Category Archives: Culture

A DIGITAL DO

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After months of research and endless internal debate, I bought a Kindle Fire. The act reminded me of a line in one of my books when Matt Jacob thinks that his connection to Jewish ended when the hospital tossed his foreskin into a tray after his birth.

Even though I know it’s not true, it feels as if that one click of “send to shopping cart” severed a connection to hardcover, softcover, coffee table, and every other book in printed form. The Kindle doesn’t and won’t preclude reading any of the above, (I haven’t tossed my vinyl records), but the next step of my evolutionary travel into digital has been taken.

Many friends my age have shied away from e-readers saying they don’t like reading off a screen, they need the feel of a bound book in their hands, and the only time they might ever use one is while traveling.

Not my issues. I spend too many hours at the computer to claim I don’t like reading a screen. I’ve never found myself caressing a leather-bound book, much less a paper one and, I too, think e-readers and their books will make a great traveling companions. So why did I take so long? What’s the big deal?

For me, it’s the feeling that opening up a new door is closing an old one. The image of shoving paperbacks into my rear pocket, the hours under bedroom covers with a small flashlight, the relief books gave me on my boring hour-long bus rides to school, and all the years when the Carteret, N.J. library provided me with a home away from home, replete with its musty smell.

That was then. Now my work life is fully digital. Every penny I earn will come from e-book sales of my original Matt Jacob Mystery Novels (http://zacharykleinonline.com/ matt-jacob-ebooks/) and the new ones in progress. So really, buying the Kindle was anti-climactic; all I did was catch up with myself–and give myself another a tax deduction.

Catching up with myself isn’t easy when it means letting go of what I’ve loved. But I no longer need a home away from home, stuffing books into my back pocket would now give me wallet sciatica, and my days of haunting indie mystery bookstores looking for esoteric authors and titles are over. Hell, Boston no longer has any independent mystery bookstores.

But digital, the Internet, and my turning toward the New Age is much, much larger than Kindles, e-books, and electronic publishing. “The more things change, the more they stay the same” is an old saw that’s often wrong. We live in new technological times which have changed our lives. People debate the better or worse of it; I come out on the “better.” I see the possibility of breaking the corporate stranglehold on what they define as news. I watch information fly around the globe from person to person while governments fail in their attempts to censor because young technologically savvy people find ways around the curtain.

I love the very real probability of developing worldwide communities.

My son has played an international computer game for years. During that time he’s made friends with many people around the globe and learned about their attitudes and cultures–even took a trip to Japan to visit with one of those friends. His do reminds me of my first airplane ride and, I suppose, my purchase of the Kindle. A step into the new.

Given that beasts don’t give up without a fight, it’s way too early to suggest that we live in a “One World” universe, but the glimmer is there. Faint, but there, and that makes the changes we’re going through incredibly worthwhile. Worth letting go of memories or pining for the past. It’s time to take the future–be it a Kindle, online petitions, or reaching large numbers of people with our own personal beliefs in hand to create new memories.

I’d like to believe that my freak flag still flies even though I cut what’s left of my hair and feel pretty good about the look. It is nigh on 2013 after all.

Happy New Year to everyone who has stopped by and I’ll try to keep you thinking, laughing and commenting (and buying some books) all the while I struggle to learn my new machine. Be safe.

“There’s something happening here, what it is ain’t exactly clear…” Buffalo Springfield

CONVERSATION WITH CAPOTE

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To read the introduction and the beginning of this interview please scroll down to last week’s post.

I didn’t want “Tru” to leave so, I scrambled behind the bar and quickly mixed two screwdrivers-vodka, orange juice, orange slices.

Mr. Capote: “Ahh, my orange drink.  You did your homework well.”

Me: “It wasn’t difficult.”

Mr. Capote: “I suppose not,” he said with a sigh, before taking a long sip from the glass.

Mr. Capote: “It is quite good, thank you and you made doubles. I hope you write as well as you bartend. Or perhaps I really don’t.”

