Katherine Chidsey’s New Novel: A Dive into Dystopia
In 2016, Katherine Chidsey released her fourth novel, *The Wish Child*, which offers a child’s perspective of Nazi Germany. Since then, her work has continued to evolve in intriguing and unpredictable ways. She revisited wartime Germany with *Remote Pity*, a Holocaust novel that was nominated for a Women’s Award, while also exploring genres like psychological thrillers in *Pet to the Beat of Pendurum*. Last year, her book *Axeman’s Carnival*, which features a narrative partially led by magpies, won the Acorn Award for Fiction, making Chidsey the only author to win New Zealand’s most prestigious fiction award twice.
Guilt seems to represent yet another shift in her storytelling. Chidsey describes her ninth novel as her first venture into dystopian fiction. It’s set in a version of the UK featuring a female prime minister obsessed with Downing Street in 1979—though it’s a version of the country we don’t recognize. In Chidsey’s alternate reality, World War II concluded with an Allied victory in 1945, but in 1943, the assassination of Hitler by German conspirators led to a hastily negotiated peace. This scenario allowed Europe to collaborate on advanced biological and medical research, including horrific experiments conducted on prisoners in Nazi death camps.
The shadow of these horrific events still looms over the narrative, especially concerning three 13-year-old triplets: Vincent, William, and Lawrence. They are monitored by three “mothers,” each working daily eight-hour shifts, while the boys undergo lessons, exercise, and take medications labeled only as “bugs.” They harbor hopes of recovery, ultimately dreaming of a large house in Margate, touted as a seaside paradise, replete with sun-soaked sand and unending access to an amusement park. But, the boys reflect on the Margate brochures with an unsettling awareness—confessing through Vincent that “we never dreamed of trying to escape.” He reflects on happier times before he truly understood their reality. The Sycamore home, once a haven, has been sold, and now, people avoid discussing it, Vincent realizes. No one wants that weight of guilt.
This narrative evokes memories of Kazuo Ishiguro’s well-known work. The parallels are not just about the institutional settings of the late 1970s. Much like Ishiguro’s characters, Chidsey’s triplets—though unique—are scrutinized under a system that both protects and exploits them, kept in the dark about their true purpose, which they only painfully begin to grasp. Vincent’s first-person narration engages directly with the reader, evoking a conversational tone reminiscent of Ishiguro’s style.
Yet, despite these comparisons, as *Guilt* unfolds, it’s clear that it stands apart from Ishiguro’s work. Both novels start from similar places but diverge into distinct explorations of scientific progress and its moral implications. While Ishiguro’s narrative deeply contemplates mortality and the human longing to cling to those we love, his perspective is more personal and less political.
In contrast, *Guilt* weaves in broader political themes, presenting two parallel narratives within Vincent’s account. One involves Nancy, a girl held captive by her well-intentioned parents, while the other revolves around a Minister plagued by their harrowing schemes. Together, these stories illuminate the state’s ability to dehumanize segments of society and our complicity in such power. Chidsey delves into the cognitive dissonance that allows individuals to acknowledge a painful truth yet distance themselves from it.
These complex questions echo throughout Chidsey’s body of work, connecting her seemingly varied projects. As the U.S. slides back into turmoil in 2025, these themes become increasingly urgent. Written with insight and vigor, *Guilt* strikes a delicate balance between darkness and light. Although it creates a distinctive world of its own, the shadow of Ishiguro’s legacy lingers, making inevitable comparisons that challenge Chidsey’s integrity.
