England, 1979. Vincent, Lawrence and William are the last remaining residents of a secluded New Forest home, part of the government’s Sycamore Scheme. Every day, the triplets do their chores, play their games and take their medicine, under the watchful eyes of three mothers: Mother Morning, Mother Afternoon and Mother Night.

Their nightmares are recorded in The Book of Dreams.
Their lessons are taken from The Book of Knowledge.
And their sins are reported in The Book of Guilt.

All the boys want is to be sent to the Big House in Margate, where they imagine a life of sun, sea and fairground rides. But, as the government looks to shut down the Sycamore Homes, the triplets begin to question everything they have been told.

Gradually surrendering its dark secrets, The Book of Guilt is a profoundly unnerving exploration of belonging in a world where some lives are valued less than others.

I received an advance copy of this book courtesy of the publisher. All thoughts are my own.

If you’ve followed me for any length of time, you’ll know that Kazuo Ishiguro’s “Never Let Me Go” is one of my all-time favorite books. When I saw someone say that this book was similar, I was hesitant but hopeful. While this book definitely has some similarities, it’s also entirely its own work. It’s also really difficult to review because it’s a book that you absolutely need to go into blind. The less you know, the better.

The story takes place in 1979 England, inside a government-run home for children called the Sycamore Scheme. At first, things appear straightforward enough: Vincent, Lawrence, and William, a set of triplets, live under the care of three “mothers” who watch over their routines. Their lives are shaped by three texts: The Book of Dreams, The Book of Knowledge, and The Book of Guilt.

The book uses three alternating perspectives: Vincent, one of the triplets; The Minister, who is overseeing the program’s closure; and Nancy, a mysterious young girl whose voice slips into the narrative at key points. The shift in perspective slowly paints a picture of unease. The entire time you’re piecing together a puzzle from different angles, and with each chapter, the tension tightens.

Every character, be it a narrator or a side character, has a distinct purpose. No one is there as filler. Vincent, Lawrence, and William feel like real children navigating confusing rules with equal parts innocence and suspicion. The mothers, with their odd titles of Morning, Afternoon, and Night, are both caretakers and enforcers, blurring the line between protection and oppression. And The Minister’s sections add a chilling bureaucratic distance.

What struck me most while reading was how invested I became despite not fully understanding what was happening at first. That’s the magic of this kind of story—you don’t need the full picture right away to feel the weight of it. The uncertainty is the point. You trust the author to reveal just enough, and Chidgey does exactly that. The prose is elegant but never showy. It’s carefully and deliberately constructed. I loved how effectively the author built a sense of creeping dread. It was like watching a shadow crawl across the floor without realizing it at first.

Now, I will admit I had one issue. After so much careful build-up, the final two chapters felt rushed. I wanted more time. A little more space to let everything land. It wasn’t enough to sour the entire book for me, but it did keep it from being a full five-star read. A story this layered deserved a conclusion that breathed a little longer.

Still, that’s a small complaint compared to everything else this book accomplishes. It’s unnerving, thought-provoking, and deeply atmospheric. If you like speculative novels that slowly peel back their secrets while never letting you fully relax, then this is the book for you. It is absolutely worth your time. Just be sure to go in blind, prepare to be unsettled, and don’t be surprised if you’re still thinking about it long after you finish.