i was too young when i read in cold blood. i did not finish it.  too scary.  too real.  more than just hating the inevitability of the violent deaths at the heart of the book, the seeming randomness of their deaths chilled me.  the idea that you could be the recipient of violence without cause haunted me, as did the terror and pain of an ordinary family in the hands of evil.

i only read it at all because i loved truman capote.  i loved truman because i loved dill, scout, jem, atticus, and of course, Harper Lee.  i understood truman’s loneliness and his uneven life, but i did not understand how the book affected him.

there is a terrble price for violence. a price i do not like, much as i do not like nabokov for profitting over a story of egregious abuse.

i like instead the iconic picture of atticus taking aim at the rabid dog, finishing it off with one perfectly aimed shot.