This short story wraps around you like steam from a mug of your favorite drink and lingers in your mind for months after the holiday season ends. I cannot rave enough about this Christmas story: though semi-autobiographical, Capote has a way of making you feel like you’re reading about your own Christmas tradition—even though I’m pretty sure i’ve never actually eaten a slice of fruitcake for Christmas. That whole sad-content-warm-drippy-nostalgic feeling that the holidays make us all feel? Capote puts it on paper