“‘Give me an example,’ I said quietly. ‘of something that means something. In your opinion.’
‘Wuthering Heights,’ [Holly] said, without hesitation.
‘But that’s unreasonable. You’re talking about a work of genius.’
‘It was, wasn’t it? My wild, sweet Cathy. God, I cried buckets. I saw it ten times.’
I said ‘Oh’ with recognisable relief, ‘oh’ with a shameful, rising inflection, ‘the movie.’
I couldn’t help but smile to myself when I read this passage, taken from page 59 of Truman Capote’s 1958 novella, Breakfast at Tiffany’s. It’s the echo of a conversation I’ve had myself whenever I’ve mentioned that I’m reviewing Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Oh, I loved that film! Audrey Hepburn was perfect as Holly, wasn’t she?
…And then I have to tell the person I’m speaking with that I’m talking about the book, and I’ve never actually seen Breakfast at Tiffany’s, the film.
…And then, my interlocutor looks at me as if there’s something drastically wrong with me.