In Honor Jones’s raw and resonant debut novel Sleep, the past is never truly past—it haunts like a specter, shapes our present, and colors our future in ways both subtle and profound. Through the character of Margaret, Jones crafts a narrative that moves between childhood trauma and adult reckoning, creating an unflinching portrait of motherhood, daughterhood, and the cyclical nature of family dynamics.
The novel begins with ten-year-old Margaret hiding beneath a blackberry bush during a game of flashlight tag in her family’s suburban New Jersey backyard. This seemingly innocent childhood scene sets the stage for what becomes a deeply layered examination of memory, trauma, and the complex relationship between mothers and daughters. As we follow Margaret into adulthood—newly divorced with two young daughters of her own—Jones masterfully draws parallels between past and present, revealing how the patterns established in childhood reverberate through generations.
The Architecture of Secrets
What makes Sleep such a compelling read is Honor Jones’s ability to build tension through careful withholding. The reader senses early on that something is amiss in Margaret’s childhood home, but the full picture emerges gradually, like a photograph developing in darkroom chemicals.
The central trauma of Margaret’s childhood—her brother Neal’s sexual abuse—is handled with remarkable restraint. Jones doesn’t sensationalize; instead, she demonstrates how such violations can be normalized within a family system:
“It was Neal who would come into her bedroom six, seven, maybe eight times that bad summer. He would only ever put his hands on her, only ever when she was sleeping, only until she stirred and flinched and felt the blanket around her knees like shallow water.”
The quiet horror of these scenes is amplified by what follows them: silence, denial, and the continuation of family life as though nothing has happened. When Margaret discovers a hidden camera in the bathroom, her mother Elizabeth refuses to acknowledge the violation, positioning herself as the one who needs protection from the truth rather than the child who needs protection from harm.
The Inheritance of Motherhood
Twenty-five years later, Margaret is a magazine editor living in Brooklyn with her two daughters, Helen and Jo, navigating a divorce from her ex-husband Ezra and exploring a new relationship with an architect named Duncan. Jones skillfully portrays how Margaret’s own mothering is both a response to and reflection of her upbringing:
- Hypervigilance – Margaret is constantly scanning for danger, particularly for her daughters. When Jo falls asleep at a party and is found in a bed with Duncan’s teenage son, Margaret’s immediate suspicion reveals the lens through which she views the world.
- Distance and intimacy – Like Elizabeth, Margaret struggles with emotional availability, though she fights against repeating her mother’s patterns.
- Protective instincts – Unlike her own mother, Margaret is determined to protect her children, even if it means confronting uncomfortable truths.
Style That Sticks to the Bone
Jones writes with a precision that cuts to the quick. Her prose is deceptively simple, with flashes of striking imagery that illuminate character and circumstance:
“Her phone buzzed—a text from Duncan. Elizabeth was sick, she reminded herself—she had another doctor’s appointment on Monday to adjust her medication. She must not forget that her mother was suffering. But Margaret was not suffering, not now. She felt full, ripe, quivering out on the far edge of a stem.”
The narrative moves between past and present with a dreamlike quality that mimics how memory works—how certain moments crystallize with perfect clarity while others blur at the edges. Time in the novel functions almost as another character, with chapters divided into seven parts that progress from Margaret’s childhood through her mother’s death and the final selling of the family home.
The Complexities of Female Desire
One of the most surprising and refreshing aspects of Sleep by Honor Jones is its frank exploration of female sexuality. Margaret’s relationship with Duncan allows her to experience desire in ways she never could in her marriage. Jones writes these scenes with unflinching honesty:
“She was surprised by how much she thought about it. Not just about sleeping with him but, specifically, about his c*ck; specifically, inside her mouth… She would have hated to have him pull at her head and gag her, and she knew he never would. Or maybe it was science, some pheromonal magnetism based on his particular smell.”
This sexual awakening forms an important counterpoint to the childhood trauma, showing how Margaret reclaims her body and agency. Yet Jones resists easy narratives of healing through sex—Margaret’s relationship with Duncan is complicated, sometimes problematic, and ultimately unresolved.
Mothers and Daughters: The Central Axis
The relationship between Margaret and Elizabeth forms the emotional core of the novel. Elizabeth is maddening in her contradictions—capable of genuine warmth and protection but also prone to narcissism and emotional neglect. When Margaret tries to connect with her dying mother by asking about a childhood trip to Rome, Elizabeth reveals she never went—her parents had left her behind, contradicting a story Elizabeth had told throughout Margaret’s childhood.
This moment exemplifies the novel’s central concern: how little we truly know those closest to us, and how the narratives we create about our lives can diverge from reality. When Elizabeth dies, Margaret feels both grief and relief, a complex emotional response that Jones treats with unflinching honesty.
Critiques and Considerations
While Sleep by Honor Jones is a strong debut, it’s not without flaws:
- The novel occasionally loses momentum in its middle sections, particularly when introducing Margaret’s relationship with Duncan, which feels less fully realized than her family dynamics.
- Some readers may find the resolution between Margaret and Neal unsatisfying. Their final confrontation leads to Neal’s admission—”I was curious, and you were there”—but lacks the catharsis one might expect.
- The novel’s structure, with its shifting timeframes, can sometimes feel disorienting, requiring careful attention from readers.
Despite these minor issues, Jones has crafted a novel of remarkable emotional intelligence that refuses easy answers or conventional arcs of healing and reconciliation.
Final Thoughts: Awakening Through Honesty
Sleep by Honor Jones is not a novel about resolution but about recognition—the painful but necessary acknowledgment of harm and its effects across generations. In the final scene, Margaret and her friend Biddy paddle a canoe toward a small island before deciding to turn back toward shore, where Margaret’s daughters wait by a bonfire:
“We’re coming, Margaret thought. She pulled her paddle hard toward her chest. She pulled the world toward herself an armful at time.”
This image encapsulates the novel’s ultimate message: that motherhood requires both holding on and letting go, both acknowledging the past and moving toward the future. Margaret may never fully reconcile with her mother or brother, but in claiming her own story, she breaks the cycle of silence that perpetuates harm.
Honor Jones has written a debut that announces her as a major new literary talent, unafraid to wade into the murkiest depths of family dynamics and emerge with complex, difficult truths. Sleep will resonate with readers long after they’ve turned the final page, like a dream that lingers in daylight—unsettling, illuminating, and impossible to forget.
For Readers Who Enjoyed
Those who appreciated the nuanced family dynamics in Sleep by Honor Jones might also enjoy:
- The Most Fun We Ever Had by Claire Lombardo
- Ask Again, Yes by Mary Beth Keane
- Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng
- My Name Is Lucy Barton by Elizabeth Strout
In the landscape of contemporary literary fiction exploring motherhood and family trauma, Sleep by Honor Jones stands out for its unflinching gaze and compassionate heart. Jones has crafted a novel that doesn’t just observe the complicated inheritance of motherhood but inhabits it fully, with all its terror and tenderness.
