A Terrible Kindness: The Bestselling Richard and Judy Book Club Pick

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A Terrible Kindness is sentimental to many a fault. In the Aberfan sections alone, its approach doesn’t seem out of place: the bereaved parents are true pictures of grief, and later, the words on their children’s graves have a plaintive naïveté. But away from there, in Cambridge or London, this Faber “lead debut” reads like average young-adult fare. What happened in the Welsh valleys that year is enraging, compelling, haunting – for a storyteller, the works. The great Aberfan novel, however, is apparently yet to come. William’s mother says: “My job in life, William, is to love you like no one on earth, and I have to say, I think I’m doing a pretty good job . . .” Is she right? This part of the story is clearly impeccably researched, but the research is worn lightly, seamlessly woven throughout, to provide a rich texture of dignity and personal care in the presence of death. It is, as the title suggests, “a terrible kindness”. This book provides a thought-provoking look into the power dynamics between individuals and groups within society.

Since his father died two years ago, William has had to tighten up his insides and work hard to cheer his mother up” but at Cambridge, he made a real friend: “he is relieved that it seems all he needs to do to be liked by Martin is to be himself.” Finally note that the book has something rather coincidentally in common with another of the Observer Top 10 Debut Novelists feature – “Trespasses” by Louise Kennedy also features a main character with the surname Lavery (who also lost their father, has a very difficult relationship with their mother and who ends up working in the family business). And to add another coincidence I spent four years at Cambridge – as a mathematician not a chorister (!) – and spent the fourth year living in the old superintendent’s lodge in a cemetery.William's character has so much depth. I really felt I was accompanying him on his journey as he worked through his conflicting and difficult emotions. There are a number of interesting characters: Martin, his best friend from boarding school and William's uncle. What was it about the make-up and purpose of the Midnight Choir in Cambridge that made it so central to William’s rehabilitation?

What a terrible mess we can make of our lives. There should be angel police to stop us at these dangerous moments, but there don’t seem to be. So all we’re left with, my precious son, is whether we can forgive, be forgiven and keep trying our best. William decides he must act, so he stands and volunteers to attend. It will be his first job, and will be – although he’s yet to know it – a choice that threatens to sacrifice his own happiness. His work that night will force him to think about the little boy he was, and the losses he has worked so hard to bury. But compassion can have surprising consequences, because – as William discovers – giving so much to others can sometimes help us heal ourselves. Selection panel review William gets his moment in the spotlight, but it is eclipsed by the handing of a telegram to the president, who reads it out: “Embalmers needed urgently at Aberfan. Bring equipment and coffins.” It will be William’s first job as an embalmer and what he experiences over the next few nights in the makeshift mortuary in Aberfan, re-awakens memories of his own childhood trauma. As he tends gently to the bodies of small children dug out from the slurry and witnesses their parent’s grief, “the flotsam and jetsam of his own life is washed up by the tidal wave of Aberfan’s grief.” Throughout the story I regularly thought of William as a kind hearted and genuinely good boy who developed into a man with these same traits. He was loyal and he loved intensely, but he was a complex character who made a few poor judgement calls, made some uncharacteristic decisions and said some things he didn't necessarily mean in the heat of the moment. Instead of moving on from these lapses he severely punished himself (with flow on effects for others). His way of dealing with these situations was to sever ties rather than to mend relationships and at times I wanted to shake him. His boyhood best friend, Martin, said it this way

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The story of A Terrible Kindness is a powerful exploration of the consequences of poor decision-making. James Meek is an award-winning British novelist and journalist. He is currently a contributing editor to the London Review of Books. His best-known book, published in more than 30 countries, is The People’s Act of Love. It was nominated for the Man Booker Prize and won both the Royal Society of Literature Ondaatje Prize and the Scottish Arts Council Award. The author was born in England, but grew up in Dundee and attended Edinburgh University. It was during his time as a student in the 1980s that he published his first collection of short stories. I interviewed two of the embalmers who'd been there at length,’ said Jo. ‘They told me their stories in great detail with great feeling. Their story was linked to going into Aberfan, and helping, and then leaving again.’ A Terrible Kindness is ultimately a tale of humanity, showing how love and compassion endures even in the most difficult of situations. A Terrible Kindness by Jo Browning Wroe: Footnotes It has been an extraordinary few months for me; first, signing with Sue at C&W and now being welcomed so generously by Louisa at Faber – both brilliant women in the publishing world that I feel thrilled to have supporting me. From the moment I learned about the volunteer embalmers at Aberfan, I wanted to find a way to tell a story that honoured and respected both them and the families so deeply affected by the disaster. It’s quite a daunting thing to do, but I feel with Faber, my novel is in the most capable hands imaginable.

Days later, with no sleep and only short breaks for crab paste sandwiches and whisky-laced tea, his life had changed utterly, in a way he could not have predicted.

A Terrible Kindness

whilst his mum summed it up with ‘What a terrible mess we can make of our lives. There should be angel police to stop us at these dangerous moments, but there don’t seem to be. So all we’re left with, my precious son, is whether we can forgive, be forgiven, and keep trying our best.’ What if he’d chosen differently? What if all that had happened could have made him a bigger person? If each disaster had been a crossroads at which he could have taken a better path? It’s too painful to dwell on. A little known but vitally important role in the immediate aftermath of the tragic events at Aberfan on the 21 October 1966, was that of volunteer embalmers, undertakers who made the journey from far and wide to answer the call for help.