A Heart That Works: THE SUNDAY TIMES BESTSELLER

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RD: Everything makes me a better writer. As a human being, rather than “better,” I would say it has made me more useful. Like if a car runs somebody over, better having me there than your average, non-EMT in that if you’re going through something difficult, I might be of better use than I used to be anyway.

SN: The book is beautiful, and it’s such a celebration of Henry’s life. It also feels very much like a private journal in ways, almost like a diary. Is this something that you were writing as everything was going on with Henry and his treatment, or was this something that it took you a while to sit down and decide you needed to write?

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I’m no better and no worse than any other bereaved parents out there. But I have seen, felt, and lived through something that is rare. SN: You also write about how people have asked if writing the fourth season of Catastrophe was therapeutic, but I want to switch that up a little bit: Was writing this book, if not therapeutic, was it cathartic in a way? And then there is Henry. “In between Henry’s death was, of course, his life. That’s my favourite part. Henry led a hell of a life.” Little Henry liked Incy Wincy Spider, dancing to Justin Bieber, and, curiously, thumbing through one of those 1913 hen-do books, Don’ts for Husbands. He was “impossibly sweet and calm”. The last food he ate before the tracheostomy that left him permanently tube-fed was a chocolate croissant. But that’s basically it for the N.H.S. “A discussion of national healthcare policy would be a book unto itself,” Delaney notes. Talking about Henry for a few moments in a political-campaign video is one thing; going on at any length about those politics in a book about Henry is, we can perhaps imagine, another. In a campaign video, Delaney has a mission: to mobilize his audience. In “A Heart That Works” he has a different one. If you come away with a newfound appreciation of health care as a public good, Delaney would probably like that. But it’s not the point. He’s trying to coax you up to the edge of grief’s abyss, and do what it takes—even tell you jokes—to get you to peer inside a little longer than you might have otherwise and, by doing so, maybe begin to learn something about how you want to live (which is related, but not reducible, to the question of how you want to vote). I will not tell you anything else about the moments before or after Henry’s death. I can talk about them, but I don’t want to try to confine them to ink. Maybe you have experienced something like them, or maybe someday you will."

I loved this on The New Yorker: There’s Nothing Decorous About Rob Delaney’s Grief. Rob Delaney Author Bio In this memoir of loss, acclaimed writer and comedian Rob Delaney grapples with the fragile miracle of life, the mysteries of death, and the question of purpose for those left behind.SN: You talk about this a bit in the book — almost wondering why it was so important for you to write, why you felt compelled to talk about it. But then you kind of answer your own question a chapter or two later when you say, “[Joan] Didion made me feel less alone.” Which I think is precisely what this book will do for so many people. My question is, ultimately, do you feel like this book was written for you , for others who are hurting with a similar type of pain, or something else altogether? But here’s the thing: Rob Delaney does talk to me, and he’s not only incredibly gracious, thankful, and eloquent (all while still being heartbroken in so many ways), but he’s also funny and hopeful for the future and full of love for his family. It is this mindset that makes A Heart That Works so searingly beautiful and so utterly tragic at the same time. A memoir that feels like a diary written by a man who must watch as he’s helpless to save his young child, the book is raw and honest, which is precisely what makes it one that will likely help those who find themselves in a similar position. A Heart That Works is a testament to a father’s love and finding hope when it feels impossible. RD: Well, only my wife’s opinion mattered to me. I love my extended family, but he’s our son. So, I talked to my wife before I started and said, “What do you think of this?” And she thought it was a good idea. She was behind it. And then she read drafts as I was writing it and was massively helpful. So, she was totally okay with me writing it. A devastatingly candid account of a parent’s grief that will have readers laughing and crying in equal measure. For level access to the Royal Festival Hall from the Queen Elizabeth Hall Slip Road off Belvedere Road, please use the Southbank Centre Square Doors. The JCB Glass Lift is situated at this entrance and will take you to all floors. All floors are accessible from the main foyer on Level 2. If you need further assistance, our Visitor Assistants are here to help you.