Despite good qualities, the novel is not without flaws. The most obvious one is that, despite McCullers' open-minded and liberal sensibilities regarding race, hers is still a viewpoint immured in its time, less of a blacks are equals tone than a pity the poor blacks tone. This is made especially clear with Dr. Copeland, who is portrayed, in some ways, as an intellectual superman of his race, part of the old `Talented Tenth', who is frustrated at how many blacks, especially his children, accept their roles as subservient shufflers and falsely smiling yes-men. Yet, even he is not immune to McCullers' backhanded putdowns, as, early on, this doctor, is shown reading the works of the philosopher Spinoza, yet not really able to fully understand it- as if a man who can understand human biology would really struggle with such. The fact that McCullers portrays the majority of her black characters this way shows a passive racism. Now, this would not be a major flaw in the book were one of the main foci NOT race relations, but it is, and this dates the book in ways A Tree Grows In Brooklyn does not suffer from. Many critics, in fact, have lauded McCullers for her pre-Civil Rights Era racial sensitivity, and foreshadowing of the evils of McCarthyism and anti-Civil Rights demagogues, but when one gets beyond Dr. Copeland himself, the eternal exception to her rule, one sees that McCullers' view of blacks is sadly mired in its day- a sort of old style racial noblesse oblige. Another flaw is excess description, at times. Because her writing is not that poetic, such excess does not serve as a `breather' from the narrative, and often does not serve the narrative in any substantive way, merely acting as filler. Here's an example: `This was her, Mick Kelly, walking in the daytime and by herself at night. In the hot sun and in the dark with all the plans and feelings.' Is the second sentence really necessary to qualify the first? Compare that with this passage, from the last few pages of the book, and the difference is stark: `Then suddenly he felt a quickening in him. His heart turned and he leaned his back against the counter for support. For in a swift radiance of illumination he saw a glimpse of human struggle and of valor. Of the endless fluid passage of humanity through endless time. And of those who labor and of those who- one word- love. His soul expanded. But for a moment only.'

Yet, despite the fact that the book does not follow many conventional narrative tropes, it does follow a standard tripartite structure, and uses a standard third person omniscient voice. McCullers, herself, said that the book's structure was that of a fugue- where voices act antiphonally: `This book is planned according to a definite and balanced design. The form is contrapuntal throughout. Like a voice in a fugue each one of the main characters is an entirety in himself--but his personality takes on a new richness when contrasted and woven in with the other characters in the book.' In part one the characters, settings, and major themes are laid out. In part two each character's inner lives and failings are revealed, and the climax- Singer's suicide- occurs at the end of this section. And in part three the likely fates of the characters are limned.

This fatality is one of the ways this book most differs, negatively, from A Tree Grows In Brooklyn. That novel, laced with as much oppression and despair, ends on an up note (not the reason it's better) that is hopeful. Francie Nolan has a chance, a good chance, to surmount her past, even though, in many ways, her success was far less likely and less predictable than Mick's, who seems doomed. Both books are slices of life, portraits of bygone Americas in different places and times, but Betty Smith's Brooklyn seems far more vivid and real than Carson McCullers' South because it is more tightly drawn, less dated- thus more realistic, and more poetically mnemonically rendered. The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter also is a bit too long and too unfocused, losing its narrative thrust by going off tangent to things not vital to the main characters' tales, and were some of its excesses trimmed, it could pack more punch in just seventy-five to eighty percent of its length (356 pages). Still, this is, in a sense, nitpicking, and shows how far American literature has fallen because compared to what is routinely published nowadays this novel, despite its flaws, is a near-great book, every bit deserving of its niche in the canon.

It took me two months and forty-eight hours of nonstop raining to finish this "classic" set in the Deep South during the 1930s. Key characters in the novel are all struggling with embracing and understanding what makes them different from the status quo. These characters also spend a fair amount of time pondering the human condition during a time when race relations in America appear to mirror ethnic relations in Hitler's Germany. The novel is quite dense and for me probably one of the slowest reads I've encountered in a while. I'm sure the story was quite powerful when it was originally published in 1940 but I wasn't able to connect to the story much at all; I simply wanted to finish it because it was a recommended read.

While I didn't get into the story much I'm sure there is much material here for academic and historical analysis but it wasn't much of a pleasure read for me - and definitely not a summer read. I checked this out from library and even with the late fees that I've racked up it was still cheaper than purchasing it. Read it if you have to for a classroom exercise but I can't recommend that you run out a purchase it.

I first read this book as a teenager and have read it again several times over the years. There is something so deeply revealing about the human condition in the book that it is as meaningful to me in my sixties and it was in my teens - I think that something is perhaps a window into the angst of the human condition. I have read all of Carson McCuller's works, including the ones out of print.

This book deals with life in shades of gray, and my feelings about this book are also in shades of gray. Carson McCullers tackles issues that were prominent in the 1930's, including socialism, poverty, and racism. The writing is excellent, but I found this book dreary. Pretty much, it is about disappointment in life. If a positive message was tucked in, I couldn't glean it. It was hard to read - I would put it down and avoid picking it back up. The author did a good job of drawing her characters in an interesting way, and at a book club we had a lively and riveting discussion on the meaning of the deaf-mute character. I have thought about this book a lot since finishing it - a characteristic that I usually consider the mark of a great book. Nevertheless, I wouldn't recommend it to just any casual reader.

Maybe I'm just not a fan of the Southern Gothic genre to which this novel belongs, but man oh man, did I not "get" this book. I found it horribly tortuous and plodding in its pace, and felt that it all ultimately amounted to nothing special or remarkable at all. I had to force myself to finish it, and was always loathe to pick it up. I never felt invested in the characters or engaged in any of their stories, and the whole thing just left me feeling hollow inside. At times I would find particular storylines intriguing, but because of the way in which the story is told, all too soon I'd be tracking someone else's tale, and just as it got interesting, you'd have to switch gears and follow someone else's journey. Lather, rinse, repeat. None of the stories wind up being very meaty and left me incredibly hungry.

Not sure why this book is a classic or why it has received so much praise. Yes, people in very different walks of life and situations can be lonely, and loneliness can even bring people together and provide a common comfort. It's not that the message there is trite, it's just that the delivery was really not spectacular or moving at all. I couldn't help drawing parallels to "To Kill a Mocking Bird" the entire time I was reading this, and while I don't love that book either, I think you'd probably be better served reading it than this.