Complete Stories

This is the complete short story collection by Capote except the immortal "Breakfast at Tiffany's". (But that one is categorized as a novella i guess.) The sweep of the plots and characters and subjects and settings of his stories is amazing. Most of us know his "In Cold Blood" but these short stories are fascinating read too. Read these and then get a copy of Tiffany's as well to experience one of the greatest modern writers of twentieth century.

Thanks

The big bird went berzerk, absolutely bonkers. While great flapping crow wings beat furiously, mercilessly, ruthlessly and repeatedly against the tinted glass side window of the neighbors' new white Japanese import parked in their drive-way one hot, humid sunny summer day, a second crow which had been perched precariously on the edge of the garage roof peak observing every detail, swooped lazily, gracefully, effortlessly down, landed on the automobile roof to investigate the matter, and hopped around, wide-eyed and frantic in anticipation. R. Royce, who had just then walked outside his house to check his mail noticed, and immediately ran across the street and over to the vehicle to frighten them both away, thinking that they might scratch and damage it in their efforts to gain access to food or shelter. Within minutes after they had both flown away, he realized that the larger, over-protective male crow must have become inexplicably insanely jealous of his mate and had actually believed he spied another crow much like himself, a most formidable, territorial adversary, in the mirror of the car window. He flew into a rage. Essentially, he had been cock-fighting his own glass reflection. Later that very afternoon, while tending the roses in his own backyard, Royce saw the female crow perched quietly on the electric wire suspended between two telephone poles, high above, pondering him in awe, watching him in wonder: how quickly and completely the man had resolved their conflict, making their terrible problem vanish into thin air. "When fools rush in," she must have thought. Undoubtedly, they are highly intelligent, observant creatures and have very keen vision. On this particular day he would not have to "eat crow" for his sometimes callous actions and indiscrete, unprofessional behavior. After all, he was no bird-brain or idiot. Which curiously and fondly reminded him of his childhood at Grandma Lea's: You're a little kid at Grandma's house and you want to play in the muddy ditch filled with fresh rain-water and look for crayfish. She lets you explore these majestic surroundings to your heart's content. After a while, you want to go indoors for corn-bread, chili beans, and fried potatoes she's prepared especially for you--and a buttered dinner roll with strawberry jam and milk for desert. She lets you enter the house through the screen-door porch and glide across the linoleum-tiled kitchen, but only after spraying you down with water from a garden hose until you are squeaky clean. The tiny water-spray droplets sparkle and glisten, in contrast to the glorious blue sky. You are bathed in sunshine. You are barefoot, shirtless, wearing cut-off jeans. You feel overjoyed and comforted. You've seen the baby fawn, the pet racoon, and incredible swimming crustaceans. A few days later, July 6, the story was different. He had made a serious error in judgement: he should have worn gardening gloves. Royce had been stung five times simultaneously, reaching into the dense foliage of an ornamental bush planted in his backyard, as he attempted to grasp a clump of tall marsh grass and pull the blades of grass up, roots and all. The waxy-leaf bush had grown and thrived near the veranda, but so had the tall grass. Instead, he stirred up a nest of angry red wasps. Several of them flew out from the bush unexpectedly, and he ran toward the house to avoid further retaliation, agitation, and complications. His hand stung with sharp pain and it swelled up tremendously for a few days. He put ice on the hand, and was very fortunate that he did not exhibit dangerous symptoms of allergic reaction. A week later he was basically back to normal, with some slight visible scarring. The selections in The Complete Stories of Truman Capote, published in 2004 and written from 1943 to 1983, all exceptionally well-written, may be placed in four main categories: the family at home for the holidays; art and dreams; mid-life crises; and appeals to healers. In the first category, I would put my all-time favorite, "A Christmas Memory," then the other fine gems, "Jug of Silver," "Children on their Birthdays," "Thanksgiving Visitor," "One Christmas," and "My Side of the Matter." In the second category, I would place "Headless Hawk," "Master Misery," and "House of Flowers." In the third category, goes "Among the Paths to Eden," "A Mink of One's Own," "Shut a Final Door," "Preacher's Legend," and "The Bargain." In the final category you might discover "A Tree of Night," "Diamond Guitar," "Mojave," "Miriam," "The Walls are Cold," and "The Shape of Things." You should be forewarned, however, substance abuse and alcoholism; pervasive, extreme poverty; and pockets of ignorance are common threads that run throughout the stories as a whole. On a positive note, you have been gifted with the southern sun-belt version of a loving, caring, god-fearing family not too unlike the ones depicted in "the Waltons" of mountainous west Virginia and the "Little House on the Prairie" of corn-fed Iowa, seen in television re-runs.

That means you are looking at a book written by one of America’s very best writers. Magical imagination. Stunning. Can’t recommend it highly enough. He and Joan Didion run neck and neck for me.

Sehr schöne Sammlung der wichtigsten Kurzgeschichten des Autors! Besonders ansprechend finde ich persönlich „Children on Their Birthdays“. Vermutlich aus seiner eigenen Lebenserfahrung heraus nahm Capote Kinder ernst und schildert ihre Gefühle und Träume in dieser Kurzgeschichte eindringlich und sensibel. Trotz des günstigen Preises eine Ausgabe mit guter Printqualität und nicht zu kleinem Schriftbild.

These collected stories clearly indicate the two worlds Capote lived in. The hot and steamy deep South with the spinsters and aunts and grand holiday meals with many real and imagined childhood memories, and the New York elite among whom he mingled as an adult. The former was clearly more genuine and personal; nostalgic for bygone days. The latter world was filled with rich snobs being bitchy to each other, drunk, cheating, and unsympathetic. What's great about all the stories is Capote's use of language. His vocabulary and sentences are wonderful and worthy of anyone at any stage in their writing career.

Capote fiction seems generously sown with throwaway lines that you feel compelled to keep safe. Something uniquely diaphanous but tangibly meaningful, like a ghost that summons the self, and vice versa.The detailed review of this book — and many other works by Truman Capote are posted elsewhere under my name — is too long to post here.Above is one of its observations.