THE SLEEPWALKER
Margarita Karapanou (1974)

There are countless books that are beautifully written, meticulously crafted, and carefully edited. They draw the reader in with strong plots and well-developed characters, following a familiar recipe that delights the public.

But "The Sleepwalker," a novel by Margarita Karapanou published in 1985, for me stands apart. It hit me hard, making me uncomfortable in a way that felt necessary and true.

Karapanou paints a world that pulses with life on its own terms—a bohemian realm of artists living on an unnamed island. She gives us only the essentials about her characters, leaving out justifications or deep analyses. It's a world similar to the Tower of Babel, where people are sustained by their art, passions, and mistakes.

Among these is Manolis, a modern-day Messiah sent by God, not as a divine reflection but as the God humanity deserves. This new God is the island's police officer, adding a metaphysical layer to the unfolding mystery.

The book shifts between the terrifying and the tender, with Karapanou's writing seeking to liberate her soul from things that were torturing her. Her repetition of words creates a unique charm, reflecting her struggle with depression and her quest for freedom from it.

For me, the book also illuminated a feeling I hadn't fully recognized until reading it. Though the story could unfold anywhere, Karapanou sets "The Sleepwalker" on Hydra, an island that has been a place of magic for me since childhood. It's where I've always felt free to explore life and myself. But over time, I've seen another side of Hydra, a darkness that I think exists in many small, remote communities.

The book captures the essence of this place I love—not as most people imagine it, but as it truly is.

There's so much more to say, but I'd rather you read it and then we can chat about it!

Christina
♥