In so far as it is a story of youth and loneliness, Truman Capote's second novel resembles his first, but there are noteworthy differences in quality. "The Grass Harp" is less contrived than "Other Voices, Other Rooms," not so elaborately furnished, not so densely metaphorical. Although much of it is not quite literally credible, it is extravagant, rather than bizarre, and there are no such Gothic touches as the red tennis balls and the hanging mule. More of the writing is colloquial, and fewer of the poetic passages seem forced.

No one, however, need expect out-and-out realism from Capote….

Like "Other Voices, Other Rooms," this is a story of private worlds. The dream world of the tree-house, however, is a world of innocence, not the morbid nightmare of Skully's Landing….

This second novel is not so overwhelming an achievement as "Other Voices" was in its particular way, but it is more satisfying. It is, as Capote's books probably always will be, a book of the grotesque, but the grotesques are created out of love and pity.