I placed my glass on the table, took a deep breath, and climbed back onto the saddle.

Me: “I hope so too. But now I think we ought to talk about In Cold Blood.”

A small smile played at the corners of Capote’s mouth but his eyes saddened.

Mr. Capote: “It was a hell of a book, wasn’t it?”

Me: “Is a hell of a book. The introduction to this interview will call it genre busting, but even that doesn’t really express the sheer intensity of the work.

Mr. Capote: “That intensity cost me my life,” he said quietly.

Me: “Perry Smith?”

Mr. Capote: “Oh yes, he was a major part, but everything about those six years of living in Kansas for long periods of time, especially in the beginning and the end left me empty, dry.”

Me: “Even though Harper Lee was there to help you?”

Capote sat taller in his peacock blue chair.

Mr. Capote: “No, no, no,” he said, that hard look returning to his eyes. “Harper and I were childhood friends. I thought bringing her to Kansas might help her with her own writing. She had very little to do, however, with either the research or writing of Blood. She did help me get to know a wide range of people who might not have trusted me otherwise. Harper is a very likable woman.”

Me: “She was pretty upset that you shared the dedication and didn’t even mention her contributions to the book.”

Mr. Capote: “Would she rather I had written that I appreciated her amicable personality since that was her contribution? But really, her upset was just a trickle of blood under the bridge.  We did remain friends until I died.”

Me: “Much has been written and speculated about your relationship with Perry but very little about Dick.”

Mr. Capote: “Dick wasn’t particularly interesting, really.  He just wanted the Clutters’ safe and when he discovered they didn’t have one, simply wanted to get away.”

Me: “But Perry said in his confession that Dick shot the two women.”

Capote waved his hand dismissively.

Mr. Capote: “Nonsense and Perry, of course, knew that. Which was why he never did sign that confession.”

Me: “So Perry told you that he did all the killings?”

Mr. Capote: “He didn’t have to. Only he had the makeup to kill.”

Me: “Was that what drew you to him? So many people have thought you were in love with him and that his hanging was the death of your creativity.”

Capote finished his orange drink, placed the glass on the table, and leaned back with closed eyes.

Mr. Capote: “People often see things quite superficially. I did love Perry, but it wasn’t the love of lovers. As the years passed, our correspondence and relationship grew very, very intimate. When his death grew closer and so much more real, I finally began to understand our relationship: we were the same person, although I used words to express my violence. It was as if we grew up in the same house as one person, then split apart as I went out the front door, and he the back.”

Capote opened his eyes, blinked furiously, then slumped back into his chair.

Mr. Capote: “Of course I was shattered by Perry’s hanging. And Dick’s. So many years of trust, of intimacy, of caring-and yes love. Then to watch as he-they-twisted and wriggled for ten minutes hanging from their ropes. How can one not be devastated?”

Me: “It didn’t stop you from living it up in grand style when the book became a huge success.”

Mr. Capote: “A bit tart, aren’t you? Which bothers you more, the book’s success or my wonderful swans?”

Me: “Neither, really. Well, maybe the success. But now that you mentioned your swans…”

Mr. Capote: “My society women. Not just the women, but the men as well. Frankly, everyone who was anyone begged for an invitation to The Black and White Ball. I actually had to run away and hide weeks before the party.”

Capote’s eyes lit up.

Mr. Capote: “What a night! Heavens, the guests from Kansas wouldn’t leave when it was over. But watching people scramble to get an invitation, well, that was even more pleasurable than the Ball. It’s quite hard not to be seduced by such attention-especially after experiencing heartbreak and the small death of myself after the hangings. During that time of life I did feel empty, written out. It was only fair to appreciate the accolades and bask a bit. I paid for it and I don’t mean the cost of the party-though of course I paid for that as well.”

I grinned in order to contain my laughter.

Me: “Bask a bit? Mr. Capote, you were all over every television talk show and newspaper.”

