There’s something exquisitely painful about watching Nick Carraway—already a man of paper and pretense—confront his own hollowness in Nghi Vo’s “Don’t Sleep with the Dead.” This slim but potent novella serves as a companion to Vo’s acclaimed “The Chosen and the Beautiful,” her magical reimagining of “The Great Gatsby” from Jordan Baker’s perspective. Now, some seventeen years later, we find Nick in 1939 New York, still haunted by ghosts he can’t quite shake.
Vo’s latest work is a masterclass in atmospheric dread. The story opens on a snowy December night in 1939, with Nick narrowly escaping a police raid at Prospect Park where men meet other men. In the chaos, someone helps him to his feet—someone whose voice he recognizes instantly. Gatsby. The man should be dead, has been dead for nearly two decades, and yet Nick is certain it was him.
What follows is a fever dream of a novella that weaves together themes of identity, memory, desire, and the paper-thin reality that separates the living from the dead. Nick’s desperate search for answers leads him through a blizzard-swept New York, into infernal offices beneath hospitals, and finally to a peculiar establishment where one can purchase a single summer day from 1922.
Paper Hearts and Paper Men
The true brilliance of Vo’s work lies in her expansion of the paper magic system introduced in “The Chosen and the Beautiful.” Nick, we learn, is literally made of paper—a proxy created by his great-grandmother to take the place of the real Nick Carraway in World War I. The revelation that Nick’s origins are as manufactured as Gatsby’s identity creates a perfect symmetry between these two characters who have always been reflections of each other.
“I can already be anyone I like. All it would take is walking away from what I have now. It’s all still mine, even if the face and name aren’t.”
This crisis of identity permeates every page. Nick’s journey isn’t merely about finding Gatsby—it’s about discovering who he himself really is, when the paper-thin construct begins to tear. His burned hand, with text visible beneath the blistered skin, serves as a visceral reminder that beneath every façade lies another story, another self.
The Weight of Forgotten Sins
One of the most haunting aspects of “Don’t Sleep with the Dead” is its unflinching examination of accountability. Through a masterfully handled confrontation with Ross Hennessey, a friend from Nick’s fabricated past, Vo forces Nick to confront a repressed memory of horrific violence against a young woman—a crime the original Nick Carraway committed but that our paper Nick must now shoulder.
This subplot introduces a moral complexity that elevates the novella beyond simple ghost story or magical adventure. What responsibility do we bear for the sins of our former selves, or for the identities we’ve taken on? The paper heart that Jordan Baker crafted for Nick years ago—revealed to have calendar pages from her planner with Gatsby’s name scrawled across it—becomes a potent symbol for how the past continually writes itself onto our present.
LGBTQ+ Representation in Historical Fantasy
Much like “The Chosen and the Beautiful,” this novella doesn’t shy away from queer desire in its 1930s setting. Nick’s queerness is handled with nuance and historical awareness, depicting both the dangers (police raids) and the community spaces (bars like August 7th) that existed for queer people in pre-war New York.
The relationship between Nick and Gatsby carries the same intensity that characterized their interactions in the original text, but Vo makes explicit what Fitzgerald could only imply. Their reunion culminates in a passionate encounter that feels both inevitable and devastating, weighted with nearly two decades of longing.
A Magical System Rooted in American Dreams
Vo continues to expand her uniquely American magical system, where deals with devils are commonplace and paper magic can craft new identities or steal existing ones. The anatomical wax woman beneath Queens General Hospital, the devils with cut throats at the Gates, the hazy boundaries between New York and Hell—all create a vividly realized world where the supernatural exists alongside the mundane.
This magical framework serves as a perfect metaphor for the artifice of American identity and ambition. If “The Chosen and the Beautiful” explored these themes through Jordan’s experience as an adoptee trying to claim her place in elite society, “Don’t Sleep with the Dead” examines them through Nick’s perspective as a literal constructed identity, a paper man playing at being human.
Strengths and Weaknesses
What Works Brilliantly:
- Atmospheric prose: Vo captures the bleak winter atmosphere of pre-war New York with haunting precision. The snowbound city becomes another character, cold and isolating and filled with lurking dread.
- Character development: Nick’s journey from observer to participant is masterfully handled, forcing him to confront both his nature and his past.
- Expansion of the magical framework: The paper magic system introduced in “The Chosen and the Beautiful” finds more depth and horrific implications here.
- Thematic richness: Identity, memory, accountability, and queer desire all intertwine in ways that feel natural rather than forced.
Where It Falls Short:
- Brevity: At novella length, some elements feel rushed, particularly the final confrontation between Nick and the resurrected Gatsby.
- Accessibility: Readers unfamiliar with “The Chosen and the Beautiful” or “The Great Gatsby” may struggle to fully appreciate the nuances of character and relationship.
- Limited perspective: While Nick’s narrative voice is compelling, we lose the broader view of society that Jordan provided in the previous book.
- Unresolved threads: The fate of several characters, including Jordan Baker, feels unfinished, leaving readers uncertain whether more stories might follow.
In Comparison to “The Chosen and the Beautiful“
While “The Chosen and the Beautiful” reimagined Fitzgerald’s classic through Jordan Baker’s eyes—offering a fresh perspective on the Jazz Age through the lens of a queer Vietnamese adoptee navigating white high society—”Don’t Sleep with the Dead” shifts both perspective and timeline. Nick’s point of view offers a more intimate but narrower window into this magical America.
“The Chosen and the Beautiful” excelled at world-building, introducing readers to a vision of 1920s America where demonic drinks flow at parties and paper magic creates both opportunities and divisions. In contrast, “Don’t Sleep with the Dead” delves deeper into the psychological implications of that world, exploring the toll it takes on those caught between identities.
Both works share Vo’s atmospheric prose and sharp insights into American identity, but they function as complements rather than direct continuations. Readers who appreciated Jordan’s strength and agency might miss her presence here, though her brief appearance by telephone provides some of the novella’s most grounding moments.
Final Verdict
“Don’t Sleep with the Dead” is a haunting, thought-provoking exploration of identity and memory, wrapped in a ghost story that’s equal parts romance and horror. Nghi Vo continues to prove herself one of the most innovative voices in fantasy, using the framework of a beloved classic to explore thoroughly modern questions about who we are beneath our careful constructions.
While it occasionally suffers from its brevity and might prove challenging for readers unfamiliar with “The Chosen and the Beautiful,” it rewards careful reading with profound insights and gorgeous prose. For fans of Vo’s previous work, this companion novella offers a satisfying deepening of her magical America.
Like the paper heart at its center, “Don’t Sleep with the Dead” contains multitudes—folded between its pages are reflections on love, identity, responsibility, and the inescapable hold of the past. It reminds us that even when we try to forget, memory goes both ways, and sometimes what we’ve buried comes back to find us.
For Readers Who Enjoyed…
If you appreciated “Don’t Sleep with the Dead,” consider exploring Vo’s Singing Hills Cycle, beginning with the award-winning “The Empress of Salt and Fortune.” Readers might also enjoy Silvia Moreno-Garcia’s “Mexican Gothic” for its atmospheric horror, or Alix E. Harrow’s “The Ten Thousand Doors of January” for another look at magical portals and identity. Catherynne M. Valente’s “Deathless” offers a similar blend of historical setting and haunting fantasy, while Sarah Waters’ “The Little Stranger” explores ghost stories and identity in a historical setting.
Like Gatsby himself, “Don’t Sleep with the Dead” lingers in the mind long after the final page, a green light across the water that both beckons and warns.