True Crime Studies: An honest review of In Cold Blood
I know it seems redundant to review In Cold Blood 54 years after it’s been published. The Withering Heights of true crime books, everyone has most likely heard about it by now though there are many who have yet to read it. I believe everyone should crack it open at least once. It’s largely credited as being the founder of the true-crime genre, making it a classic and one of the pioneers of literature, although I am not one to praise any novel just because it has the word “classic” attached to it. I think people should know more about it other than its status.
Truman Capote changed the literary world forever when he published In Cold Blood in 1966. It details the murders of the Clutter family in 1959 in the small farming community of Holcomb, Kansas. The four victims, Herbert Clutter, his wife Bonnie, and their two youngest children, Kenyon and Nancy were found dead in their house one morning with no obvious signs of robbery or any clue as to who did it. There seemed to be no motive.
In Cold Blood shares the last few hours of their lives before it gets into what the story is really about: the two deeply disturbed men responsible, and honestly…I expected something more. With the kind of reputation that this book has I expected something other than what felt like a two-hour special of Criminal Minds. I know In Cold Blood is more or less the first of it’s kind, so when compared to more recent true crime wonders like Helter Skelter, Devil in the White City and Columbine, it’s a slight let down. But read without expectations, and it is a phenomenal piece of true crime literature.
Hickock and Smith
Perry Smith and Richard “Dick” Hickock are the murderers of this story and one doesn’t have to be there with Capote to know that he had conflicting feelings about them. The beginning of the novel talks much about the Clutter family. Enough to make readers mourn their deaths when it happens but much like how they died, the Clutter’s cease to exist once their hearts all stop beating. Capote drops them as if they never existed, further enforcing the “in cold blood” feeling the crime created when it first happened.
A crime of seemingly random chance. It’s that randomness that truly fascinated the public. “Of all the people in all the world, the Clutters were the least likely to be murdered.”
There are really two narratives in the novel. The confusion of the crime itself and that of Perry Smith. There’s a whole story about the creation of In Cold Blood that claimed Truman Capote became very attached to Smith while interviewing him. Almost too attached some might say, and the novel pretty much confirms this. The amount of time Capote spends on Smith is astounding, even the worst bits are spun in a sympathetic light. He spends pages and pages detailing Smith’s childhood, personality, and motivations while hardly a few paragraphs are saved for Hickock. (Not that I blame him because Dick was truly a dick.)
Make up your mind Capote
By focusing on Smith and his dark, damaged mind, it keeps the shock and pointlessness of the crime front and center. If Capote focused more Hickock it would have taken an entirely different perspective. Smith was harder to pin down and apparently had the capability to do good, which in fact was the alleged point of In Cold Blood. Capote was supposedly trying to humanize the Clutter’s killers, but in all honestly, the novel jumps around too much to make it believable.
Capote added in details that were unnecessary and then dropped them just as quickly. He goes too deep into trivial facts and not deep enough into important ones. He shows so much of Smith’s upbringing, painting him as a victim of his own mind and society, but then throws in a detail that disregards all of that. Then there’s the story of Hickock, the one who instigated the crime in the first place, who Capote doesn’t even try to reform in the reader’s eyes. (Again, I don’t blame him). A psychopathic pedophile rapist who admits that he only robbed the Clutters because he wanted to rape 16-year-old Nancy. (He never did by the way. Smith stopped him before he got the chance.)
Jammed back race to the finish line
The final section of the novel is where it struggles to stay afloat. Smith and Hickock are arrested and sentenced to death but Capote doesn’t stop it there. He doesn’t even skip ahead and show their execution. No. He spends several pages discussing their eventless life on death row. He even goes as far as to introduce some of their neighboring murderers and their life stories. Lowell Lee Andrews a.k.a. “The Nicest Boy in Wolcott” and spree killer buddies George Ronald York and James Douglas Latham. They appear in the final section of In Cold Blood and stick around as if they had been there the whole time. All the while, Smith and Hickock go on, unconcerned about their approaching death date.
