Capote's first novel could have needed a little polishing and further development, but I have to agree with Alan U. Schwartz after reading his afterword , that publishing this was a good decision. Sure, Capote might have shoved the script among the trash, but there wasn't a definite proof of his not wanting to ever putting this to daylight. Apparently, according to Schwartz he had even mentioned the novel in his later letters to friends, suggesting that publishing it wasn't entirely out of the question.

It's been a while since I've read A Breakfast at Tiffany's, and when I stumbled upon this novel I didn't think I would consider it as anything special either. Perhaps it isn't. Perhaps it would have needed something more, but it still has this certain charm to it. The kind of charm that only novels between maybe 1930s and 1960s can have. I especially enjoyed the beginning, I really felt I was there in the scorching summer heat of New York. Sometimes everything doesn't need to be perfect, the feeling you get is all that matters. I'm sensing the same thing will happen with Capote as did with Colette. At first the private life of the author may overrun the interestingness of the actual writing, but eventually he subtly makes you like that too.