Mr. Capote: “Well, perhaps ‘a bit’ is actually an understatement. But you’ve looked at my life. You’ve seen how quickly people can turn on you. On me!”

It was my turn to shake my head.

Me: “Uhh, it was you who decided to pen a roman a` clef.  And you who published ‘La Côte Basque 1965’ in Esquire.  And you didn’t let it go. I can only imagine your friends’ fear and rage while they waited for the other shoe to drop in that follow-up book you were bragging about, Answered Prayers.”

Mr. Capote: “What could they possibly have expected? I’m a writer!”

Me: “I don’t think they expected you to write about them.

Capote’s head drooped.

Mr. Capote: “They got their revenge.”

Me: “Their ostracism didn’t seem to stop you. Studio 54, Warhol’s loft scene. You partied like it was 1999.

Mr. Capote: “I partied better than those in 1999.  Remember, there are many ways to die. Which, having said, I really must leave. I can’t say this has been entirely pleasant, but it’s good to get out occasionally.”

Capote began to slide off his chair.

I stood up with him.

Me: “I have just one more question-did you ever complete Answered Prayers and, if so, who has the manuscript?

This time a wide smile crossed his face.

Mr. Capote: “That, my friend, is an answer I will take upstairs.”

One of the symptoms of an approaching nervous breakdown is
the belief that one’s work is terribly important.
   – Bertrand Russell (1872-1970)

WHAT TRUMAN SAYS:

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Capote, that is—not Harry.

I’m taking this opportunity to follow Truman Capote’s genre busting creation of the “nonfiction novel” with nonnovel fiction–an interview with Capote himself. To that end we recently sat down and, I believe, both enjoyed our conversation. We met in a closed small tavern (I know the owner), called The Living Room where Mr. Capote sat on a club chair upholstered in peacock blue with me across a square table on a leather couch. Both of us drank sparkling water.

Mr. Capote: “Frankly, I was expecting the Ritz. Nothing this shabby.” Capote leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and raised his small hand to his chin.

Me: “I wanted a place where we could talk without being interrupted, Mr. Capote. Plus, I don’t know the owner of the Ritz.”

Mr. Capote: “Just call me Tru. It’s always so interesting to discover who one knows and doesn’t. And I do so much enjoy interruptions. It gives me a chance to observe. And of course, it would mean people haven’t forgotten me.”

 ME: “There’s no chance of anyone who reads forgetting you. Anyone who ever saw you on television either.”

Capote’s hand dropped to his lap, as he leaned forward with a half smile.

Mr. Capote: “I was famous, wasn’t I?”

ME: “Very much so. In fact, so much so that many people believed it was your driving motivation to write.”

Capote chuckled and shook his head.

 Mr. Capote: “I began writing out of loneliness and desperation. I’d been abandoned by my parents and was quite…different than anyone else–so I wrote. And wrote, and wrote. When my mother returned and brought me to New York, nothing really changed inside. Writing was all I wanted to do. To me, the greatest pleasure in writing is not what it’s about, but the inner music that words make. And that music kept me sane. It’s all I ever wanted to do until Perry…”

Capote’s voice dropped to a whisper and his eyes began to rapidly blink.

Me: “Before we go there I want to ask about your statement that the music of words kept you sane. I wonder whether your first novel Other Voices, Other Rooms took it a step further. An opportunity to accept yourself, your upbringing, your sexuality?”

Capote’s eyes kept blinking but he reached for his glass, took a sip and continued to lean forward.

Mr. Capote: “I’ve said many times that the central theme of Other Voices, Other Rooms was my search for who was essentially an imaginary person, that is, my father.”

Capote ran the back of his hand over his forehead.

Mr. Capote: “You do know it debuted at number nine on The New York Times Best Seller list and remained on the list for more than two months!”

Me: “I do. It also seems that the novel helped you come to terms with your homosexuality.”

