Unraveling the Darkness of The Sleepwalkers by Miranda de Pencier
When I first picked up The Sleepwalkers by Miranda de Pencier, I was lured in by an intriguing premise and a tantalizing blurb suggesting Highsmith meets The White Lotus. But what I discovered within its pages was a haunting journey into the lives of two profoundly flawed characters, Evelyn and Richard, whose cascade into bleakness left me with lingering questions long after I’d turned the final page.
At the heart of this novel are Evelyn and Richard, a couple whose marriage is simmering with contempt. From the very beginning, I felt the weight of their disdain—it practically dripped off the pages. Evelyn finds Richard boring and spoiled, while he views her as self-absorbed and promiscuous. Their interaction is like watching a tragic play unfold, one where you simultaneously hope they’ll reconcile yet dread their inevitable downfall. Their dynamic is darkly captivating, unraveling against the backdrop of a troubling past that neither is willing to confront.
De Pencier’s writing is lush and evocative, a quality that initially drew me in. The vivid imagery—especially her use of color in relation to death, blood, and decay—brings an almost tactile depth to the narrative. There’s something undeniably powerful about her descriptions, whether it’s the dismemberment of animals or the symbolism of pomegranates echoing tales of Persephone. Yet, as the tale unfolds, I couldn’t help but feel that the author’s ambition turned the narrative into a labyrinth of heavy themes—domestic abuse, trauma, betrayal—so complex that it lost its way.
As I journeyed through the different perspectives and fragmented letters, the narrative structure started to feel uneven. The shifting points of view and haphazard gaps in the text led me to question whether I was experiencing a glitch. Instead of enhancing the story, these interruptions became slightly tedious. It’s a testament to de Pencier’s talent that I wanted to engage with her narrative—yet the execution left me grappling for clarity.
The title The Sleepwalkers evokes a sense of dreamlike caution, and I found myself pondering the metaphor as I read. Are Evelyn and Richard merely drifting through life? Their actions and choices suggest that they are unaware puppets in a cruel play—but the lack of resolution leaves readers to wonder if any of their bitter threads will be tied together by the end.
And what an ending it is, or rather, isn’t. Leaving us hanging, de Pencier toys with Chekhov’s dramatic principles to conjure an unresolved conclusion that echoes the chaotic pattern of life. Did anyone truly escape? That uncertainty mirrored my feelings toward the characters—part of me wished for them to face consequences, yet another part yearned for a slice of redemption. The overarching themes touch on pressing societal issues from mental illness to the murky waters of cancel culture and infidelity, making it clear that de Pencier had grand ambitions. Unfortunately, I found that while it aspired to tackle important topics, the narrative suffered from a lack of focus.
Despite its flaws, The Sleepwalkers is not without merit. It beckons readers who appreciate unflinching reflections on the human condition, an exploration of profound despair, and the intricacies of flawed relationships. I would recommend this book to those who enjoy exploring darkness in their literary experience, but I advise approaching it with caution and a readiness for bleakness.
In the end, I emerged from this reading experience with lingering questions about the nature of relationships and the scars that bind us. Although this novel left me dismayed, I applaud de Pencier’s audacity and hope her next work finds its footing more firmly in the waves of clarity. Happy reading!