“No one ever had the idea of building a hotel so near the swamp.”
In French author Marie Redonnet’s novel, Hôtel Splendid, the narrator, who inherited the property from her grandmother, is one of three spinster sisters. The grandmother, it seems, was a woman with a vision. She built the hotel with her inheritance on the edge of a swamp, and while we’re told that the hotel was once magnificent, as the novel continues, that claim comes into question. The hotel is plagued with issues: the roof is falling apart, the furniture is riddled with woodworm, there’s a swarm of dead flies, a legion of cockroaches, an overwhelming, pervasive stench, foul water, but the biggest problem: the toilets.
The only men in the book are the anonymous guests who come and go. The hotel has been the home of three generations of women. The narrator’s mother ran off with two of her three daughters one day, but now, after the death of their mother, the two long-absent sisters, Adel and Ada have returned. “They chose to come and live at the hotel instead of taking the allowance.” Unfortunately, Adel and Ada think that their sister “who never left” is entirely responsible for them, and the narrator picks up that role, but then again, it seems that she’s cursed with the burden of responsibility.
The Hôtel Splendid must keep lighting up the darkness, despite the cold and the lack of guests.
Ada is a perpetual invalid and seems to rotting from within. “She has spent her life going from clinic to clinic” but nothing helps. Her room smells so awful, the narrator has to open the windows. In spite of her invalid status, Ada’s spry enough she has the energy, and malice, to sabotage the already over-burdened toilets. Then there’s Adel: a woman who must now be well into middle age, an actress who continually writes to “theater directors to ask about parts.” And while there are no parts for Adel (well there’s one pathetic role later in the book,) she wastes no time whatsoever entertaining the male guests. She “wears low-cut dresses,” sings for the male guests (a trapped audience) and then invites them, in a steady stream, back to her room for even more ‘entertainment.’ There’s a lot of black humour here as the narrator doesn’t grasp her sisters’ machinations. At one point she “wonder[s] if Adel is working seriously on her acting. It looks to me like she is only pretending. She’s always going and prowling around the work site. Maybe the future of the railway interests her more than the theater.”
It’s clear that man-hungry Adel can’t resist the proximity of the male guests:
It’s lucky for her the workmen like to listen to her perform.
While this is a tale of these three decaying, aging sisters, the swamp also plays a role in the plot. As age gnaws at the sisters, the swamp which represents untamed nature, devours all. The hotel is built next to the swamp, so mosquitoes plague the guests and while various enterprises are attracted to the swamp for several insane schemes, the swamp will not be contained or conquered. Even the gravestones sink into the swamp.
Only a few of the gravestones are still above water, and soon they will disappear as well.
Railway workers, geologists, prospectors, all pass through the Hotel. But since “Grandmother thought big,” the hotel’s neon lights still lure guests. Just as time decimates the sisters, the swamp decimates man’s ambitions. It simply wears them out. And yet there’s also more to the swamp than even its ability to devour all change: it becomes Ada’s excuse for her chronic bad health and Adel’s excuse for her
non-existent failed career:
Adel has cramps. She has stopped rehearsing. She says she will never go back to the stage, she is finished, she should never have come to the Splendid, it was fatal to her.
While the novel’s neurotic, rambling narration is at times repetitive (the lavatories, the lavatories), the misery of existence combined with the human strength of possibly misguided endurance make this an unusual, and weird, read.
There are pipes of all different sizes running along the walls. No wonder there are problems. The pipes make a real labyrinth. Even the plumber has a hard time finding his way. He says he doesn’t understand how anyone could have installed them that way.
Translated by Jordan Stump