The Somnambulist

A somnambulist walks in his sleep, often stumbling in no particular direction and for no discernible reason. And after reading The Somnambulist, we know how that feels.

Which is not to say that this broad, strange, comic mystery set in 19th-century London failed to hold our interest. Edward Moon, a renowned stage magician well past his prime, moonlights as a private eye. The mute Somnambulist serves as his unlikely sidekick. A towering figure of uncertain origin, he functions as a pincushion onstage, where Moon plunges numerous swords into the giant who never bleeds.

A couple of murders confound the authorities, who draft Moon’s aid. His investigation unearths a secret society with hundreds of brainwashed faithful, readying themselves to sweep through London in a genocidal fervor.

What starts out promising quickly loses momentum. Barnes wants his debut to be both mystery and spoof, but he achieves neither. We were most intrigued by the Somnambulist, a sort of golem issued forth by London to protect itself and by far the book’s richest symbol. But after the first third, Barnes relegates him to the margins, as if the big guy just sleepwalked his way out of the story, unsure of where he was going.