Margaret Thatcher reputedly only needed four….hours’ sleep, that is, with the occasional power nap to recharge her batteries during particularly difficult days. My mother, meanwhile, always insisted that sleep was the best medicine for any ailment and personally, I’m a mess if I don’t get at least eight hours; clearly, I’m never going to be a follower of Swami Ravi who, in this novel, preaches that sleep is an unnecessary human construct. He teaches that we are merely trained to sleep from a very young age and that we don’t in fact need any sleep. Sleep, he says, is a waste of time, valuable time which could be put to much better use given that the world as we know it is dying. Certainly, it is exciting to think about how much more we could do with our lives if we didn’t spend a third of it asleep but it’s not something I think I could ever accomplish.

Bell calls this novel a ‘cult thriller’ and Swami Ravi is the leader of a cult which believes we can be trained not to sleep, hence the title. This cult has offshoots all over the world but the focus of this book is the one in a remote area of Scotland.

Tom Grafton is a single dad. Over the course of the novel, we learn that he has overcome the demon drink, something which may have contributed to his wife, Liz, leaving him and their son, Isaac, some eight years previously. She had tried encouraging him to go to therapy, had tried supporting him but ultimately realised that for him to recover, he needed a purpose and that, she decided, was looking after their son. She, meanwhile, took time out for herself and began following the teachings of Swami Ravi. She was to become one of his most dedicated disciples.

Certainly, it is exciting to think about how much more we could do with our lives if we didn’t spend a third of it asleep but it’s not something I think I could ever accomplish.

In the course of his work at the local radio station, Grafton hears about the commune in Scotland and, convinced that it may lead him to Liz or at least to find out where she is, he wants to give in to his journalistic instincts and follow the story. He leaves the seventeen-year-old Isaac alone for a few days; he’s preparing for his final Art exhibition at College and is engrossed in any case. He is due to show his work at the end of the week and his dad promises to be back in time to see it.

Grafton finds and gains entry to the commune, meeting its weird (I can’t say wonderful) members. The messianic Joan is devout and leads her people with a spiritual fervour. Eddie and Whippet are less believers, more enforcers who enjoy inflicting the pain necessary to punish those who stray from the true path or who need help to stay awake. Pain is the perfect antidote to giving in to the ‘comforting folds of the duvet and a soft pillow’. Grafton’s investigation is not without pain.

Liz, meanwhile, has returned from India and has heard of the commune in Scotland. She also hears about Isaac’s exhibition and makes her way to it, to meet her son. Together, they travel to Kilchoan. Isaac is worried about the lack of communication from his father who has not made it back in time and Liz wants to meet Joan and to check that the commune is run to Swami’s exacting standards.

Pain is the perfect antidote to giving in to the ‘comforting folds of the duvet and a soft pillow’. Grafton’s investigation is not without pain.

All the characters are flawed and it is difficult to like any of them although I had some sympathy for Grafton and felt Isaac was an unwitting pawn in a macabre game of chess. Is it enviable to have such an unswerving belief or faith, something to which you adhere steadfastly, with no doubts? Yes, I think it is. Does this kind of cult appeal to me? Definitely not. I also believe in the principle of live and let live as long as no one gets hurt; in this case, the locals and the commune members are at odds. Either way, tolerance is not in evidence.

I found the premise intriguing; I didn’t want to stop reading and needed to see how the narrative would play out. Don’t be put off by the violence of the Prologue. It is easy to see how such a movement could sway would-be believers as well as cause alarm for onlookers, how it could attract both the ‘right sort’ and the ‘wrong sort’, the strong and the weak. Nothing is perfect, nothing is pure because humans are neither perfect nor pure. The ambiguity of the ending shows that and ambiguous as it was, it was not disappointing.



The Sleepless is published by Fly on the Wall Press