Genre: Historical fiction
Series: Standalone
Page Count: 462
Publication Year: 2016
Publisher: Viking Press (now owned by Penguin Random House)
Summary: During the Bolshevik uprising, a man is put under house arrest in a hotel.
Upon finishing this book my gut reaction was four stars. Over the course of writing this review, things changed.
I’ve read my fair share of slow books. What separates the duds from the spuds is the writing style and/or the main character. You don’t even need that great of a premise if you can nail one or both of those elements. Does this book succeed?
Our protagonist, Count Rostov, is sentenced to live the rest of his life at this fancy shmancy hotel because he wrote this poem that saved his aristocratic butt from execution. He’s relegated to the hotel’s cramped attic and thus begins his life within those walls as a revolution rages without.
You know what’s missing in this book? A solid goal. I’ve read many books where the story is someone’s life and it therefore doesn’t need an obvious plot. This book would’ve been better served with a destination from the beginning. I did enjoy the closing act, with its buildup and execution. But the rest of it drifted from year to year with no clear purpose. And weirdly enough, WWII is completely glossed over.
Flashbacks are incorporated in an organic and non-jarring way. Perhaps the book could’ve occurred over fewer years and used more flashbacks? I think he could’ve pulled that off. As it stands, it’s all a bit loose and empty, but it still kept my interest.
The whole Bolshevik/Communist/downfall of old Russia isn’t something I’m overly familiar with. But I think this book does a good job of stating what happened without spending so much time on it that it detracts from the story. It doesn’t out-and-out say that Communism is bad, but by relaying the events, I don’t see how you could come to a different conclusion. From massive famine and disappearing into Siberia, to censoring dead author’s letters and squelching art, it sounds like absolute torture. Statues are torn down, places are renamed, the word “comrade” replaces your name, privacy and ownership are disregarded, and people are killed for having an opposing opinion. You’re no longer a singular person, you’re part of the collective and blend in with everything around you. Why would anyone want this?
Since the book is not in first-person, footnotes and addenda are used to explain what’s happening outside, and the fate of people the Count briefly meets.
The choice of third-person omniscient also means that hints of the future are provided and conversations and discoveries can be eliminated for the sake of surprise. Sometimes that choice lost its zing, but for the most part I liked it.
Tidbit: The hotel is a real place and after reading the author’s website I discovered that the Communists kept it going so that a foreigner’s first impression of the new Russia wasn’t a communal hovel. It’s endured over the decades and John Steinbeck even visited it.
As soon as I met the Count, I liked him. He is a man of culture, manners and good humor. That being said, he’s not going to be memorable. Yes, he says some witty things and clearly loves literature, food, wine and reminiscing, but that’s not enough for me. He needs more important principles, like regarding the politics. The Count never even really voices his thoughts on Communism and says he find politics tedious. I understand that, but when these politics put him in the hotel, I’d expect some thoughts on it. Or he needs something that isn’t…fluffy and artistic to mold his character. Born a gentleman, he doesn’t have hobbies or concrete skills so I can’t really take him seriously since he doesn’t do anything. He does get a job later, but it’s not something wildly useful. I do applaud his adjustment to his new life.
The rest of the cast is basically defined by one or two traits. It’s only been a few days since I finished the book and the hotel staff has distilled into the cook (stern, but gets better with age), the seamstress (helpful), the bartender (good at his job), and that other guy whose position I don’t remember (good friend to cook and the Count). This book isn’t a deep dive on character personalities, but rather a portrait of ideas and items. I want actual substance.
At least Nina and Sofia aren’t annoying. As it says, they’re on the demur, solemn, refined side and that’s definitely the type of kid I’d prefer reading about.
It’s strange that over the course of the novel’s thirty years, no one’s personality changed. All they did was get old. Yep, definitely not a character growing book.
One thing I really like is the food descriptions. Important scenes take place in the hotel’s restaurants and the meals are always discussed. It made me want to experience an expertly catered and cooked dinner, complete with wine pairings.
The author can write just fine. He clearly has an understanding of language and can convey images in unique ways:
Here, indeed, was a formidable sentence—one that was on intimate terms with the comma, and that held the period in healthy disregard.
But Fate would not have the reputation it has if it simply did what it seemed it would do.
So while dueling may have begun as a response to high crimes—to treachery, treason, and adultery—by 1900 it had tiptoed down the stairs of reason, until they were fought over the tilt of a hat, the duration of a glance, or the placement of a comma.
Because the Bolsheviks, who were so intent upon recasting the future from a mold of their own making, would not rest until every last vestige of his Russia had been uprooted, shattered, or erased.
I know people call this book’s writing lyrical, beautiful, charming, almost fairytale-ish. But I’m not enchanted by that kind of thing. If it were the only good thing about any book, I’d consider the book a big failure. I don’t want books to be a pretty picture; I want something layered and flavored, like a good lasagna.
But this book is a pretty picture. And like all art, some will see depth and hidden meanings while others will see colors splashed on canvas. I don’t look at art—books or paintings—with the thought of, “What is the author trying to secretly express?” Give me straightforward ideas that don’t need a whimsical mindset to appreciate. I think this book, while perfectly entertaining and enjoyable on the surface, will not sit well with those who like a little more in the plot, progress and personalities department.
Check out my rating here.
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