People have been pointing at this book and either praising it or trashing it. I guess now I'll become one of those people.

The story is told from the view of a fourteen year old dead girl. That in itself might be enough to get your attention. It might be enough to get you to pick up the book. It might even be enough to get you through a few chapters.

Yes, it's a neat storytelling technique. It's interesting, almost provocative.

The girl, Susie, has been raped and murdered. Her killer is on the loose and her family is devastated. Her mother and father drift apart and her siblings, younger sister and brother don't know what's what.

Susie sits up in her "heaven" and follows the fate of her family on earth. She follows the lives of her friends and the boy she kissed. And she can only sit and watch her family fall apart.

While this storytelling technique works wonders at first it's somewhat problematic. It isn't enough to keep the story going and in on itself it becomes somewhat clichéish very fast.

We already know who killed the girl. He's on the loose and the need for closure becomes the main topic of interest for the reader. We want her killer captured and we want to see her family healed somewhat. So we sit up there with Susie, watch and wait.

Susie the storyteller might not be the most reliable storyteller around. Should the reader believe her every word? Why shouldn't (s)he? Susie is young and she is dead. Her perspective is the one of the all knowing - she sees what she wants and hears what she wants. She has no reason to tell the story any other way than she sees it.
But there is a big question mark over her "heaven".

Surely a fourteen year old girl who gets raped and murdered goes to heaven? If there's such a place I'd like to think so as much as Alice Sebold. On contrary to Sebold though I'd like to think of it as nicer place. Being cooped up in a gazebo, watching her family go through the motions, watching her parents separate and her killer get away is more of my idea of hell and not heaven.

A limbo, if you please.

The story is heartfelt. The storyteller devoted. The writer gifted.
I felt the topic somewhat draining but other readers might find it interesting to see what happens to a family who looses a child to such atrocities. I on the other hand felt it was both draining and rather irritating.

The last drop for me came when the dead girl Susie gets the opportunity to interact on earth once more. She chooses not to see her family. Not to see her father, her mother or her brother or sister but to have intercourse with the boy she once kissed.

At this suddenly the story lost all its credibility. Because even though I can handle the dead girl telling the story and even think it's a neat trick - this was too much. Why would a raped and murdered 14 year old use this grand opportunity she gets to come back to have sex? Why would that be on the top of her priority list?

I don't get it.

The story is rather good. It's well written. It's inventive and it brings out emotions (although it becomes overly sentimental at times) and the characters are mostly believable. And what it lacks in plot it makes up in the spunk the storyteller has. She is fun and youthful and inspiring.

But not believable (if there is such a thing for a story like this) and in that single scene Sebold lost me.

I haven’t seen the movie where Hoffman portrays Capote. In fact I don’t think I’ve seen or heard much of anything regarding Capote before. I haven’t read Breakfast at Tiffany’s. I haven’t even seen the movie. (No, I’m not afraid to admit it. Yes, it is a little embarrassing). So besides hearing of him and off Hoffman’s Oscar performance I knew very little before I started to read In Cold Blood. Now when I’ve read a little about the author though it seems like he should have been a character in TV series like Ally McBeal or Boston Legal, perhaps their creator David E. Kelley is a fan?

The book In Cold Blood: A True Account of a Multiple Murder and Its Consequences is, as the subtitle states, based on a true story. Capote researched the murder and interviewed as many people who knew the victims and the murderer’s as he could. The research took him years and he started immediately after the murder’s happened. The book is sometimes described as a pioneering work in the true crime genre, an originator in non-fictional novels and a forerunner to the New Journalism movement. It is, all in all, an important piece of writing.

And it is a well written novel. The characters are vivid. The language is exceptional and it keeps its reader wanting more. What else does a good novel need?

I was aware of the true story aspect of the book before I started reading it. And although I stay away from true stories as a child keeps away from the fire I for some reason decided to dip my toe in. Whether Capote’s writing is exactly accurate is of course debatable. I highly doubt that it is possible to write a book (tell a story, report news) exactly accurate. As this is a piece of writing, art if you will, I see it as inconsequencial if he was exactly accurate or not. It doesn’t bother me as a reader if someone was wearing blue trousers instead of yellow or who said what when. I’m only interested in the story Capote has to tell.

And it is a story worth telling and he tells it well. It’s a story worth reading and yet when I put the book down I felt somewhat dissatisfied.

I am in the habit of looking for the point of things. When a writer travels and spends years researching a certain criminal case so close to his own history I must ask myself what was the point? What did he have in mind? When he finished the novel, what was the point of telling the story? Was he just experimenting with the non-fictional form and treating into the journalism aspect of storytelling or did he have something else in mind?

And somewhat to my dismay I was left unsatisfied in this aspect. I see no grand morale of the story (which I should and do regard as a good thing – we have too many moral lessons (I prefer the Swedish word morale-cake) in literature) and I see no point other than what I’ve stated above.

Was he just interested in this particular case, a perfectly human curiosity which he decided to make a story off? Did he have something to say about capital punishment? About brutal crimes? I guess the topic has already been discussed to death and I’m sure the debate will go on.

What I do think is that for the lack of this point that I was hoping for I find the plot and the story somewhat tattered. The daughters cake-baking, the background of the two criminals, the deeds done to the Clutter family, the trip to Mexico, the chase, the trial, the imprisonment, the deaths of the perpetrators. It’s all portrait in the story and real life is greatly lacking in plot as we know. Capote does the best he can with it but because of the pointlessness (I’m sorry I can’t find a better word for it) I find myself almost hoping for a moral-cake in the end just so that the bits and pieces will somehow fall into place. But they never do.

