Customer Reviews

The Hotel

5 star:		(1)
4 star:		(2)
3 star:		(2)
2 star:		(1)
1 star:		(1)

 

 

The novel's storyline is fairly divided among several well-to-do British guests staying at a hotel on the Italian Riviera in the 1920s--mostly concerned with the subtle nuances of their emotional interactions with one another, the narrative eventually comes to settle on the neurotic Sydney (a young travelling companion to an invalid cousin) who has become overly attached to the beautiful and manipulative Mrs. Kerr.

Though is far from Bowen's best, this is a wonderful read for anyone who has enjoyed the many novels of this period cocerning genteel Englishmen abroad--Forster's ROOM WITH A VIEW, von Arnim's THE ENCHANTED APRIL, and Woolf's THE VOYAGE OUT. The style is deceptive: you can get much more out of this on a second read than the first time round.

I can't imagine anyone will see this, but if there is someone still interested in Elizabeth Bowen and particularly her first novel, "The Hotel," I should think it a shame were they put off by some of the negative comments one sees here. The Hotel has wit, intensity and an exquisiteness of description that is most unusual. The relations amongst the guests at the hotel are drawn humorously and with great subtlety. The Hotel is a first rate novel of manners which I found fascinating.

Not the greatest novel in the world, but a good introduction if you would like to read Bowen. The lack of any real resolution to the plot is kind of disheartening and leaves the reader with a feeling of nothing being accomplished. Bowen writes about subtle emotions well, but throws out too many at the reader at once. The novel seems more of an intellectual excercise in form rather than a real literary accomplishment.

This book taught me so much.... about writing, about the subtlety of emotions, about sensitivity and courtesy, about behavior. This was Bowen's first novel, and it's a powerful beginning. I always felt it was the least obtuse of her works, and that the later books all needed more editing, someone to say, "Elizabeth, what are you talking about?" In "The Hotel," her writing is idiosyncratic..., but one always understands what she's trying to say. I have so many highlighted lines in this book that I recall in various circumstances; Bowen seemed to have been an extremely keen observer. For instance, this line, about two very close friends who told each other everything: "They had pinned down the most slippery, ethical subtleties for absorbing, tireless analysis. Everything they said to each other was so TRUE." Or in regard to friends of the heroine's glamourous friend: "Men and women of supreme distinction and beauty, they never appeared in person, were never described and so were never allowed to diminish." Granted the heroine, Sydney, is somewhat neurotic, as another reviewer mentioned. And she's not the only one. One of the males is described: "He feels spikes everywhere and rushes to impale himself." That's just great! The actual narrative of "The Hotel" isn't the important part; it's the writing about people, how they speak, how they think, their motives, their actions. If you're the type of person who analyzes behavior, your own and others', you'll enjoy reading this book. If you like clever writing with tongue in cheek, you'll find lots to smile over.

I have read D.H. Lawrence, Henry James and E.M. Forster and understood their characters' motivations and personalities. This book had whole paragraphs that were so convuluted I could not follow them. I liked the descriptions of the peripheral characters and understood them. Overall the book was boring. "Room with a View" is far superior -- romantic, lovely and touching. This is my second Bowen and I don't plan to try another.

I am amazed this book is still in print. Who wants to read about a group of English people with nothing to do, so devoid of content (the people) that when alone in a room, they fear ceasing to exist? Subtext of lesbian relationships annoyingly indirect for modern taste. Now a "period" piece of course. But I wanted to know, how much, how really, did Mrs. Kerr care about Sydney? Was it a more emotional attachment than amusement? Why if she cared was she so heartless? Was it actually a' love that dared not speak its name?'

This is possibly the most boring book I've ever (nearly) read. A group of English people, mainly women, are spending the English winter in an hotel in Italy and trying to fill their days with inconsequential chatter and hints of malicious gossip. The conversations are tediously wordy and mostly about nothing of any interest, between people with few brains and less charm. I gave up half way through as I felt it was a pure waste of time and eyepower!