Stein had her own doubts about the readability of Three Lives; she understood that its style would upset readers’ expectations and that the simplicity of the characters might make them of little interest to more sophisticated readers. When she was unable to find a publisher, she finally funded the printing of the book herself, paying for a relatively small run. As she expected, few copies sold—fewer than she gave away to friends and reviewers—but the book, and especially ‘‘Melanctha,’’ did find an enthusiastic audience. Praise came from many important papers and journals, and contemporaries whose opinions Stein admired, such as Carl Van Vechten and Mabel Dodge, also embraced her efforts. Rather than lapsing into obscurity, ‘‘Melanctha’’ started on a path to landmark status. By the late 1920s, ‘‘Melanctha’’ was already something of modernist classic. In 1933, the book no publisher would publish became a classic of modern literature.

‘‘Melanctha’’ has also become an object of scholarly study over the decades. The critical responses tend to cluster around certain issues or concerns, determined mostly by the story’s unconventionality. Much of the commentary on Stein from 1910 through the 1950s is evaluative rather than interpretive, either arguing her merits, as does Carl Van Vechten, or deriding her, as does Wyndham Lewis, another modernist artist. For Stein’s detractors, the superficially simple, almost childish language of the story made easy prey: they could argue that her aesthetics stemmed not from artistic insight, but rather from ineptitude. Consequently, most of the early studies of Stein, even when positive, still regarded her writing in relation to her psychology. Richard Bridgman, for example, albeit an admirer of Stein, nonetheless suggested that ‘‘Melanctha’’ was the product of emotional difficulties rather than artistic purpose.

Later twentieth-century criticism, however, regards the unusual form of ‘‘Melanctha’’ as its author’s deliberate experiments with representation. Many critics have looked at it as her effort to work out an aesthetic based on the psychological theories of her mentor at Radcliffe, professor William James. Michael J. Hoffman and Donald Sutherland both pioneered this effort; Lisa Ruddick has recently revised it. Other critics have emphasized Stein’s desire to take part in the artistic revolution that was taking place around her in Paris—as Pablo Picasso painted her portrait in the radically unconventional techniques of cubism, Stein composed ‘‘Melanctha.’’ According to these critics—including Randa Dubnick, Jayne L. Walker, and Hoffman— Stein sought to achieve the same unprecedented ‘‘realism’’ in literature that painters like Picasso pursued on canvas.

There has also been a lengthy critical tradition of examining the social issues that surface in ‘‘Melanctha,’’ most notably Stein’s treatment of African-American characters and Melanctha’s femaleness. Carl Van Vechten initiated the study of race with his 1933 preface to Three Lives. Although some critics, including novelist Richard Wright, have praised Stein’s depiction of black Americans, many more have detected a persistent racism in the stereotypes she employs. Milton A. Cohen provides an extensive discussion; Ruddick also touches on the issue. Just as risky as Stein’s choice of making her protagonist black was her choice to make Melanctha a woman untroubled by moral judgement, especially about her sexuality. Melanctha’s freedom, as well as the difficult life from which her emotional complexity arises, has made her a natural subject for feminist scholarship. Marianne DeKoven, in 1983, identified Melanctha as a kind of protofeminist, a female rebel against oppressive propriety. Ruddick, focusing on the violence of Melanctha’s father, interprets her as a victim of patriarchal culture.