THE BOOK OF GUILT

In this gripping novel with elements of a fairy tale, Chidgey examines the lives of parentless children in an alternative Britain that feels frighteningly plausible.

Imagine World War II ended in a treaty without winners or losers after Hitler’s assassination by German conspirators in 1943; since then, British scientists have had access to studies “of immense scientific value” made in “the camps,” as they are called with pointed vagueness. In 1979, this history is taught to 13-year-old triplet brothers—mercurial William, softhearted Lawrence, and thoughtful, watchful Vincent, who narrates most of the book. They live in a group home for boys, part of the Sycamore Homes program established by the government in 1944 to raise parentless children. Doted on by a threesome of Morning, Afternoon, and Night mothers, taught from the encyclopedic Book of Knowledge (an actual publication) and in weekly ethics discussions, the Sycamore boys have had happy if isolated childhoods marred only by incessant sickliness. Those who recuperate from “the Bug” get to move to “the Big House in Margate,” which, according to the brochure, is a wonderful place next to an amusement park. Only the triplets still remain when a new Conservative government decides to discontinue the Sycamore program to cut costs. Soon the Prime Minister puts the well-meaning but clueless Minister of Loneliness in charge of rehoming the triplets. But where? That these children have been part of a creepy scientific experiment is obvious early on, but one shocking, horrifying surprise follows another in what is, at its most basic, a cat-and-mouse thriller. Meanwhile, Chidgey forces readers to delve into moral questions concerning science (and by extension, technology), pragmatism, personal responsibility, and institutional evil. Then there’s the novel’s unavoidable, disquieting contemplation of just who is given equal right in any given society (including ours). Chidgey, a New Zealander, borrows elements from Philip Roth’s The Plot Against America and Kazuo Ishiguro’s Never Let Me Go, but the character Vincent most resembles is Pinocchio. Broad themes and issues become deeply personal as his coming-of-age becomes a monumental struggle toward self-discovery.

Eloquent prose, rich characterizations, and knotty concepts—an emotional and intellectual tour de force.