I picked up The Patron Saint of Liars, by Ann Patchett, at the library, as I’d enjoyed Bel Canto and not previously read any of her other stuff. I was a bit disappointed, truthfully. I know it’s a debut novel, and I tried to give it the tender consideration that such a thing deserves. Nonetheless, it fell flat for me. The changing viewpoints didn’t flow as well as in her later writing, which was a shame. Granted, there aren’t many writers who achieve excellence with a shifting first person narrative (several, but not all, of Chris Bohjalian‘s works do).

The book didn’t grab me. I kept waiting for the plot to become compelling, and it didn’t. As when I read Three Junes, I found myself treating each section of the book as a short story, strung together by shared characters. Perhaps that’s how Patchett meant the novel to be read, in which case, bravo! I don’t enjoy that narrative structure much; more when the vignettes are shorter, as with The House on Mango Street or The Girls’ Guide to Hunting and Fishing. Still, I mention those books as examples only; I didn’t love either of them, and I much prefer a short story collection with a theme such as Interpreter of Maladies or Strange Pilgrims, both of which are excellent reads.

In a nutshell, the novel is well-written and the prose flows. However, the plot didn’t engage me and the structure is one I find off-putting. So there you have it.