I read pretty much anything, from fantasy (City of Stairs by Robert Jackson Bennett) to romance (Bared to You by Sylvia Day) to classics (Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad). The only genres I don't read are self-help and comic books/graphic novels.
7/6 - The original true crime novel. These days the murder of a family during a home invasion isn't as shocking as it was when In Cold Blood was written, so the description of the crime, and the scene afterward, didn't really bother me. The preceding description of the Clutters' final hours was more disturbing because (like when I was reading The Diary of Anne Frank) all I could think of was the fact that on that last day they were just living their life, with no idea of what was coming (and this tended to lead me to thinking about whether I (or a loved one) was living my last day and if I was would I want to be doing something different with it).
Dick Hickock and Perry Smith have to be two of the more ridiculous killers and would-be burglars that I've read about (I like true crime tv shows and books). The random, monetarily worthless stuff they stole, seemingly for the hell of it, astounded me with its absurdity. I just wanted to ask them what were they thinking, why they bothered taking any of the 'knick knacks'. All they could ever hope to make from their sale was a dollar or two, and even in 1959 that wasn't going to get you very far. Hickock and Smith's unstable and abusive childhoods didn't really make me feel sympathetic towards them, a bad childhood is no excuse for becoming a mass murderer.
I was very impressed (and possibly incredulous) with Capote's ability to get the most minute details regarding the time of the murder from all the people involved, especially their conversations years after the fact. Sometimes I had trouble believing that someone could recall a conversation that occurred years ago with such clarity. I can't recall the complete dialogue of conversations I had only days ago, let alone years.