The new English edition by Parthian (with a beautiful cover which is currently misrepresented here by Goodreads, although I seemingly can't edit that myself) includes the following: a 2-page translator's introduction; a 6-page account by the author recalling the book's doomed attempts to find publication; and the official views of the Soviet government's Commission into the novel - a 10-page translation. The Commission's views are an interesting historical artefact, not least for the vindictive comment that 'Insomnia, even if we do not take into account its anti-Soviet mood and stance, possesses no artistic quality of any kind.' Banned, and even cruelly rubbished by the authorities... although it's worth noting that the author apparently enjoyed professional success otherwise, and was not persistently persecuted.
The text of the novel itself doesn't lead to any sense of surprise that it was forbidden publication. To the outsider accustomed to the Western spectre of Soviet totalitarianism, it is even a little perplexing that Bels ever thought that it might have been permitted. Things are always more subtle and complicated than they seem from a distance. Anyway, the story constitutes an account of the flutterings of a mind which has been compressed by the dual pressures of sleeplessness and 1960s Latvian Soviet citizenship. It is dense and rapid in its production of ideas and imagery - alongside the quietly candid opinions of the narrator, various subtle and natural little pictures of his environment emerge, and I particularly like the one of the girl who was forever promised a new velvet dress. The novel's shape and perspective switches suddenly and often, in the manner of a mind which does not know or care whether it has slipped into a little half-dream. This confusion, an inability (or perhaps a disinclination) to focus is perfectly recognisable in the 21st century.
The writer's voice is pleasant (and decently reproduced in English - you can tell it was not the easiest source material, with some fittingly abstract noises, images, and streams of consciousness), the society around him is interesting, and the text is very brief. It does a bit of this and that, being both gently political and gently psychological in its perspective. A nice foray into the idea of a mind which is perceptive and analytical, yet not really attached to anything. The mind which cannot sleep, although it doesn't seem to be very sure why, and nor is it catastrophically upset about the fact. It also stimulates thoughts for the foreign reader about the sad and somewhat-hidden history of Latvia, and perhaps its Baltic brothers - that of subjugation by a litany of foreign powers, perhaps even made worse without the sweet release of assimilation, like the sweet release of sleep.