I had just read "In Cold Blood" appreciating it a lot and I was looking for other Truman Capote's books in the huge library of my parents. There I've found this novel.
When I've begun "Other Voices, Other Rooms" I was optimistic about it, but I've lost this sensation pretty soon. We're talking about a novel which seems to aim too high for its novelist possibilities. This book has remembered me a lot the Nabokov obsession for detailed descriptions of every apparently meaningless thing.
The same fact that I'm not able to remember properly what happens in this novel, is not a good sign. On the opposite side what it comes to me when I think to Other Voices Other Rooms is just sweat.