“But forgetfulness does not exist”
By Sebastian Taylor
Review of The Sleepless by Victor Manibo (New York City: Erewhon Books, 2022)
Kang Seung Lee - The Heart of A Hand (2023), In collaboration with Joshua Serafin and Nathan Mercury Kim, Single-channel 4K video, color, sound, 13 min 13 sec, Edition of 5 + 2AP
Image description: The photograph depicts a nude individual against an entirely dark background. The close-up portrait features his head, shoulders, and chest. The individual’s head is turned upwards and he faces left. His right arm is raised and bent; his right forearm covers his face. His right palm is held open towards the camera. There is a tattoo on his right upper arm. His mustache and body hair are visible. Light shines down from above, highlighting his raised arm and casting his face and neck in shadows.
In The Sleepless, author Victor Manibo imagines a plague that eliminates sleep in a portion of the population with no apparent cost to their overall health. Victor is not the first to imagine this scenario; consider Nod (London: Titan Books, 2012) by Adrian Barnes, or even “City That Does Not Sleep” by Federico García Lorca. An excerpt of the latter translated by Robert Bly is included as a preface to Manibo’s 388-page novel; it is indicative of what our future might look like without sleep. Whereas in Nod Adrian Barnes begins with “what happens when the world ends while some of us watch it with our eyes painfully open,” Manibo’s future for society in The Sleepless unravels much more slowly and subtly. The result is an interesting speculation on the logical ends of capitalism through a refreshingly queer prose.
The story takes place through the eyes of reporter Jamie Vega in the year 2043. The plague has been around for ten years at the point we join the story. We are made immediately aware of the date and time, even the day of the week, as each chapter is accompanied by that information. The precise dating of the chapters is reminiscent of a police report. This is one of a number of smart design choices that merge with the themes and genre of the book.
Another such design choice is the graphic adorning each of the book’s three sections. In Part 1 we see a stylized pair of closed eyes, then half-closed eyes in Part 2, and finally eyes wide-open in Part 3. The sequence mimics the act of waking up or, perhaps more likely, the evolution of horrified understanding on one’s face upon the discovery of some dark truth. These three graphics also adorn the cover, glowing purple as if they are neon signs. The cover and section markers, designed by Dana Li, place the reader in the city associated with the neon artworks of Stephen Antonakos, Billy Apple, and Chryssa Vardea-Mavromichali: New York City. And what better place to stage a futuristic, noir murder-mystery?
Based on the cover design and the chapter dating, we are thus acquainted from the start with the book’s genre (science-fiction, crime) and the themes (time, memory). However, The Sleepless has its roots in the crime-thriller and murder-mystery genres despite its fittings of science fiction.
Kang Seung Lee - Untitled (Hold Tight Gently, Choo San and Robert) (2023), Graphite, watercolor, antique 24k gold thread, Sambe, 24k gold leaf, oak gall from Elysian Park, pearls on goatskin parchment, silver wire, brass nails, oak frame, 45.5 in x 28 in (116 cm x 71 cm); Framed: 49.75 in x 32.75 in x 2 in (126 cm x 83 cm x 5 cm)
Image description: A piece of paper parchment is laid on a rectangular, wooden frame. Several objects and drawings are arranged on the parchment. In the upper left corner, a real oak gall is placed next to leaves painted in watercolor. Underneath the leaves is a small piece of goatskin parchment, decorated with pearls. On the parchment, embroidered in gold thread, are two rows of hands. These hands spell out the words “hold tight” and “hold tight gently” in sign language. On the right of the goatskin parchment is a photorealistic, black-and-white graphite sketch of two figures. The figures wear suits and black ties; the figure on the left holds a glass. While the rest of the drawing is rendered in meticulous detail, the figures’ faces are not sketched out, but instead left as faint, smoke-like smudges. Under this sketch is another photorealistic, graphite sketch depicting two figures posing for a picture in front of plants and benches. They stand closely next to each other. Again, only their faces are rendered as blurry smudges. To the left of this sketch is a third graphite sketch, depicting figures sitting on a sofa in a domestic setting. The two central figures sit closely together; they wear a sweater and a jacket respectively. A third figure is slightly behind them. All three faces are blurred. Below this sketch is a watercolor painting of a circular bundle of thin twigs. In the bottom right corner of the paper parchment is a watercolor painting of a bisected branch.