Verdict
I was honestly expecting something more chilling than what I got. Over the years, I’ve heard many rant and rave over the sheer cold brutality featured in Capote’s novel, the stuff of nightmares. Maybe it’s because I grew up obsessing over serial killers and read too many books detailing their twisted crimes but what was featured In Cold Blood feels like a combination of attempted psychology and point-by-point descriptions of true-life events but not enough of either. There is also an incredibly long section that deals strictly with their trial that feels a bit redundant. It’s used to include the public perception of them, their reactions to the public, their confessions, and their psyche evaluations but Capote crams everything together as if he was rushing to the finish line.
The true strength of In Cold Blood lies in its style. A true crime book that’s written in the form of a novel starting with a prologue, withholding the gory details until the very end, and ending with two men hanging from the gallows. Despite my complaints, it’s very good.
(3.5 / 5)
Imagine this. You’re home alone, waiting for your partner to return, when you hear a knock on your door. You answer it to see a family of five, bundled up against the cold. The father, a kindly older gentleman, explains that he used to live in this house as a boy. And he would love to show it to his family.
Do not let them in.
The story
Released in June 2024, We Used To Live Here is author Marcus Kliewer’s debut novel. It tells the story of Eve, who just purchased a beautiful house with her partner, Charlie. Their plan is to flip the house and sell it.
One night, while waiting for Charlie to come home, Eve is surprised by a knock at the door. It’s a man named Thomas Faust and his family.
Thomas explains that he grew up in the house and hasn’t been in the area in years. Would Eve let them in so that he can show the home to his children?
Against her better judgment, Eve lets them in. She regrets this almost at once when Thomas’s daughter vanishes somewhere into the house.
What worked
I always appreciate a book that allows you to play along with the mystery. And this book does that better than just about any other I’ve seen.
Pay close attention to the chapters, to the words that aren’t there. To everything about this novel.
This is mostly down to Kliewer. This is ultimately his work of art. But the production value is also fantastic. I don’t want to ruin the multiple mysteries, so I’ll just say this. There are clues in this book that require some specific artistic choices in the page layouts in this book. And I loved that.
If you’d like to experience another horror book review, check out this one.
We Used To Live Here is also the kind of story that makes you question everything right along with the main character, Eve. Eve is a great main character. But she might be an unreliable narrator. She might be experiencing every single horror described, exactly as it’s described. Or, she might be having a psychotic breakdown. Through most of the book, we can’t be sure. And that is so much fun.
Finally, the weather plays a large part in this story. There are several stories in which the weather or the land itself could be considered a character. Even an antagonist. This is certainly one. The winter storm is the thing that traps the family in the house with Eve. It also makes escaping the home difficult. Reading this book during the winter was especially impactful. Most of us know what it feels like to be shut in by a storm. I’ve personally lived through some of those storms that are just referred to by their year, as though they were impactful enough to claim the whole 365 days for themself. And that was with people I liked. Imagine what it would feel like with strangers. It’s a staggering thought and one that we explore in depth in this book.
In the end, We Used To Live Here is a fantastic book. It’s the sort of story that sneaks into your brain and puts down roots. And if this is just the first book we’re getting from Kliewer, I can’t wait to see what else he comes up with.
(5 / 5)
As a disclaimer, this is a review of The House of My Mother from a critical perspective. I will not be discussing my opinions of the legal case against Ruby Franke and Jody Hildebrandt. I will be discussing the merits of the book as a work of true crime alone.
In 2015, Ruby Franke started a YouTube channel called 8 Passengers. In August of 2023, Franke and her business associate Jodi Hildebrandt were arrested for, and later plead guilty to, charges of aggravated child abuse. And in January of this year, Shari Franke told her story in The House of My Mother.
The story
The House of My Mother is the true story of Shari Franke, the oldest child of one of the most famous family vlogger families.
As a child, Shari came to the conclusion that her mother didn’t like her. Soon, she began to fear her mother’s anger.
Things got significantly worse when Ruby started their family vlog. All of the families most intimate moments were splashed across the internet for anyone to watch. This became a living nightmare for Shari.
Of course, that was only the start of the family nightmare. Because Ruby was about to meet someone who would reinforce all of the darkest parts of herself.
Eventually Shari manages to escape her home. But her younger siblings were still in her mother’s clutches. She had to save them, and her father, from the monster her mother had become.
What worked
Through the book, Shari only ever mentions the name of one of her siblings, Chad. This is because Chad is the only of her siblings that is an adult at the time of the publication.
