If Capote the writer has been eclipsed in the public mind by Capote the Hollywood movie character, no one is more to blame than Capote himself. An incurable glory hog, Capote lived as much of his life as he could in the limelight, hopping onto the sofa of any TV talk show host who would have him and jetting around the world in the company of glamorous women from Babe Paley, wife of CBS President Bill Paley, to Elizabeth Taylor and Jackie Kennedy. Capote, in his way, was a reality TV star before there was reality TV, always on stage, gossiping and backstabbing, forever plotting to push other people off the island.
Michael Bourne, “’God, Let Me Be Loved’: The Tragedy of Truman Capote.”
But here’s the rub: while you can buy an e-book about the movie based on Truman Capote’s book, you can’t buy an e-book of the work itself. Truman Capote’s “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” is not yet available in an e-book edition. Carolyn Kellogg on the cultural preoccupation with Breakfast at Tiffany’s and the strange role of publishing rights in an increasingly digital world.
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But here’s the rub: while you can buy an e-book about the movie based on Truman Capote’s book, you can’t buy an e-book of the work itself. Truman Capote’s “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” is not yet available in an e-book edition.

Carolyn Kellogg on the cultural preoccupation with Breakfast at Tiffany’s and the strange role of publishing rights in an increasingly digital world.

Source: Los Angeles Times

Book lovers love to watch two heavyweights slug it out. Bloodshed, though not necessary, is always welcome. Think of Paul Verlaine shooting his lover, Arthur Rimbaud, in the wrist. Think of Norman Mailer head-butting Gore Vidal for lumping Mailer with Henry Miller and Charles Manson as the misogynistic troika “3-M.” Or, less bloodily, think of Truman Capote hissing that Jack Kerouac’s writing was mere “typing.” Or Mary McCarthy claiming that every word Lillian Hellman wrote was a lie, including “and” and “the.” Or Richard Ford spitting on Colson Whitehead over his negative review of Ford’s A Multitude of Sins. Yes, we all love a good smackdown, regardless of the body fluids involved.
Battle of the Heavyweights: Errol Morris vs. Susan Sontag by Bill Morris