Modernizing the archetypal hardboiled detective story, Paul Tremblay mixes surrealism with traditional noir in his novel No Sleep till Wonderland. A conceptual twist on the genre amplifies conventional crime fiction and explores the mysterious power of the human mind.
Tremblay first introduced browbeaten South Boston private investigator Mark Genevich in 2009’s The Little Sleep. Mark is barely scraping by after a botched case and an unrelenting struggle with narcolepsy. His condition annihilates his social life and confidence, landing him in group therapy. There, Mark meets a charismatic new friend who solicits his investigative skills. What begins as a straightforward shadowing job develops into a case of arson—with Mark as a main suspect.
Tremblay draws upon classic noir detective stories, modeling Mark after hardboiled fiction legends Sam Spade and Philip Marlowe. The book employs distinctive elements of crime fiction from the 1920s–1940s with an updated slant. Mark is characteristically cynical—a hard-drinking, cigarette-smoking loner with a sharp wit and unsentimental voice. “It’s too hot, even for mid-July,” he says at one point. “The mercury pushes past ninety degrees even as the sun stuffs its hands in its pockets, turns its back, and walks away for another night. I feel the same way.”
In the vein of classic detective noir, Mark fulfills the man-on-the-street perspective. He’s an average Joe with his own share of baggage, not particularly educated or advantaged. Like his literary forefathers, Mark embarks on a journey into the seedy underworld in the pursuit of answers.
Mark differs from the Spades and Marlowes of crime fiction, however, with the addition of his ailments. He blames a past accident for his physical handicaps and narcolepsy, but it seems to have left Mark emotionally damaged, as well, since he intentionally isolates himself from others but simultaneously longs for connection. Throughout the book, Mark suffers from narcoleptic blackouts where he either falls asleep or functions in a hypnagogic state between slumber and wakefulness. During these times, he can hallucinate, dream, or unconsciously function. His episodes last minutes or hours. He may remember flashes or nothing at all.
His dreams are often surreal, hinting at reality but obscured by nonsense. Through these hallucinations and visions, Tremblay injects the story with a dose of the absurd. For example, following a therapy exercise in which the group members sketched self-portraits, Mark dreams about his new and capricious friend Gus:
Gus and I are walking down West Broadway, and we are the pictures we drew at the Wellness Center. We’re made of paper and very fragile. Gus is already in pieces. The wind growls and threatens to tear us up. Then I’m not little Jackie Paper anymore, and I wake up on Gus’s couch.
At times, Mark cannot discern his dreams from reality. A definitive unreliable narrator, Mark doubts the credibility of his own memories. At the scene of the arson, Mark recalls helping a trapped boy find his way through the flames. Since he was functioning in a hypnagogic state and no one else corroborates his story, Mark remains unsure of what actually happened. This creates an interesting paradox. A detective actively seeks the truth, yet Mark cannot even trust himself. As he says, “A narcoleptic is the ultimate cynic, left with nothing to believe in, least of all himself, because everything could simply be a dream, and a lousy, meaningless one at that. Have at it, Freud.”
Although the unsolved arson mystery moves the plot along, Tremblay uses his character’s narcolepsy and peculiar hallucinations to explore the complexities of human emotion and self-awareness. The malleability of memory and reality creates a surreal atmosphere. Mark’s dreams and the emotional darkness simmering below his cynicism prompt readers to question the cause of his condition and the accuracy of his narration. What spurs his bizarre delusions? Is there more to Mark than he lets on?
Author China Miéville termed this surreal revamp of hardboiled fiction “Noird” (pronounced nward): a mix of noir and weird. The weirdness has a purpose, however. The strange behaviors of Mark’s mind tie back to his cynicism and loneliness. Did the accident cause his narcolepsy, or is Mark subconsciously hiding from reality?
No Sleep Till Wonderland delivers a fresh take on a classic genre. Readers will wonder “whodunit,” as in any detective novel, but will also uncover the force and consequences of denial and atonement.
(March, 2010)
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