Breakfast at Capote’s

Saturday was the first day of spring here in northern Illinois. The catch is, it won’t be followed by many more spring days for at least a week, if not longer. Think of it this way: Saturday was a brief springward jolt in the tug-of-war that spring will (eventually) win against winter, but don’t count out hoary old man winter just yet. He came back on Sunday, and there’s talk of snow later this week.

The day was all the more a pleasure for its transience. It was a collection of small pleasures, really. The light wind against your face doesn’t bite. You can wander around outside without a coat or even a jacket. Everyone else in the neighborhood is, and the sidewalks and yards are livelier than they have been in months. A few foolish young bulbs are poking through the ground, though the wiser trees have no hints of green yet. All in all, the thing to do one a day like that is take your kids to a park and sit around and read while they do kid-things on the kid-equipment.

I did that Saturday afternoon. In the park I finished Breakfast at Tiffany’s, which unaccountably I’d never read before. Can’t get around to everything. Or maybe I was put off by the blowsy weirdo that the late-life Truman Capote seemed to be when he was on Johnny Carson. Anyway, it’s probably just as well that I didn’t read the book when I was young, since it’s decidedly for grownups. I’ll admit to being influenced in my reading choice by a movie, Capote. While the rest of my family was watching Curious George at a multiplex a few weeks ago, I saw that.

What’s-his-name the lead actor (I’m not very good with actors’ names) certainly deserved his Oscar. It was an exceptionally fine performance in an intelligent movie. Is that so much to ask of the movie biz? Yeah, most of the time.

I left the movie thinking, I need to read more Capote. So I thought I’d start with Breakfast. In a while I’ll pick up In Cold Blood. We had that around the house when I was growing up, and I think I started reading it early in high school, but didn’t get far. As I said, that’s probably just as well.

I did, however, see the movie adaptation of Breakfast 15 years ago or so, and as I read the book I couldn’t shake the notion that the two were miles apart, with the movie doing all sorts of remarkable contortions to avoid offending sensibilities of the time. At least I think so, because I don’t remember the movie all that well. So I ought to see the movie again, while the book is fresh in mind, just to check.