Carson McCullers’s debut novel, The Heart is a Lonely Hunter, is published.

On June 4, 1940, the day her debut novel The Heart is a Lonely Hunter was published, 23-year-old Carson McCullers was alone in New York City. She’d come with her husband to promote the book, but he was off sailing with a friend. “She knew almost no one in New York except the kindly older woman acquaintance who had found her the room,” writes Mary V. Dearborn.

“She was nearly penniless, but she had to scrape together enough money to buy something to wear to a meeting with her editor the next week. June 4 was a pause. On one side were Carson’s years growing up in provincial Columbus, Georgia, and the succession of Southern towns to which her husband’s job had called them. On the other side, she assumed, would be the exciting life of an author, living glamorously in New York City, meeting the writers, artists, and musicians who had peopled her fantasies.”

The Heart is a Lonely Hunter was hotly anticipated, despite—or because of—its strangeness. “It did not fit any of the accepted and expected categories of mainstream fiction,” Dearborn explains. “It was neither a love story nor a bildungsroman, it did not have characters whom readers could recognize as like themselves, it did not have a happy ending, and it did not have a single strong narrative line.” It was a book about misfits, written by a misfit. But, importantly, McCullers was a young misfit, and publishing has always loved nothing better than a wunderkind. “Readers were flabbergasted to learn that this tour de force was the work of someone so young and, despite her gender-ambiguous name, a woman,” writes Dearborn. “It was hard to believe she knew so much about the ‘lonely hearts’ of others, said one critic. She seemed sui generis, unique, and as it turned out, as odd as some of her characters.” Richard Wright compared her favorably to William Faulkner and Sherwood Anderson and Ernest Hemingway, and wrote that “whether you will want to read the book depends upon the extent to which you value the experience of discovering the stale and familiar terms of everyday life bathed in a rich and strange meaning, devoid of pettiness and sentimentality.” A lot of people wanted to read it. The novel became a bestseller, and McCullers, at least for a time, was offered entry into the artist’s life of her dreams. “I became an established literary figure overnight and I was much too young to understand what happened to me or the responsibility it entailed,” she said later. “I was a bit of a holy terror.” It’s hard to hold it against her, though. By the age of 30 she would have had two major strokes; she died much too young, at 50, after a brain hemorrhage, leaving behind years of literary potential along with her enduring classics.

Read an excerpt of The Heart is a Lonely Hunter here.