Two Paths in Life

I've been reading Truman Capote this weekend, Breakfast at Tiffany's and three of his better known short stories—A Christmas Memory, The Diamond Guitar, and House of Flowers. In the widely acclaimed Breakfast, Capote brings to life a character very much like Thackeray's famous Becky Sharp, a poor girl born with beauty and a hedonistic lust for adventure among the culture's markers of money, status, and power, an ingenue perfect for the 1940's but seen at every time, a creature who learns to augment her physical attributes with a shrewd and manipulative charm that men can't seem to resist. Holly Golightly, of course, is the belle of Truman's ball.

At one point, explaining some of her tendencies to our narrator, who lives in the same apartment building as the enigmatic young woman, Holly recounts her many ways of turning herself around when she's feeling bad. She admits she's spent too much money buying and consulting astrological charts to read her future and says:

"It's a bore. But the answer is good things only happen to you if you're good. Good? Honest is more what I mean. Not law-type honest—I'd rob a grave, I'd steal two bits off a dead man's eyes if I thought it would contribute to the day's enjoyment—but unto-thyself-type honest. Be anything but a coward, a pretender, an emotional crook, a whore: I'd rather have cancer than a dishonest heart. Which isn't being pious. Just practical." (Modern Library, p. 79)

Holly's authenticity, her "honesty" is wholly in service to her own perceived self interest, and seems to magnify her unfortunate personality tendencies and character weaknesses to the extent that she's never actually happy, or long in the possession of good things, but always chasing happiness in deluded ways.

By contrast, a character in the immensely wonderful story A Christmas Memory seems to embody goodness and simplicity. The narrator here is a young boy growing up in the country in a house of adults, one of whom, an outsider to the others, becomes his best friend. He says:

<<Other people inhabit the house, relatives; and though they have power over us, and frequently make us cry, we are not, on the whole, too much aware of them. We are each other's best friend. She calls me Buddy, in memory of a boy who was formerly her best friend. The other Buddy died in the 1880s, when she was still a child. She is still a child.>> (ML 144)

They bake fruitcakes to give away for the holidays, and go hunt down a tree to decorate together. They make kites for each other as Christmas presents. They collect pennies and the occasional dime for treats. She gives Buddy a dime each week so he can go to a picture show in town. He says about her, in a wonderful passage:

<<My friend has never been to a picture show, nor does she intend to: "I'd rather hear you tell the story, Buddy. That way I can imagine it more. Besides, a person my age shouldn't squander their eyes. When the Lord comes, let me see him clear." In addition to never having seen a movie, she has never: eaten in a restaurant, traveled more than five miles from home, received or sent a telegram, read anything except funny papers and the Bible, worn cosmetics, cursed, wished someone harm, told a lie on purpose, let a hungry dog go hungry. Here are a few things she has done, does do: killed with a hoe the biggest rattlesnake ever seen in this county (sixteen rattles), dip snuff (secretly), tame hummingbirds (just try it) till they balance on her finger, tell ghost stories (we both believe in ghosts) so tingling they chill you in July, talk to herself, take walks in the rain, grow the prettiest japonicas in town, know the recipe for every sort of old-time Indian cure, including a magical wart remover.>>

This is one of the most wonderful stories ever written about the simple life and the real and deepest honesty that's not merely a second order true-to-yourself-whoever-you-are thing, but a matter of fidelity to the highest and best that life, in true authenticity, offers. Truman had a talent. But his early sufferings ended up pushing him along the path of Holly Golightly, rather than Buddy's childhood and properly childlike friend. And that was a tragedy that need not have been. And yet, having experienced both sides of life, he can describe them powerfully well.

For the book, click HERE.