This story was a perfect period piece for its time, but as much as people play up the glamour of the tale and its connection with Audrey Hepburn, I really found it quite sad. The disillusionment and downplayed sadness of Holly Golightly’s life reminded me of an F. Scott Fitzgerald short story, where the glitter comes off on the protagonist’s hands as he is left in wonderment and melancholy at the departure of the heroine from his life. What did Holly Golightly want, really? Money to take care of her brother, but she can never save enough of? The priorities of the characters are all topsy turvy and backwards — the protagonist is a writer who barely writes. The overarching motif of ambition without an end speaks very clearly to the rat-race-like scene in much of NYC today. It generates a lot of excitement, as in this sparkling novella, but leaves its chasers a little empty.