Rosy Winter is dying. Her husband, Charlie--kind, supportive, but somewhat out of his depth--offers what relief he can as she suffers. His sister, Sally, offers even less, distracted by a shift within her own husband. But beyond the homeopathic remedies, the dinner party obligations, the snatched whispers on wards and in staffrooms, a force --murderous, sensual, feverish--has been awoken and is stirring within her. A refusal to live, as much as to die. In searing, lyrical prose that shimmers with rage and longing, Emma Glass has delivers an utterly singular and surreal story of power and powerlessness, light and dark, and life and death. By turns tender and devastating, Mrs. Jekyll contorts Stevenson's gothic classic into a sumptuous and shocking account of modern womanhood.

Rosy Winter is dying. Her husband, Charlie--kind, supportive, but somewhat out of his depth--offers what relief he can as she suffers. His sister, Sally, offers even less, distracted by a shift within her own husband. But beyond the homeopathic remedies, the dinner party obligations, the snatched whispers on wards and in staffrooms, a force --murderous, sensual, feverish--has been awoken and is stirring within her. A refusal to live, as much as to die. In searing, lyrical prose that shimmers with rage and longing, Emma Glass has delivers an utterly singular and surreal story of power and powerlessness, light and dark, and life and death. By turns tender and devastating, Mrs. Jekyll contorts Stevenson's gothic classic into a sumptuous and shocking account of modern womanhood.