Sally Thomas’ “Works of Mercy” is a lovely, quiet novel, in which the style, tone, and content fit together like hand in glove. The author’s understated, personal, poetic style reminded me of the novels of Susan Hill or Barbara Pym—both novelists who dwell within the world of feminine emotions without being indulgent, sentimental, or quaint.

My impatience with contemporary Christian fiction is something I am ashamed of. I feel as if I should enjoy reading fiction—especially if it is faith-based. But when the latest first novel from an aspiring Catholic writer peeks from the envelope I cringe rather than lunge.

Nevertheless, over the last months I have plunged into the comic book-type, action-packed world of Declan Finn’s heroic New York cop, Saint Tommy, and sampled the gloomy world of Joshua Hren’s Blake Yourrick. There was an allegorical walk in the woods by Michael Norton, and Michael Giere’s Justice on the Mountain features a pair of prayerful cops who get tangled up with criminals in the wilderness.

From this sampling (and many more), I can report that there seems to be an increasing number of aspiring authors who are writing fiction of variable quality and across a range of genres—from horror and fantasy to science fiction, action adventure, children’s fantasy, and more. If this is true among explicitly Catholic writers, the surge of non-Catholic Christian fiction writers is even greater. Whether the quantity is matched by quality will be seen as the products are tested by time.

One of the conflicts within fiction is between literature and entertainment. Some authors are simply aiming to tell a ripping yarn, to craft a genuine page-turner. They are not aiming to produce the next Brideshead Re-Visited. Sebastian Flyte is not necessary. Father Brown will do.

Others, it seems to me, are consciously aiming for a more elevated style. Driven by larger themes and aware of the immortals—Dostoevsky, O’Connor, Greene, Waugh, Lewis, Tolkien, or Bernanos—they hope to follow in their footsteps. Too often the result is a lame pastiche, the themes showing like a slip, the allegorically-named characters caught up in contrived plots and shallow “conflicts” that fail to stir the heart or the mind.

With these criticisms in mind I wrote to Sally Thomas after requesting a review copy of her debut novel Works of Mercy, saying I would be honest. She nodded her assent.

The first page was not promising. Kirsty Sain is the cleaner of the parish rectory in the North Carolina town of Annesdale, and when she used the words “recalcitrant” and “obliterated,” I groaned and muttered to myself, “Not good. Cleaning ladies in North Carolina don’t use words like ‘recalcitrant’ and ‘obliterated.’”

But then I learned that Kirsty was actually a Scottish lass from the Shetland Islands of all places, and that she studied English literature at Cambridge, married a Yank who had washed up in the UK, and been transported to his home in North Carolina. OK, now it was beginning to make sense. Having spent twenty-five years in the damp lands myself before being transplanted to the Carolinas, I was starting to be interested.

Kirsty is a lonely widow in her sixties, carrying a burden of wounds from a life of minor mistakes. Her life in the parish is simple, quiet, and unassuming. Despite her love of privacy and tendency to nurse her wounds alone, she cares for the shy, young priest and gets involved with the Malkin family—a rumbustious, mismatched couple from New Jersey with umpteen kids. Howie is Jewish, and Janet is a lovable slattern. Kirsty makes her way through the rummage of the Malkins’ life, eventually becoming a trusted friend and supporter when tragedy hits their home.

Works of Mercy is a lovely, quiet novel, in which the style, tone, and content fit together like hand in glove. Ms. Thomas’ understated, personal, poetic style reminded me of the novels of Susan Hill or Barbara Pym—both novelists who dwell within the world of feminine emotions without being indulgent, sentimental, or twee.

Sally Thomas deftly manages to make us care for her heroine without slathering on descriptions of her emotions or embarrassing us with blatant themes. Kirsty expresses her feelings about her Catholic faith, her regrets about past peccadilloes and her present grief with a restrained stoicism mixed with a poetic vision that fits perfectly her Gaelic, windswept Scottish island roots. Within the depth of the story I began to see Sally Thomas’ true craftiness. She is a sly writer and what she presents is a portrait of a truly good—or even saintly person.

Her heroine is down to earth and the salt of the earth in the best way. The creative writer will find it easy to create a villain and sympathetic heroes are not much more difficult, but to create a truly humble and good character without veering into conventional piety or superficial sentimentality is a challenge.

By the end I was truly enchanted with Kirsty Sain and thought if she were my parishioner, she would be the type I would drop in to see on those drizzly afternoons in winter when she’d offer a cup of tea, a slice of shortbread, and maybe even a wee dram.

Works of Mercy is not the sort of novel I would pick from a shelf, but I am not only happy to have read it, but look forward to Ms. Thomas’ next novel. Did the author intend to write a work of solid literary worth or was she simply aiming to write a compelling, believable, and moving story of the action of grace in an ordinary life? Whatever her intent, I’m of the opinion that she has accomplished both.

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