Djuna Barnes seems to have acquired an odd, cliquish kind of fame largely because T.S. Eliot wrote a eulogistic preface to her novel Nightwood. This odd story mixes together the usual American expatriates in Europe with some rather unconvincing native aristocrats; it is a highly "literary" and mannered production, though with a middlebrow core rather in the style of Kay Boyle. It certainly does not compare well with Hemingway's Fiesta or the best novels of Jean Rhys, which deal with a rather similar milieu. The collection of early stories called Spillway is unremarkable and like many others of its time; Antiphon, a play in blank verse written in old age, is little more than a curiosity, though a few reckless critics have made large claims for it. This entire volume confirms my impression that Djuna Barnes made a reputation out of very little.
Brian Fallon