Review: “˜Summer Crossing’ not quite ripe

In 1951, Truman Capote sent the manuscript of his first novel,
“Summer Crossing,” to Robert Linscott, his Random House
editor at the time. He had written the book seven years earlier, in
1944, and had since achieved international fame with his first
published novel, “Other Voices, Other Rooms.” Looking
for a follow-up, Capote hoped he could edit the manuscript,
originally written when he was 20 years old, but Linscott’s
response to the book convinced him otherwise. According to Gerald
Clarke’s biography of Capote, Linscott thought “Summer
Crossing” was “the kind of novel any good writer could
have produced” and that “it did not have
(Capote’s) distinctive artistic voice.”

In late October, more than 50 years later, riding the coattails
of a successful movie about the author, Random House published the
work from the manuscript, which Capote thought he had destroyed. It
would seem a victory from the grave for an author who loved seeing
his name in the papers, aside from the fact that Linscott’s
assessment was largely correct. At best, it is hard to criticize
work produced privately by a 20-year-old author. At worst, it is
morally reprehensible, but judging from the slim, six-chapter,
126-page novella, it is also easy to understand why Capote’s
would-be public debut became his forgotten private papers.

When Capote’s fiction succeeds, it has a sort of dreamy
quality that makes you feel like you are imagining the words on the
page, not actually reading them. “Summer Crossing” does
have a few such passages, but they are few and far between. What
comes between has the same product in mind, but seems too
self-conscious to make you forget that you are turning pages.
Instead, you are constantly aware of this fact, anxiously waiting
for the moment you can next forget that you are reading. As a first
novel, it would have hinted at Capote’s genius still to come.
As a post-mortem discovery, it is just good enough to make you wish
he were still alive to rewrite it.

Though largely a style-over-substance affair, “Summer
Crossing” does have a plot. Grady McNeil, the 17-year-old
daughter of some stuffy Upper-East-Side New York rich folk,
convinces her parents to leave her behind when they get on a boat
to Europe one summer just after World War II. She wants to continue
her secret relationship with a Brooklyn-born-and-bred (meaning
poor), Jewish (which is a problem) parking attendant named Clyde
Manzer. The unraveling of their love for each other, if you can
call it that, is what occupies the narrative.

Unfortunately, neither character is particularly fleshed-out,
and for a book that relies heavily on its realistic descriptions of
New York high-life and style, the absence of character feels lazy.
“I’m nothing to you,” Clyde tells Grady during an
argument. His lack of interesting dialogue reflects his
personality, and sometimes it is tough to tell what Grady sees in
him, other than an opportunity to rebel against her parents.

Then again, some of Grady’s mannerisms reflect those of
the real-life Capote, who rebelled against his parents merely for
the sake of rebellion quite frequently. Grady lies to Clyde about
her life; Capote made up his own fictional biography for the first
edition of “Other Voices, Other Rooms.” She uses the
word “darling” liberally. And like Capote’s
mother, Grady’s mom wanted an athletic son, but got an
effeminate child instead. Admittedly, it is tough to imagine that
Capote wrote himself as a girl in his first book, but stranger
things have happened in literature.

The book’s opening line, spoken by Grady’s mother,
reads, “You are a mystery, my dear.” As if in reply,
“Summer Crossing” ends ““ though in an entirely
different context ““ with Grady saying, “I know.”
It could be a mock conversation between Capote and his mother; it
could be an early description of Capote’s life; or it could
be a bookended analysis of “Summer Crossing” itself.
Undoubtedly, Capote would have wanted us to keep guessing.

-Jake Tracer