In Mrs. S, the debut novel by the Glasgow author K. Patrick, bodies exist as a site of ongoing construction. Perhaps this is because our protagonist does not know how she feels about the particular body that she inhabits. And the questions that crop up because of that unknowing make for an entirely captivating read ... In due course the novel offers a steamy love story, and Patrick proves to be a deft hand at the erotic ... I could wax on about the sensuality of Patrick’s narrative, how sometimes loneliness means gazing deeply into the well of your own self, wondering at the stranger who’s reflected back. But I’d rather leave it with the unanswered question. Change comes for us all, and that’s a beautiful, awesome thing. Save the knowledge for later.
Mrs S promises classic hothouse drama then segues into an experiment with form that frequently converts expectation to bemusement ... There are set pieces – violence at a school dance, a Lorca play, gardening, more gardening – that form a background to the progression of the relationship, but the 300-odd pages of this novel are a slow burn. With its suppressed yearning, erotic tension and search for the 'self,' the book is essentially a lengthy prose poem that will delight some readers and alienate others ... Mrs S is inventive and original in many ways, and very much of its time in others: reflective, solipsistic, essentially plotless. But Patrick at their best is a powerful prose writer, with dense, intense yet pared-back descriptions ... There are valid comparisons with Garth Greenwell to be made, and a Woolfian stream of consciousness is definitely at play. But the stylistic choices present some serious problems of pace ... Atmospheric and daring and at times beautifully written, Mrs S would be more powerful as a novella in which the avoidance of conventional fictional devices in a shorter form would elevate its originality above its own challenges.
In a literary culture where every other first novel seems to be in the genre of what one writer for The New Yorker called 'gals being sad on their phones', this is a book with individuality to burn. There’s nothing else like it out there ... It’s hard to overstate how intense the narrative is, helped along by being set in a heatwave, which adds a sweaty sultriness to everything ... But Mrs S is evidence too that every authorial decision has a debit and a credit side. The fervour of the matron’s passion for Mrs S means there is little room for humour in her story. The narrator’s breathless style can tangle the reader up in who said what and it flattens all the secondary characters with the exception of the housemistress. Nonetheless, it remains exciting to hear such an individual new voice exploring power and desire, giving us an artful insight in other lives and reminding us that all things move toward their end.
