CAPOTE'S
BIAS: In Cold Blood AS AN
ANTI-DEATH PENALTY ARGUMENT
by Adam Watson
Truman Capote's In Cold Blood is defined as a
non-fiction novel. What makes this difficult is the oxymoron it suggests: how
do you write "just the facts" in a novelistic way? In order to be
narrative, Capote must embellish certain moments and fictionalize others, while
attempting to keep to the spirit of the factual law when not sticking to the
letter of it. This leads to inevitable author pollution of the story; not
necessarily malicious in intent, but unavoidable. One such pollution is
Capote's point of view about the death penalty. While he
attempts to counter-balance his affinity for the killers (Perry Smith
especially), more often than not the reader can see Capote peeking through the
lines instead of a recitation of dry facts. This anti-death penalty bias
becomes evident in the way Capote expresses and stresses certain facts and
arguments, especially in the later trial and execution portion of the novel.
The first such point is the belief that Dick Hickock and Perry Smith's trial was unfair and unjust. It
begins with Capote pointing out the lack of enthusiasm of the lawyers assigned
to the case:
"I do not desire to serve," [Smith's
lawyer] told the judge. "But if the court sees fit to appoint me, then of
course I have no choice." Hickock's attorney . .
. accepted the task with resigned grace: "Someone has to do it. And I'll
do my best. Though I doubt that'll make me too popular around
here." (257)
This is what worries anti-death penalty advocates, since
men and women (usually poor and unable to afford an attorney) could be killed
not because they are guilty, but because they are not properly represented. Their
first decision in court is not to change venues (266), a point that
comes up later under appeal. Capote persists in pointing out questionable judgements of the judge as well. He does not allow the
defense to use psychiatrists to examine Perry and Dick, agreeing with the
prosecution that "medical doctors in general practice" were good
enough (267). He does not delay the beginning of the trial, even though the
Clutter's estate auction occurs one day before the trial starts (269). The jury
process seems ominous as well:
During the voir
dire examination, four of [the prospective jurors] told the court they had
been personally, though not intimately, acquainted with Mr. Clutter; but upon
further questioning [they] did not feel this . . . would hinder [their] ability
to reach an impartial verdict. . . . [One juror] said, when asked his opinion
of capital punishment, "Ordinarily I'm against it. But
in this case, no" - a declaration which . . . seemed clearly indicative of
prejudice. [He] was nevertheless accepted as a juror. (273)
Finally, photos of the dead Clutters were allowed to be
shown to the jurors at trial, against the objection of Dick's lawyer, who felt
the pictures would "prejudice and inflame" their judgement
(281). Collectively, these issues show a trial process unfairly slanted against
Perry and Dick. Anti-death penalty advocates would point out that an unfair
trail leading to a death penalty conviction is not justice, but an elaborate
ruse to justify revenge.
Another point tying into the trial itself is the court's
refusal to accept that Perry and Dick were not psychologically responsible, and
therefore not punishable, for the murder of the Clutters. Capote shows several
times in his narrative how each killer may not have been sane. As a first cause
of this mental instability, Capote points out (and repeats) how Perry and Dick
were both injured in automobile wrecks (134, 279, 292). By doing so, he elicits
sympathy for the killers, as well as showing a possible excuse for their behavior.
Their actions and thoughts certainly walk the line of sanity. Perry confesses
he was in a kind of fugue state while murdering the Clutters: "But I
didn't realize what I'd done till I heard the sound" (244). Both Dick and
Perry describe the act of murder with a disturbing flatness of emotion. Dick
tells Perry, "Let's count on eight, or even twelve. The only sure thing
is every one of them has got to go" (37). (As if talking
of having dinner guests, instead of murdering people!) Perry says,
"I thought [Mr. Clutter] was a very nice gentleman. Soft-spoken.
I thought so right up to the moment I cut his throat"
(244). Later, he tells a jail visitor, "It's easy to kill - a lot
easier than passing a bad check" (291). Perry also has his personal
quirks, not least of which is the belief running throughout the narrative that
he will be rescued by a giant yellow bird, even in jail (265).