Mr. Capote: “No, no, no. (Tru vigorously shook his head, almost spilling the water from the glass in his hand) Old news, darling. Frankly, I simply used that theme to make the book titillating. Looking down and back, perhaps it was my first stab at nonfiction novel.  Although I must say, Other Voices, Other Rooms was an unconscious, altogether intuitive attempt to exorcise demons for I was not aware, except for a few incidents and descriptions, of its being to any serious degree autobiographical. Rereading it now, I find such self-deception unpardonable. I did know, however, exactly what I was doing when Harold Halma took my picture for the back cover. I wasn’t completely oblivious.”

Capote put his glass down and laughed delightedly.

Me: “Since you brought up the term “nonfiction novel,” maybe we ought to begin talking about In Cold Blood?”

Mr. Capote: “Not yet, please. It’s been a while since my last interview and I must say I’m enjoying it more than I thought. Also, it would be wrong to simply bypass Breakfast At Tiffany’s.”

Me: “You’re right, Mr. Capote. Though it’s still difficult for me to shake George Peppard’s image as Paul Varjak.

Mr. Capote: “A gorgeous man, Peppard, too bad he spent so much time in the closet. Still, keep in mind I didn’t cast him for the movie. That was out of my control.”

Me: “Of course…”

Before I finished my sentence Capote placed his glass back on the table and sat at the edge of his chair.

Mr. Capote: “As badly miscast as he was, Peppard didn’t annoy me. Tiffany did. They never really appreciated the way I put them on the map. I think they simply gave me some sort of bauble.”

Me: “Do you remember what it was?”

Capote wiggled back in his chair.

Mr. Capote: “I don’t care to try.”

Me: “Not a problem. You know, of course, that after Norman Mailer read Breakfast he said, “Truman Capote I do not know well, but I like him. He is tart as a grand aunt, but in his way is a ballsy little guy, and he is the most perfect writer of my generation, he writes the best sentences word for word, rhythm upon rhythm. I would not have changed two words in Breakfast at Tiffanys which will become a small classic.””

Mr. Capote: “Small indeed. Certainly less pages than Mailer could ever write. And his remark that I’m a ballsy little guy and the most perfect writer of that generation was simply another way to insult me and my sexuality. I know George…”

Me: “George?”

Capote stared at me with rock hard eyes.

Mr. Capote: “Plimpton. George Plimpton. I might have been dead when he had the gall to say it, but I’m not blind or deaf. In an interview, he said I was at the top of the ‘second’ tier of writers and named Norman as being in the top. Now who do you imagine Norman really thought was the most ‘perfect’ writer of his generation?”

Capote raised an eyebrow but his stare remained cold as steel. But I couldn’t help myself and burst out laughing. Eventually Capote joined in as both of us contemplated Mailer’s massive ego.

Me: “Point taken.”

I glanced at the clock.

Me: “This has taken longer than I had anticipated but I’d hate to end now. Would you mind staying longer or maybe meet at another time to finish?”

Mr. Capote: “Oh dear man, I’d be happy to stay. I really don’t get out much anymore.  But there is a condition.”

Me: “Yes?”

Mr. Capote: “I simply need something, uhh, better to drink. Remember, I do live in a dry town.”

See next week’s post for the conclusion of my interview with Truman Capote. Thanks.

Gore Vidal on Truman Capote’s death: “A wise career move.”

THE TIGERS LOST, BUT I GOT THE GIRL!

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First, I want to thank Rawrahs for covering last week and writing a damn interesting essay in a manner only he could do.  Much appreciated.  And of course, thanks for the nice things you wrote about Sue and me.

A whole lot has happened since my last post so I’m going to land on a few of the things that caught my attention and actually stayed in my head.

First, of course, was Sandy, which crushed New York and New Jersey and wreaked havoc for a swatch of about a thousand miles.  I hope none of you who read this have suffered serious losses, but my heart is with you if you have.  My friend Bruce Turkel, who I’ve mentioned before, posted a list of places to donate for any of you want to pitch in. http://turkeltalks.com/?utm_source=Listrak&utm_medium=Email&utm_term=http%3a%2f%2fwww.TurkelTalks.com&utm_campaign=How+You+Can+Help+The+Victims+of+Hurricane+Sandy.

