The Sleepover

By Katie Kidwell

When Matthew, his sister Judy, and his mother return from vacation, they learn that their nanny Ruby unexpectedly died. Understandably, Matt struggles with the change, isolating himself from his friends and Judy. When he thinks he hears Ruby’s voice, Matt follows it right into the haunted woods behind his house. Worried about him, his three friends host a sleepover to cheer him up, but the night takes a turn, given that there’s something not quite right about Miss Swan, the new nanny. Michael Regina’s The Sleepover follows Matt, Judy, and their friends as they work together to figure out if Michael’s having a hard time adjusting to Ruby’s replacement or if Miss Swan really is the witch of the woods.

The Sleepover’s exploration of grief is the graphic novel’s strongest trait, showing the difficulty of recalibrating after losing someone special. With Matt, grief manifests as anger. Research shows that “the death of a caregiver, sibling, or loved one is one of the most commonly reported and most distressing forms of trauma among youth” and that “anger may be exhibited behaviorally in young children … often in response to changes in daily routine or to others acting in the deceased person’s role.” Matt’s friends try to stick to routine by hosting a sleepover, but it does not feel the same now that Ruby is not there. This is especially clear when Miss Swan makes the kids chocolate-covered popcorn, Ruby’s specialty – Matt angrily knocks the bowl off the table in protest (see illustration).

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Matt’s actions are typical, as it is not uncommon to see a grief response of “aggressive behavior (especially in boys).”

On the other hand, Judy’s grief presents as sadness at first and engenders a sense of empathy later on. Judy is characterized as a classic clingy younger sister who just wants to spend time with her older brother (and maybe one of his friends). Her desire to be around Matt only intensifies after losing Ruby; an example of separation anxiety, a common regressive behavior in response to death. This makes Matt’s tendency to pull away even more painful. By showing that Matt and Judy have different responses to the same devastating event creates a layered portrait of navigating loss as a kid.

Eventually, Matt participates more actively in his grief, in part because he is finally exposed to helpful “interventions… [to] participate in memory-making activities… [and] model appropriate grief responses.” His mom’s change in attitude about Ruby’s death over the course of the story finally allows Matt to be seen and heard. Originally, the mom is short with Matt, telling him that “Ruby is gone and you have to accept this… We have to move on…” (p. 82) before leaving the conversation hanging, saying it can be discussed later. After the events of the sleepover, his mom acknowledges that “Ruby isn’t gone. She’s still with us…her life and all of the love she had for us… that stays with us forever… we just have to remember” (p. 151). In the epilogue, we see evidence of this memory making: a framed family photo with Ruby proudly displayed. The verisimilitude of the character’s reactions to both realized and threatened loss create a delicate balance of story and character development. There is real tension here, amplified by the humanity of the characters.

The Sleepover‘s realism also helps make the supernatural elements of the story shine. While Matt’s resistance to Miss Swan is born out of his skepticism and sadness at someone replacing Ruby, it soon becomes clear that his distrust is well founded. The horror of the situation slowly builds, darkening illustrations mimicking the menace of the dialogue. It’s understandable that author’s own website suggests it’s “perfect for dans of Stranger Things.

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The Sleepover is visually strong; it has a typical multi-panel layout, with the occasional full-page illustration for added effect. The dark, muted colors are vibrant on the thick, glossy pages. There is a lot of visual consistency of the comic. For example, a friend’s list of “Best Sleepover Ever” activities comes to life, with panels placed on notebook paper background. Strangely enough, only the notebook paper background is a change; otherwise, the art of the panels themselves remains the same.

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Interestingly, one of the only real changes in style is the sepia-toned flashback scenes with Ruby. The softer, monochromatic visuals signal the shift in time.

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Unfortunately, The Sleepover has a disappointing approach to race. Ruby is Black, and while in 2022, more than half (51.3%) of domestic workers were Black, Hispanic, or Asian American Pacific Islander women, the fact that the only obvious character of color is “the help” is short-sighted and narrow-minded. Fiction allows the opportunity to reimagine the world in which we live, making it even more dispiriting that this otherwise thoughtful story veers into tropes of the “Magical Negro,” a term popularized by the American director Spike Lee in the early 2000s. The Magical Negro exists as the white person’s idealized version of Black existence, one in which they show up exclusively to assist in that white character’s journey. These Black characters often have no backstory of their own, instead harnessing their endless patience and wisdom to serve as a plot device for a white person’s benefit. In The Sleepover, Ruby is relegated to the role of caretaker, a gentle guidance giver, providing magical direction that ultimately saves the children. Regardless of intent, having the one Black character in the book serve as a pure plot device is at best problematic and at worst racist. It is a real disappointment to have this stereotype tarnish such a nuanced depiction of grief.

Overall, I appreciated the balance of spooky adventure and generally thoughtful grief reflection, but am troubled by the harmful stereotyping, especially in a story marketed for children ages 8-12. As someone whose own life has forced them into reading, reflecting, and writing on grief, I have come to appreciate convincing depictions of death’s impact, which makes this even more of a letdown. Ultimately, I cautiously recommend this title, encouraging engagement with the dangerous depictions of race as well as ways to process the hardship of losing someone we love.

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Katie Kidwell works at a medical library and a public library while finishing up her MS/LIS at Simmons University. She enjoys watching & arguing about movies, reading books and comic books, especially about grief, and living just outside of Boston.