Hampered by the M'Naughten rule,
which states that criminal insanity is possible only if the accused does
not know the difference between wrong and right (316), Perry and Dick's lawyers
cannot enter into evidence the opinions of doctors with a broader range of
"insane." Capote, however, gives two such doctors ample room in the
book to argue their point. Dr. Jones believes that Dick's injury could have
physiological implications to his psychological state, thus making his actions
outside of his control (294-295). Perry's mental health is even more
questionable; he suffers from "'paranoid' orientation," "poorly
controlled rage," and a disordered thought process (296-297). Dr. Satten, a forensic psychiatrist, also felt that Perry and
Dick entered a "mental eclipse" outside of their control (302). (It
is important to note how Capote devotes four pages to excerpts from Satten's "Murder Without
Apparent Motive" journal article, 298-302.) An anti-death penalty advocate
would point out the problems with "killing" Perry and Dick if their
mental unfitness is even possibly true; they are simply "sick"
people, in need of treatment and compassion, not punishment.
Nevertheless, the Kansas Supreme Court, when given many of
the above arguments, denied Perry and Dick's appeal (329). The killers are sent
to death row, and this leads to Capote's final attempt to sway the reader to an
anti-death penalty bias. It is clear from the way Capote shows the death
penalty being carried out which side he is on. In
Lowell Lee Andrews is the first to hang in the book. Dick is
a grim witness:
"Old Andy, he danced a long time. They must
have had a real mess to clean up. Every few minutes the doctor [would check for
a heartbeat, then step outside]. I wouldn't say he was
enjoying the work - kept gasping, like he was gasping for breath, and he was
crying, too. . . . I guess the reason he stepped outside was so the others
wouldn't see he was crying. Then he'd go back and listen to hear if Andy's
heart had stopped. Seemed like it never would. The
fact is, his heart kept beating for nineteen
minutes." (331-332)
Capote punctures two balloons of the pro-death penalty
advocate in this narrative. One is the feeling of supposed satisfaction from
carrying out the highest form of justice. The state doctor's weeping shows the
ambiguous feelings of those very servants of justice. The second is that
criminals do not suffer while being executed. Hanging is clearly not
"cruel and unusual punishment" when the criminal takes nineteen
minutes to die.
This leads into Dick's hanging, who "hung for all to
see a full twenty minutes before the prison doctor at last said, 'I
pronounce this man dead'" (339, my italics), and the dialogue between a
guard and a reporter afterward:
[The guard says], "They don't feel nothing. Drop, snap, and that's it. They don't feel nothing."
"Are you sure? I was standing right close. I could hear him gasping for breath."
"Uh-huh, but he don't feel nothing. Wouldn't be humane if he did."
"Well. And I suppose they feed them a lot of pills. Sedatives."
"Hell, no. Against the rules. . . ." (340)
It should also be noted how this is a prime example of
Capote's poetic license. For "non-fiction," this would be a
remarkable feat of photographic memory or attentive listening to capture such
word for word dialogue between two people . . . if it was actually said out
loud at all. For a novel full of exact names, Capote quietly keeps the
"guard" and the "reporter" anonymous. Could it be Capote is
slipping his own personal thoughts into two fictionalized characters?
Perry is hung next. Al Dewey, the K.B.I. detective, gives a
final poignant moment to his death:
Dewey shut his eyes; he kept them shut until he
heard the thud-snap that announces a rope-broken neck. . . . He remembered his
first meeting with Perry in the interrogation room . . . the dwarfish boy-man
seated in the metal chair, his small booted feet not quite brushing the floor.
And when Dewey now opened his eyes, that is what he
saw: the same childish feet, tilted, dangling. (340-341)
When the detective who was
in charge of the Clutter murder case feels sympathy for the killer, and
indirectly, disparaging capital punishment as well, it is difficult not to feel
the same. Capote is to thank, or blame, for leading the reader to this conclusion.
He may do it brilliantly, but it shows how the telling of a story is always
influenced by who tells it. That bias is not wrong in a non-fiction novel, so
long that you can see the fiction from the fact.
Quotes from Truman Capote's In
Cold Blood, Vintage International,