Fiction by Maude Hutchins
Georgiana is a girl. The printer who printed her thought she was quite a girl, and we readily agree. But don’t interpret “quite” to mean “bad.” A girl with as much brain and flair as Georgiana doesn’t have to be bad to make her appealing. You read a few pages of Georgiana at random—her childhood or her days in school or her first loves—and you realize at once that she is a real person. So indeed that she breaks all the roles of novel-writing. In fact she walks clean out of the back cover. Nobody is going to finish her. Perhaps good sculptors cannot be trusted with typewriters. They see too much and they feel too much. You will, too.