What struck me other than Sandy’s devastating impact were the acts of kindness displayed throughout the storm.  We are a nation strongly divided along fundamental issues that play out politically, but New Jersey Governor James “Chris” Christie said, and I paraphrase, “We don’t need no steenkin’ politics here.  We got an emergency!”  The caring and assistance folks have given each other, friend or stranger, speaks to something significant about our people.

Also, the Federal Government showed that it had learned from past mistakes and or incompetence (see Katrina) which re-enforces my notion that government is capable of change and has the potential for helping those in need.  People who want to castrate government really need to turn this horror into a learning experience.  Without the federal government working hand in hand with states, many more lives would have been lost or ruined with little or no chance of recovery.

And finally, it actually seems as if climate change is back on the table.

On a much more joyous note, last Sunday brought me together with many friends and family who helped celebrate Sue’s and my marriage.  It was a great night, at a great place, with great people.  Thank you.  I know the out-of-towners were staring Sandy in the face and I just want you to know how much we appreciate your chancing it.  And how much we appreciated the loving emails, letters, and Facebook comments.  It all turned the night into our finest.

On the campaign front, is it too much to ask that politicians’ ads be fact-checked before they’re aired?  After all, it takes about three minutes for people on the Internet to put out the truth after the ads have been seen.  Why can’t both state and federal election commissions do it first?  If we can’t keep astronomical money out of our politics (two billion dollars and counting, thanks Citizens United), can we at least try to control the outright lying?

I ain’t gonna hold my breath.

Despite all that’s been going on, there was still a bit of time to turn my attention to popular culture. (I Want My MTV!!!)

Tonight is the last night of Anthony Bourdain’s television show, No Reservations, on the Travel Channel.  Bourdain first made a splash with his bestselling book Kitchen Confidential, a back scene look at how restaurants–and especially their kitchens–operate.  A chef himself, Bourdain chronicled little known aspects–the sociology if you will–of the business with a keen eye and superior writing.

He brought those same skills to nine seasons of traveling around the world to famous and little known countries.  Ostensibly, his show was about the different foods in the countries or areas he visited.  It was–but also about far more.  Bourdain’s spotlight on each region extended way beyond food, digging in to the different cultures and the reasons behind them.  It was always a breath of television fresh air to listen to his script given his talent as a writer.  No Reservations will be missed.

And speaking about television fresh air, I still can’t say enough about Showtime’s Homeland, based upon the Israeli series Hatufim (English translation: Prisoners of War). I’ve written about this show before, but the second season maintains and perhaps surpasses the last.  This isn’t blood and guts tv with violence seeping out of every scene. This is an hour where the story and character interactions keep your ass on the edge of your seat with its twists, turns, and tension.  Claire Danes is simply terrific in her role as a driven, obsessed C.I.A. agent and Damian Lewis right there as a returned prisoner of war after eight years of captivity.  No surprise to me that the show, Danes, and Lewis all won Emmys because they sure as hell deserved them.  If you have Showtime and On Demand, you can watch the beginning of the series until the present.  Absolutely worth the time.

Finally, I’d like to again thank everyone for all their wonderful comments about Sue and our marriage.  We felt the love.  And I got the girl!!

“We are continually faced with great opportunities which are brilliantly disguised as unsolvable problems.” Margaret Mead

NUT CRACKING TIME

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Since I began these posts, I’ve written about politics more than enough times.  But given the election is right around the corner, I refuse to stop.  It’s just too damn important.

According to Gore Vidal:  “The United States has one business party with two right-wing factions” he observed, “the Democrats and the Republicans.”

A sentiment I share, but this is one election where the devil is in the details.  And these details have profound meaning for our country.  The way we view government, individual liberties, civil rights, and the nature of the compact—or non-compact—we as people make with each other.

