The Sleepwalker

The Sleepwalker is less about the creepy, stalker-in-the-night type of suspense and more about the slow, unsettling drip of what we don’t know about the people closest to us. Annalee Ahlberg, a successful architect and mother, has a history of severe sleepwalking—episodes where she roams her home or disappears into the night without memory. One freezing Vermont night, she vanishes, leaving behind only a torn piece of her nightshirt. The question isn’t just where she went but what her sleepwalking might be hiding.

Her family, especially her 21-year-old daughter Lianna, is thrust into chaos. Lianna is the classic reluctant heroine, a college student who’s suddenly forced to step up and care for her 12-year-old sister Paige, who also struggles with sleepwalking, and to grapple with their missing mother. Their father, Warren, a college professor, is the picture of a man trying to hold it all together but clearly drowning under the weight of secrets and grief.

What makes this story more than a simple missing person mystery is how Bohjalian uses sleepwalking as a metaphor for the unconscious mind’s murkier corners. The novel digs into the family’s hidden truths—those things you pretend don’t exist until they explode in your face. Lianna’s search for Annalee becomes a journey not only through the Vermont woods but through layers of denial, fear, and the messy reality of family dynamics.

Bohjalian peppers the narrative with journal-like entries from an unidentified sleepwalker, adding a chilling, almost poetic texture that pulls readers deeper into the psychological fog. The Vermont setting isn’t just a backdrop; it’s a moody character itself, with its cold, quiet spaces mirroring the isolation and confusion the family feels.

At its core, The Sleepwalker is about how well we really know the people we live with. It’s about the parts of ourselves we hide, even from those closest to us, and the ways grief and loss can fracture identities. Lianna’s story is also one of self-discovery, as she navigates the line between protecting her family and uncovering truths that might hurt more than they heal.

The novel is paced with a steady tension—never frantic, but always simmering. Bohjalian doesn’t rush to neat conclusions or easy answers. Instead, he invites readers to sit with discomfort, uncertainty, and the slow unspooling of secrets that feel both intimate and universal. It’s a book that asks: what happens when the mind turns against you, and how do you hold on when the ground beneath your family shifts?

If you’re expecting a thriller with jump scares, this isn’t it. It’s more like a slow, cold burn that gets under your skin. The characters aren’t flawless heroes or villains but real people stumbling through a nightmare that’s part medical mystery, part emotional reckoning. The psychological depth and domestic tension make The Sleepwalker a compelling read for anyone interested in the messy intersections of mental health, family loyalty, and the unknown parts of ourselves.