I have a burning question (and a kitschy line): What the fuck am I doing?
“Caroline, at that time, was the most beautiful girl that I knew. She had, and still has, long brown hair that swept across her back, waving with her movement. She was tall and, though her weight has fluctuated with her back and forth ideals of character, had these elongated legs that made her look like the supermodels that she watched on TV. And I was jealous. I noticed once when we were changing together in a clothing store, that she had four tiny brown moles on the crest of her right breast. They were in no particular arrangement, but rather scattered across her breast as if sprinkled there once, in her sleep. I imagined how wild that would drive a man: her smooth, white skin in contrast to those dark, round moles. I couldn’t believe that I was pawning over my sister’s tits, all the while afflicted by my lack of boob marks. I realized that I only have one mole. It’s shaped like the state of Texas and is located at the very end of my left butt cheek. When I wear a bathing suit, or dare I try, sexy underpants, it doesn’t look like a divine sprinkle, but more like shit splattered on my upper leg.
Anyway, she was very beautiful at that time, frankly, in a way that I didn’t understand. She used a straightener on her hair way more than I did, and yet her it remained that long, brown, unbroken mane. Mine was a pile of black frizz with split ends that could directions if requested to do so. She was long and proportioned and I had an ass that looked inflated. She ate whatever she wanted (usually Pizza Rolls and mini bagels) while I starved myself, forcing only rice cakes down my throat for nourishment. She was funny, she was witty as shit. And I was awkward enough to take up tuba playing for a semester in high school. She had friends and boyfriends and two separate eyebrows; none of which I possessed.
So, I didn’t understand why she would run herself down while I was there, craving to be her. Craving to have her unstoppable come-back lines and her social status; standing in a mall changing room, wishing that I had her boobs.”
In this free write, I used a lot of sensory details and comparisons in an attempt to keep the reader reading. Did you read it? Or, did you just finish it out of obligation? At this point, I can’t see anyone else going on unless they happen to be of relation to me, or if they are the one grading said project. I digress. I’m trying to answer a posed question, though I never really do. Is that disappointing for the reader? Frustrating? I don’t think I really employ any of Capote’s techniques, through I did find his novel helpful in stimulating the thought and question of how you move a reader through a nonfiction piece.
Capote keeps the reader reading with his use of suspense. The reader wants to learn about how the event took place and what the repercussions where. Why the innocent Clutter family? What happens to Nancy’s friends? Who is Perry, and why does Capote write with such an affinity towards him? Even if these questions are never answered, the reader becomes a detective with Capote and looks within his words to try to make sense of such a senseless catastrophe.
This, I will argue, is not the only reason that the reader reads on, regardless of the fact that the killers are identified within the first twenty pages. The reader goes on because there is a certain insanity in the fact that we are reading from the perspective of a man who never met the Clutter family. This is what keeps the reader throughout the whole first half. I have to wonder how Capote comes to intimately know at family that was dead before he ever heard of them. And similarly, I become so captivated by the fact that I am moved to know these characters. It is obvious to say that Capote did significant research, but the fact that he literally resurrects the Clutter’s through his descriptions is why this book is read.