Instead you are left with a well written novel which is based on a true crime. The reason the reader actually reads to the end (and I suspect many don’t) lies in the details of the crime (which is brutal and yet somewhat of a carrot if the reader is the donkey) and then in the satisfaction when the perpetrators are punished.

It’s an interesting novel and I have great respect for Capote’s work. Whether every detail is correct isn’t important to me as I am not reading the novel to get full details of the heinous crime (and yet I get them – all the gory details). I still feel reservation towards this book for the reason stated and for the fact that I don’t like reading true stories.

A true story, in my opinion, is never as well written as a fictional one so I guess to know the extent of Capote’s capacity I will have to read something else he has written.

"And perhaps you wonder who am I to be running interference, to be acting as her translator and yours. Mine is the speech, the rhythm and rhyme of an old and peculiar man who has been locked away for too long, punished for pursuing a taste of his own." (The End of Alice, p. 11)

A.M. Homes is a brave writer. She dares to be cheerful (This Book will Save your Life) and she dares to enter the abyss that is the dark side of the human psyche. The storyteller in this book is a pedophile convicted of raping and murdering. The storyteller is as unstable and as unreliable as they get. He tells his story in bits and pieces and the reader goes through the disgust and the hatred and the emotions not knowing if the man is trustworthy, if he tells the truth or if he’s just describing whatever filth comes to his mind, trying to make cracks in the readers defenses.

A.M. Homes is a great writer. She writes with skill and perfection the words that are the words of the criminal. The reader doubts everything but one thing. The reader never doubts the atrocities he has done but what we learn from reading this book is the same thing we should learn each time we open the newspapers that tell of men kidnapping little girls, that tell of men making underground prisons so they can make sure their daughters will be theirs forever. We read because we want to know what lies behind the darkness. We want to know what it is because we believe if we do we’ll be less afraid of it. This book delves into more than the psyche of a criminal. It delves into the ifs and whats and whynots of the reader himself.

It’s a well written novel. It’s an extraordinary novel that drives you up the wall and drives you insane with rage. It infuriates which is a good thing. A story like this should infuriate. And it should be told. Because it doesn’t depict a demoralized society but a crazed individual and each time we try to understand is a step closer to a solution. Some kind of solution to a great problem.

The End of Alice is a great book. It exceeds Nabokov’s Lolita in every way possible.

It's been a while since I posted here. The writing went well before the vacation but now I'm in a slum. Vacation is over and I'm down with a persistent stomach flu that won't leave me be. I haven't read as much as I wanted this summer and I haven't written as much as I needed to.

Oh well... there will be new days. Better days. Until them I'm going to try to read The Hill of Dreams by Arthur Machen. Hope it's good! :)

*sigh*

I'm such a sheep.
It's not that I haven't been writing. 
I just haven't been writing in here. I guess when push comes to shove that's a good thing. Yet it's not. I didn't mean to neglect this part of my world. Recently I've been keeping a handwritten journal over my writing thoughts. It's more inspired by the incredibly beautiful book that I have to write in than anything else. 

I've written a few short stories lately and I feel there is another one ready to burst out. I've posted short stories on writerscafe.org [You can veiw them here] and the first draft of my book is very crude but finished. Well - well better get back to it :)

Yes, no  I haven't finished my book. I have been writing though, a lot which might be one of the reasons why I've been so lazy to write here. I've had bad moments. I've strayed into short stories. I've had moments. And now I'm not far from the end. I still have quite some things to do but it's coming along. 

I'm writing a bit about a shrink which is hard. I've read up on the subject but I've never been to one - so I'm not quite sure how to proceed. I will have to find a way though... that's what we do... ;)

If only I didn't have to go to the dentist...

I've been drowsing but I got a huge push in the behind yesterday. I wrote a short story and finished it on the 28th which was kind of nice to get out of the system but now I'm back in my book full force which is good for the selfesteem. I have to move forward with this and it seems to be going in the right direction. I've even managed to integrate text that I'd given up on. I guess the pause was good for me but now ... now it's time to wake up from this sleep and write!

I wrote a page and a half yesterday in Swedish. It went well except for some obvious grammar and spelling errors. I have the ability to twist and turn the language a tad but I make rookie mistakes. I'm not quite there yet but I think it might be worth my while to keep on practising. Practise makes perfect and all that... Until then I'll be continuing my writing in English. 

I am going to see my trip to Iceland next week as somewhat of a fieldtrip for my writing. I'm going to visit the neighbourhood(s) I'm placing it in and I'm going to try and take a lot of pictures (if I can with my limited camera(s)). Hopefully I'll be full of ideas and inspiration when I get back on the 15th.

I was in santorini without my computer. The ironic thing was that the only way to write was my small notebook, which symbolicly had a lots of sheep on them. Green sheep, pink sheep, clover sheep, sad sheep, glad sheep, frowning sheep. Lots of sheeps. I got ideas and wanted to write but it was a vacation - after all. Now I'm home only for a little time before I go to visit my relatives. 

So I haven't written so much lately but I've got a lot of inspired ideas for when I come back in mid-August. Lots of sheepish ideas! :)

I'm going to fly to the Greek Islands (santorini) tomorrow morning. I will be there for 2 weeks. When I get back I'll be "here" for a week and on the 4th of August I'll take another flight - this time "homewards=Iceland". It's both educational and ... well...

I'm terrified of flying.It explains it all.