There are children involved in this story. Children who’s lives and privacy have already been damaged. Shari didn’t want to do that to them again, and neither do I.
It probably won’t surprise you that this book is full of upsetting details. But not in the way you might imagine.
Nowhere in this book will you find gory details about the abuse the Franke kids suffered. And I consider that a good thing. Those sort of details are all fun and games when we’re talking fiction. When it’s real kids who are really living with the damage, it’s not a good time.
What you’ll find instead is a slew of more emotionally devastating moments. One that stuck with me is when Ruby’s mother gives her a pair of silk pajamas as a gift after Ruby gave birth to one of her babies. Shari asks Ruby if she’d bring her silk pajamas when she had a baby. Ruby responds that yes, when Shari becomes a mother they can be friends.
What a lovely way to make a little girl feel like she’s not worth anything unless she reproduces. And, if she does decide to have children, who is going to bring her silk pajamas?
In the end, this isn’t a story about ghosts or demons. It’s not about a serial killer waiting on a playground or in the attic of an unsuspecting family. Instead, this is a story about things that really keep us up at night. It’s the story of a woman so obsessed with perfection that she drove away her eldest daughter. The story of a young woman who’s forced to watch from afar as her beloved brothers and sisters are terrorized and abandoned. These are the sorts of things that really keep us up at night. These are the real nightmares.
More than that, though, The House of My Mother is a story of survival. It’s about a family that was ripped apart and somehow managed to stitch itself back together again. It’s about a brave young woman who managed to keep herself safe and sane in the face of a nightmare. If you haven’t read it yet, I can’t recommend it enough.
For more like this, check out my review of Shiny Happy People.
(5 / 5)
Boreal: an Anthology of Taiga Horror is a collection of twenty-two haunting tales that dwell in the deepest darkest woods and frozen wastelands, edited by Katherine Silva and including Haunted MTL’s very own Daphne Fauber. Each story has even been gifted with its very own poster, hinting at the horrors to be found within it, bestowing a beautiful visual collection as well.
The tales are varied and touch upon the environment in new and different ways, each hearkening to a sort of epiphany or raised awareness. These stories exude both dread and wonder at the smallness of our human existence in contrast to the sacred world we have isolated from, sheltering ourselves in our comfortable houses with centralized heat and everything we could possibly need or want at the ready. The taiga becomes a sanctuary outside of our own dulled awarenesses. It is a holy place imbued with powers beyond mortal human reach, a wilderness that threatens to swallow us – both whole and bit by bit, simultaneously.
The protagonists enter into this realm through ritual, superstition, longing, stubbornness, and their own hubris – yearning to survive its dangers, and to make their own marks upon it. The starkness of their surroundings harbors delicate moments that would be all too easily missed if not deliberately sought or pointed out. The softness of fur, the dappled sunlight shining through trees, the hazy clouds of breath forming in crisp air, the brittleness of bleached bone… those quiet experiences that beg to be forgotten, to lay safely sleeping just below the frozen surface, awaiting spring.
There are those who followed in the footsteps of their predecessors, seeking to escape the constraints of their parent’s and elders’ indoctrination, traditions, madness, and abuse, yearning to find their own way despite also being inextricably bound to their own pasts. There are those who just wanted to go for a walk in the woods, and remained forever changed by what they experienced. There are those who wished to impose their will upon the wilderness, their order falling to disarray, unable to make lasting impact. There are those who sought to leave behind the world of mankind, looking for oneness in the natural order of things through isolation, leaving a bit of themselves behind after being consumed by the terrors they encountered. There are those who truly found communion with the woods, became one with its wildness, and invited its spirit into their hearts to find peace, even at cost of their own lives. And then, there are the spirits themselves…
(3 / 5)
All in all, I give Boreal: an Anthology of Taiga Horror 3.0 Cthulhus. I love existential angst so I found it to be an enjoyable read, and I appreciated the myriad manners in which the biome was explored. But there were points in which I found myself struggling to follow along, as if the words were swept up into their own wilds in ways that alienated myself as reader, as if my mere voyeurism into this otherworldly place was not enough to comprehend the subtle deviations in storytelling mannerisms fully. I suppose in some sense this seems appropriate, but at the same time, it left me feeling a bit unfulfilled, as if I had missed a spiritual connection that should have resonated more deeply.