Hildur Knútsdóttir's THE NIGHT GUEST (Tr Mary Robinette Kowall)

...when you stop sleeping, there are suddenly so terribly many hours of the day.

The early chapters of Hildur Knútsdóttir's The Night Guest were some of the hardest reading I've done and have still left me more than a little bitter, you guys. Not for their quality, not for the prose, not for any literary reason at all, really, but for their specific content and how it resonated with my own past and continuing experience -- until it didn't. 

For The Night Guest starts off with a young woman in quest of a diagnosis, an activity that ate up over a decade of my own life, so I related very hard, at first.

But our heroine, Iðunn, is in Iceland rather than America, so while she encounters some of the same bullshytt that I did from family and friends as she seeks an answer for how she wakes up every morning from sound and adequate sleep with incredible fatigue and soreness and mysterious wounds and injuries, she does not encounter the kind of hostility, disbelief, blaming and accusations of drug-seeking that so many Americans do in her situation.

So I spent a while envying her for that. But then it got worse.

Because there is an answer to her problem that isn't medical, which is partially spoiled by the very jacket copy of this book (thus robbing these early chapters of a lot of tension that might have made them more relatable and interesting even for people like me), so then I was envious of her for two reasons. 

That's a lot to cope with when trying to assess a book critically, which I of course promised Netgalley I would do. Wanting to yell at and/or slap pretty much everyone in the opening chapters of a book is never a good sign that you're going to find what follows is in anyway worth one's precious reading time. But here we go.

Before you can say "have you tried yoga" (which of course she has, and she's a vegetarian, too) Iðunn has other problems, some of which stem from her deep past; her parents willfully misunderstand everything (a typical phone exchange when her mother is shopping for a family dinner goes something like Mom: Do you eat chicken now, I forget? Iðunn: Nope nope nope ty nope. Mom: Oh, well, chicken breasts were on sale but I'll make lots of rice) and are not dealing at all with a family tragedy we don't even realize took place until almost half of the book is over.

Meanwhile, Iðunn has started to notice some odd phenomena in her surroundings, is being stalked by a married ex-lover/co-worker who is starting to get obnoxious, is trying to start something with an attractive new guy whose motives for courting her will seem a little suspect to the reader but whom she accepts at face value, and her sleep issues just keep getting worse and worse.

One thing Knútsdóttir does incredibly well is capture how long-term sleep deprivation (something with which I am also incredibly, uncomfortably familiar) affects cognition and communication -- and one's ability to implement their good and sensible coping strategies, to follow actually helpful and professional advice. This is chiefly communicated via chapter length and brevity of sentences; as Iðunn deteriorates, she tells us less and less until some chapters are only four or five words long. I wonder if this is a quality of the original or is something that translator Mary Robinette Kowall introduced or enhanced. Anyway, it's a brilliant example of the classic writing advice of "show, don't tell" that I truly admire.

Ultimately, though, that brevity feels like truncation, the ending telescoped and rushed, though admirably without sacrificing the tantalizing ambiguity, even at the very end. If you value tidy endings with all narrative questions answered, though, look elsewhere. The Night Guest is probably not for you.

But if you like a story that remains mysterious throughout (and you can overcome any misplaced feelings engendered by its opening act) and just want a short and tense read, get this.