The story is split into three clear acts as the protagonist uncovers the truth behind the mysterious death of his boss at the fictional company, C+P Media. Throughout these acts, we are constantly reminded of the date and time down to the minute. As the exact timings of events become increasingly important to the plot, we can flip back to the earlier events with their stated timings. For example, on page 167, Jamie is reviewing his activities after being told he was the last to see Simon, his dead boss, on the date the book starts. “I check that date on my logs again. Wednesday, July 8, 2043. Work, logged as ending at 6 p.m. Hannah’s visit. Didn’t see anyone else until C+P Thursday morning, when I found Simon dead.” Upon reading these dates and times, we are reminded that we have encountered them before in the chapter dating. This prompts us to go back to search for the events of July 8. This flipping back-and-forth queers the pacing of the book in an interesting way; we are prompted to disrupt a linear reading of the book and reassess previous events in the light of their new knowledge. The literary critic Jack Halberstam notes that this kind of reading can “push through the divisions between life and art, practice and theory, thinking and doing, and into a more chaotic realm of knowing and unknowing” when describing the non-linearity in his writing of The Queer Art of Failure. Likewise, Manibo is acutely aware of how to manipulate time within the novel.
Between page 1 and page 388, the mystery in The Sleepless unfolds over 284 days in total. (In comparison, the entirety of Nod takes place over 24 days.) Part 1 occurs within 7 days, Part 2 within 5 days, and the brunt of the action in Part 3 occurs within 2 days. The final 277 days of the book are but snapshots of the events following the conclusion of the action in those final 2 days. This is a common technique in whodunnit-style thrillers: the courtroom proceedings and denouement are afforded less time and attention than the more suspenseful double narrative of crime and investigation. Hence, Part 3 is temporally the shortest section although the plot progresses the most in this section. This structure makes the pacing quickest in Part 3, exactly when the murderer is revealed.
By continuing the story past the reveal of the murderer, Manibo expresses what the sociologist Richard Sennett calls in The Culture of the New Capitalism a consuming passion, or something that loses its value after it is obtained. We are still immersed in the book even after the double narrative is concluded. We are forced to stay with Jamie as consequences are meted out to each of the characters. This adherence to consequence through the pacing of the book denotes a queering of the crime novel, as the enacting of justice, or lack thereof, is as equally important as the build-up of suspense. This timing does feel odd; remember, though, that this book is acutely aware of time.
To get a sense of the novel’s pacing and tone, consider this passage from page 215 in Part 2 of The Sleepless:
“This isn’t a suicide anymore. It’s a murder investigation. Whatever happened on Wednesday matters more now. And I’m the last one who saw him alive, but I somehow don’t remember a thing,” I explain, my tone escalating. “You heard Landry. Those lawyers are gonna have to pin this on someone so they can get Maxwell acquitted.”
In the above passage, there is a categorical escalation from suicide to murder. This is followed by Jamie stressing the importance of certain plot developments, in this case the gaps in his memory. Then we are told explicitly about Jamie’s “tone escalating.” Lastly, we have the formal addition of new antagonists, Maxwell’s lawyers, who are impeding the protagonist’s progress. Quite simply, the stakes are raised continuously, if in a somewhat clunky way.
Kang Seung Lee - Untitled (Tseng Kwong Chi, Younger Sister, Older Brother, 1980s) (2021), Graphite on paper, 7.5 in x 6.25 in (19 cm x 16 cm); Framed: 20 in x 20 in x 1.5 in (51 cm x 51 cm x 4 cm)
Image description: The graphite sketch depicts two figures standing next to each other against a gray background. The figure on the left, a young girl, is drawn in detail. She wears a plain jacket, striped pants, and sneakers. Her hair is tied back with ribbons; her hands are in her jacket pockets. She looks to the right, smiling at the other figure. The figure on the right is merely a faint silhouette. His entire body is rendered blurry, as if in a haze. His hands, however, are drawn in distinct detail, as is a photo badge on his shirt. In the top margin of the drawing, above the left figure, are the handwritten words “妹妹” (younger sister); the words “哥哥” (older brother) are written above the right figure. In the bottom margin of the drawing, directly below the two figures, is the name “Muna Tseng” written in cursive.
As the plot accelerates in Part 2, Jamie starts to discover gaps in his memory that correspond to important timings for the murder investigation. The race against time is not only to discover who the murderer is, but also to retain what he remembers.
Poignantly, on page 231, after he falls to the plague and becomes one of those who cannot sleep, Jamie muses,
For better or worse, being Sleepless feels like having an eternity before you. That’s the draw, isn’t it? More time. But it only feels that way when you’re not racing against something else. At first, it was just my memory and the need to solve Simon’s murder before I miss something crucial.
