In Cold Blood

The Golden Rule is:  “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.”

The Golden Rule of the Internet is:  “If you can’t say something nice, at least say something funny.”

That in mind, I would like to declare that In Cold Blood by Truman Capote is like the worst murder mystery ever written.  If he tried to get a job working for the Law & Order franchise, DickWolf (his name should be one) would laugh him out of the office.

The other Golden Rule of the Internet is “NO SPOILERS!” so unfortunately, I cannot tell you exactly why this book was so terrible.  But like the cruel, cruel Internet, it became a thing that I loved to hate:  five pages in, I was convinced that I hated the book and yet I dutifully pulled it out on every commute until it was finished.

Well, give me a prize for amazing foresight.  Because I truly did not like this book.  I tried, believe me, I tried.  But I cannot like this flimsy excuse for a narrative.  It was boring.  It was pointless.  I got the distinct impression that I was reading a book filled with words to meet a quota, and not a story that poured out onto the pages.

I’m sorry, Internet.  You were the one who convinced me I needed to read this book.  You let me down.  I love to hate you this way.  I love to hate In Cold Blood.  And for clear and perfectly valid reasons, much unlike…

Rule #2.  No spoilers.


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