cut their teeth on gay melancholy, and both, once tasting the fame their considerable talent (rather than the melancholy) brought on, ditched the sad stuff for more commercial and easier critical appeal. Perhaps that’s a bit harsh, but it is my attempt to square what I know of the man, and what I’ve read of In Cold Blood.

That is not to say that the melancholy on display in OVOR is inauthentic, as Capote is intelligent enough to know when to be truthful. There’s also a sense, something I picked up in the movies as well, that he always knew who he was, and was never ashamed of it. One can't overlook the courage needed for this.

If you truly have no fear then no one can touch you, not even if you’re a gay man in the midcentury American Bible Belt. Truman lived that truth, and we can all learn from that, whoever we are.



The shrewdness and coldness—as occult as they may be—keep me from gushingly cherishing this book; but I might not always have been so callous. It is every bit as good as The Picture of Dorian Gray, that is to say: it is a reincarnation of that masterpiece. Chapter 8 in particular, for me, is pure genius. I have no qualms about saying that several images throughout will stay with me.

n  pictures are from silent hill & several frames from k.d. lang's music video for 'constant craving', which shares that particular vibe that pervades this novel.n

A sensitive southern child goes to live in a dilapidated mansion with a cast of freaks. The writing is excellent if flowery, but southern Gothic as a style peaked with Flannery O'Connor, and I found the procession of incestuous grotesques and descriptions of pungent foliage and rotting masonry interminable even at two hundred pages.