Jamie is constantly confronting the subjectivity of time after he becomes one of the Sleepless. In this plague-filled future, society views insomnia as an extension of life. What Jack Halberstam writes about the poet Mark Doty in In a Queer Time and Place is relevant here.
The constantly diminishing future creates a new emphasis on the here, the present, the now, and while the threat of no future hovers overhead like a storm cloud, the urgency of being also expands the potential of the moment and, as Doty explores, squeezes new possibilities out of the time at hand.
Halberstam is describing queer temporality here, or the subjective experience of time that is different for LGBTQ+ and AIDS-positive individuals. A “constantly diminishing future” is what Manibo’s protagonist Jamie grapples with as he notices the gaps in his memory. Seized by the fear of not being able to make new memories in the future, an impediment to any meaningful personal change, Jamie must face “the threat of no future [hovering] overhead like a storm cloud.” How do you learn from mistakes or form new bonds with friends and family if you cannot access the memories of past formative interactions? For Halberstam, this subjective experience of time allows for different forms of creativity, thinking, and living than that of society at large. For Manibo, or Jamie, this subjective experience of time is an existential threat.
Kang Seung Lee - Untitled (Tseng Kwong Chi, Untitled (Shawn McQuate 2) (2021), Graphite on paper, 7.75 in x 5.5 in (20 cm x 14 cm); Framed: 16 in x 16 in x 1.5 in (41 cm x 41 cm x 4 cm)
Image description: The graphite sketch depicts a figure standing against a spotty, gray background. The figure wears an elaborate garment; they pose with their left hand on their shoulder and their right hand on their hip. Their feet, hands, hair, and garment are sketched out clearly. The rest of their body parts, especially their face and legs, are rendered hazy and indistinguishable from the background. On the floor, a rope is stretched out horizontally in front of their feet. In the bottom margin of the sketch is the handwritten line “Polaroided and Xeroxed in New York City September 1980 Tseng Kwong Chi 曾廣智.”
There is an interesting collision here between queer conceptions of temporality and the manipulation of temporality by capitalism. In the bitter tone of a disaffected neo-noir protagonist, near the end of the novel Jamie announces, “Experience everything, keep nothing. It’s the new way of the world.” This pronouncement sounds eerily similar to Richard Sennett’s description of “liquid modernity.” In the same book quoted above, The Culture of the New Capitalism, he writes, “Institutions based on short-term transactions and constantly shifting tasks… do not breed depth.” According to Sennett, cutting-edge institutions, such as contemporary finance, have changed society for the worse. We now devalue rich social networks, dismiss craftmanship, and exalt breadth over depth. In posing the loss of new memories as a singular threat in The Sleepless, Manibo confronts the current shift in our economic and social worlds. In many ways, Jamie Vega lives in the same world where, as Sennett points out, “the mass has a thinner network of informal contact and support, and so remains more institution-dependent.” Hence, as Jamie increasingly rejects the institutions that have so far supported him, he brings us into his state of paranoia and isolation.
In this way, the pacing of the story, the design features, and the thematic material combine to make The Sleepless a hard-hitting thriller. Manibo uses the moreish nature of the murder-mystery to hook us while he conveys complex meditations on time and memory. The final chapter of the novel is, however, hopeful. It brings to mind Halberstam’s own realization:
The social worlds we inhabit, after all, as so many thinkers have reminded us, are not inevitable; they were not always bound to turn out this way, and what’s more, in the process of producing this reality, many other realities, fields of knowledge, and ways of being have been discarded and, to cite Foucault again, “disqualified.”
Jamie Vega does not change the world, but he takes responsibility for his own. Manibo does an excellent job of turning a crime-thriller into something more. Despite the occasional overly blunt writing and the repetition of key ideas, I simply could not put this book down while reading it. It was as if my eyes were taped open.
Sebastian Taylor studied physics at the University of St Andrews. Their area of interest was nuclear decommissioning and non-proliferation. They are also fascinated by performance poetry, and they write on the theme of queering the body, self, and space, after having served as the Head Editor of the University’s Creative Writing Society.
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Kang Seung Lee is a multidisciplinary artist who was born in South Korea and now lives and works in Los Angeles. His work frequently engages the legacy of transnational queer histories, particularly as they intersect with art history. Lee’s work has been widely exhibited through international exhibitions such as 2021 New Museum Triennial, 13th Gwangju Biennale, and documenta fifteen. Upcoming exhibitions include Made in L.A. 2023 at Hammer Museum and Korea Artist Prize 2023 at MMCA Seoul.
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