I believe in government.  Not the way this one is run.  Not the crude gluttony of our politicians.  Not the lies, misrepresentations, and “gotchas” that constitute campaigns for political office.  Not the obscene amount of money it takes to run for the smallest public office.  All of this is horrific.  But I still believe in government.

Only government has the potential to create the type of society in which I want to live.  A society where each citizen is assured of food, clothing, shelter, healthcare, and a decent paying job.  Only government has the potential of protecting people against racism, crime, and social hatred.

Potential isn’t reality and the reality is our government caters to the rich and powerful, who continue to generate giant profits off peoples’ housing problems, peoples’ job issues, peoples’ health good or bad, and government welfare.  Worse, at this moment in time, there is no Teddy Roosevelt or Dwight Eisenhower or FDR standing in the wings to change what we have—a country moving rapidly toward the world that William Gibson envisioned in his great book Neuromancer  written appropriately in 1984.  A world controlled hook, line, and sinker by multinational corporations with government being a mirthless joke.

So why then is this election so important when both candidates answer to the Swells?

From where I sit, the importance lies with the slightly different direction and philosophical underpinnings of the two  parties.  These are not my father’s Republicans.  They aren’t even mine.  These New Republicans have no Clifford Cases, no Nelson Rockefellers, no Jacob Javitzs—hell, they have no Richard Nixons, something I never thought I would possibly write.

These New Republicans have Ayn Rand and her belief in Social Darwinism.  These New Republicans have an inbred hatred for government, no matter how it’s run.  Survival of the fittest might have made sense in various historical periods, but now it is nothing more than thinly veiled sadism.  Fuck those who can’t help themselves, but give gobs of subsidies to the “job-creators,” a misnomer for “profit-makers.”

But those profits trickle down.  Right.  Like the guy who walked into the bar and asked for a “trickle down,” which the bartender promptly poured and handed to the richest white man in the room.  That’s what trickle down has meant and will always mean.

The New Republicans Social Darwinism is the worst possible thing that can happen to our people.  To create a country built upon it will grind what little remains of our social compact, our humanity, into dust.

The irony is that the New Republicans have managed to cloak survival of the fittest under the shroud of “family values.”  Protect the fetus, which really means women of wealth get abortions by doctors while the poor, and working people are forced into back alleys—all the while outlawing contraception, which reduces the need for that which The New Republicans say they abhor.  (I’d really like to know the over/under of the New Republicans, who have adopted a child.)  Repeal Obamacare (a really sad excuse for national healthcare) and let those who can’t afford insurance take their children to emergency rooms while wealthy people receive the best healthcare money can buy.  These are “family values?”

Gut social security.  (I know, you can have a voucher—eye-roll here.)  Get rid of the Department of Education.  And finally pack the Supreme Court with folks who believe people of color, the openly gay, and women, operate on an even playing field with white men.  This is what we want?  These aren’t my family values.

From here, it looks like slash and burn.  Yet we really are in all this together—if you exclude the multinationals and those 2% the Occupiers talk about.  We need to care for those like ourselves and those less fortunate.  We need government to rebuild our infrastructure (the real job provider) as well as reduce deficits.  We need government to make certain there’s enough affordable housing to go around and to make sure that people aren’t left in the fumes of those who have full pockets and just want more.  And we all need a court that doesn’t define a corporation as a person.

The Democrats aren’t going to turn government on its head and move in the direction I’d like to see.  Far from it.  But nuances are meaningful.  Them devilish details.  The Democrats (at least the ones I’d vote for, who unfortunately aren’t like Bernie Sanders) are simply not invested in the same draconian measures the New Republicans desire.

I too want to take back our government, but don’t want a country where every man, woman, and child is expected to care only about themselves and pretend that’s “progress.”  Family values are interwoven with community values, which are interwoven with national values.  And I believe this election sets the stage for what our society and culture will eventually become.