I know that some people are just not going to find Anita Brookner's work to be their cup of tea. Even people who don't mind, or even like, quiet novels may not end up liking Brookner's version of quiet. However, reading about Simon's frustration with Hotel du Lac, I am reminded of my own first reaction to Brookner. I had a genuine distaste for it. I think I moved on to read another one only because I wanted to see if it would be as depressing as the first. And it was, but along the way I really started to get into the whole vibe. So I guess the moral of the story here is that Simon may yet still like Brookner. On the other hand, it is true I told him that I didn't find Hotel du Lac to be Brookner's best. However, and this is a big however, her other books are not substantively different from HdL. No one should feel like comparing two Brookner novels would be like comparing apples and organges. It would be more like comparing apples to apples. And even the same variety of apples at that.
So, without further ado...Here is Simon's take on Hotel du Lac. (I probably deserve whatever he dishes out after what I have said about Miss Hargreaves.)
this mild-looking, slightly bony woman in a long cardigan, distant, inoffensive, quite nice eyes, rather large hands and feet, meek neck, not wanting to go anywhere, but having given my word that I would stay away for a month until everyone decides that I am myself again.And the hotel itself
seems to be permanently reserved for women. And for a certain kind of woman. Cast-off or abandoned, paid to stay away, or to do harmless womanly things, like spending money on clothes.Amongst these women, and the most interesting characters in the novel, are mother and daughter Mrs. Pusey and Jennifer. Edith spends most of the first half of the novel revising the ages she considers them to be, from 40s and 20s to, eventually, 70s and 40s. They are rather desperate, and lonely, and put on false cheer. But, to be completely honest, they have already flown from my mind a little. Their portraits were painted a little too thinly, on too unstable a canvas.
Amongst these women there is only one man of note - Mr. Neville. I couldn't describe the relationship between Edith and Mr. Neville as romantic, still less a love story, but he does offer opportunities for some interesting views from Edith, which are refreshingly neither old-fashioned nor modern, but an honest path between the two.
"My idea of absolute happiness is to sit in a hot garden all day, reading, or writing, utterly safe in the knowledge that the person I love will come home to me in the evening. Every evening." "You are a romantic, Edith," repeated Mr. Neville, with a smile. "It is you who are wrong," she replied. "I have been listening to that particular accusation for most of my life. I am not a romantic. I am a domestic animal. I do not sigh and yearn for extravagant displays of passion, for the grand affair, the world well lost for love. I know all that, and know that it leaves you lonely. No, what I crave is the simplicity of routine. An evening walk, arm in arm, in fine weather. A game of cards. Time for idle talk. Preparing a meal together."And so the novel continues. Now for the negative.
What makes me a bit cross is that Hotel du Lac made me respond in a way I hate - using responses from which I would normally run a mile. I can't stand it when critics sneer at 'nothing happening' in a book, or about boring heroines. The sort of ridiculous statement Saul Bellow made of Elizabeth Taylor's Mrs. Palfrey at the Claremont, that 'I seem to hear the tinkle of teacups' - which ought really to be a compliment. I wish I could have heard the tinkle of teacups in Hotel du Lac! But nothing felt vital or vivid to me. Edith is quite a boring person, but that wouldn't matter if she had not also been a boring character. Austen's Mr. Collins is boring; Mrs. Palfrey is pretty boring, if it comes to that, but neither of these are boring characters, because of the vitality with which their dry lives are evoked - one for humour, and the other for empathy. Edith Hope simply fades, fades, fades into a pretty backdrop.You know me, I love books without much plot. I love novels which look gently, calmly, slowly at the ways in which people interact. I thought I would love Anita Brookner, but I certainly did not love Hotel du Lac. Which is not to say I hated it - more than anything, I was disappointed. There seem to be so many novelists who 'do' this sort of book rather better - E.H. Young, E.M. Delafield, even Richmal Crompton to a lesser extent. Brookner's writing in Hotel du Lac is never glaringly bad, and is occasionally perceptive. She has a knack for using unusual adjectives or adverbs which unsettle ('"I hate you," she shouted, hopefully') but... overall, I was not blown away by her style, or compelled by her prose. Often my eyes slipped to the end of the page, without taking in what had I had read. It all felt tolerable, I suppose, but...
Yet I will not let my lukewarm response to Hotel du Lac put me off. I shall remember that I was warned it wouldn't be Brookner's best. I will read the other reviews which will doubtless pop up around the blogosphere today. And I wait a few years, and given Anita another go.