Usually after I finish reading a book, I write a post about it. It’s a way to share the things I loved about each book, and a way for me to keep a record of what I’ve been reading.
This week, I finished reading Truman Capote’s “Breakfast at Tiffany’s”. As much as I enjoyed the book, I don’t feel compelled to write a post about it. I feel like it’s well-known enough that those who should read it, will read it; it doesn’t need to come with a recommendation from me.
I watched the movie version a long time ago (maybe a few years ago) and I honestly don’t remember much from it other than random, fragmented scenes. I do know, however, that I liked the film enough to add the book to my TBR list. I know also, now, that the book and film are quite different, but I’m not sure which I prefer. (If it makes sense, I’m sort of comparing the after-effects of each, rather than the actual content. It seems that I’m much better at remembering the emotions I’m left with after finishing a book/film than I am at remembering the actual details of the story.)
Let’s just say that I’m glad that I have my own copy of “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” (bought it at the Lifeline Bookfest for just $1 or something) because I have a feeling that I’ll re-read it at some stage in my life, or I might want to lend it to a friend. If nothing else, there’s something comforting about glancing over at my bookshelf and seeing it nestled there amongst my other favourite books. It can be my cure for the mean reds.