Synopsis:
Journey to a magical hotel in the Swiss Alps, where two lost souls living in different centuries meet and discover if a second chance awaits them behind its doors.
“Have you travelled a long way?” she asked carefully..
A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “Well, yes,” he said slowly. “Yes, you could say that. But it was worth the wait.”
London, 2015. When reclusive art appraiser Eve Shaw shakes the hand of a silver-haired gentleman in her office, the warmth of his palm sends a spark through her.
His name is Max Everly—curiously, the same name as Eve’s favorite composer, born one hundred sixteen years prior. And she has the sudden feeling that she’s held his hand before . . . but where, and when?
The White Octopus Hotel, 1935. In this belle époque building high in the snowy mountains, Eve and a young Max wander the winding halls, lost in time.
Each of them has been through the trenches—Eve through a family accident and Max on the battlefields of the Great War—but for an impossible moment, love and healing are just a room away . . . if only they have the courage to step through the door.
Review:
Hello again dear reader, or listener, I hope you’re doing good and reading some amazing things. As for me, I’m not pointing fingers but someone at Del Rey saw my emotional breakdown over The Warm Hands of Ghosts (click for it here if you’re curious) and thought, this gal needs more of this type of damage. And you know what? They were right. Please feel free to do it again, at any time, guys.
Fair warning this is about to get a little rambling and I mainly want to preface this review by saying the book itself caught me at a, let’s say, interesting time. In fact, this magical yet poignant book about grief (among other things) was sent to me the day I learned a close relative passed away. It happens that this was also my very first big loss. At that time one of the first things I said to someone that would understand was, I need zero platitudes right now. Not to go on a tangent but grief is such a peculiar thing, in that sometimes others feel they have the right to tell you how to take it and navigate it. And if you don’t humor them and their platitudes, they take offense. So, you need to know, dear reader, why this book clicked with me a lot, when I was finally able to read it.
The White Octopus Hotel by Alexandra Bell is one big Fuck You to platitudes.
Now, let me make that point more politely, will you?
I had not yet read any of Bell’s books, even though I have quite a few of them in my TBR, so when I was offered an ARC of this one, I thought it pretty neat a coincidence and a great time to finally dig into her work. The thematic similarities to Warm Hands was the main appeal of course, but the whole premise of a magical Hotel that allows guests from different eras to mingle, was just too good for me to pass up. I also happen to have a soft spot for two characters becoming entangled across time – blame my mother putting on The Lake House for young me, I guess – and the last time I got to read such a book was with Ashley Poston’s The Seven Year Slip. Even if you’re not really into contemporary Romance I’d recommend that book by the way because, much like this one, it is not merely about two characters connecting but the ways they navigate their own grief to finally make it to a place that feels good enough to allow another person in.
Even on the surface, The White Octopus Hotel is a truly beautiful read in so many ways. From the evocative writing bringing the Art Deco ambiance of the 30s glittering throughout the pages to life. To the magic within the story which is of the not overly explained variety, where unusual and unexpected things just happen, sometimes as if they were the most natural thing. In other words, Bell blends Magical Realism with Historical Fiction, to create a story that will fill you with wonder while making you swear you can hear a faraway laughter of hotel guests, interspersed with heartfelt music, but also marred by the haunting background metronome of mortar shells falling across No Man’s Land during the first World War. The author cleverly interlaces her timelines in a way that renders how in the present they still feel for the protagonists. You’re not merely flashing back with them but stuck in their own mental spirals along with them until they are ready to move on. And even then, they’re not “back to normal”. Because that’s what happens after trauma and is one of the main themes of this book. You’re ever changing, and change can be hard. But we can do hard things and we can find hope.
Bell’s expertly crafted narrative pulls together Eve and Max, two heavily broken people, across decades, and not exactly in the right order. For the Doctor Who fans out there, the Doctor/River vibes are strong – and my little Whovian heart was thriving – as they seem to meet up in reverse, in fact. Not to worry though, because Bell takes care in her weaving and you merely need to trust the process until she fully reveals how all of her threads come together into an enchanting and deeply romantic picture. And, not only does it all wrap up in the most satisfying manner, in a mix of bittersweet yet hopeful and tender feels, but this is the kind of story that will lend itself amazingly to rereads. It is in fact a common pitfall of time travel stories that once you know the right sequence or final reveal, the story loses its shine for there is no tension anymore. Not with this book though. If anything, you can go through it again and again with a certain smugness and lightness in your chest in seeing how all the pieces come together from the very beginning of the story.
Once you properly delve into it, you encounter a no punches pulled narrative about different kinds of grief, and more specifically the one burdened by guilt. It tackles depression in ways rarely seen in fiction, because, granted, we always tend to look for hopeful narratives. But sometimes those fluffy narratives that tell you “things might be dark but don’t be sad now cause it’ll be better later”, well they just don’t help. We struggle to connect with something that is ten steps ahead of us telling us to just keep fighting, when we have lost all interest in the fight itself. Sometimes that is because for better or worse, those well-meaning stories (or even people) add onto the idea that feeling the way you do is the wrong thing to do, and they merely add onto the things you feel you’ve done wrong. And on the vicious cycle goes. But books like this one take the harder road of telling you that it’s ok to not be ok. It’s not particularly pretty perhaps but it shows a side to mental health that I feel more people ought to know about. Which is also why I think anyone ought to read this book regardless of personal subgenre taste. It is a stark and unapologetic view into things often either glossed over or hurtfully romanticized, and the author takes great care to portray PTSD and Complex PTS in a manner that is both informed and respectful. Truly, if someone isn’t aware of the difference between the two this book and its two protags would work as an excellent example, I feel.
What is also very important though, is that Bell tackles trauma in all its ugliness and contradiction but, underlying every single part of it, is the beauty and necessity of the art that allows us to work out and through those ugly feelings. Be it music or painting, whichever medium facilitates the connection between people who would otherwise struggle to explain themselves through words. Bell tells us through this tale full of enchantment and poignancy that aiming for a sad contentedness is not enough. You must strive for happiness even when you think you might never, or should never, feel those feelings again, because life is never just one thing. She shows her characters find the tools they need to begin to forgive and allow themselves to feel their feelings without wallowing in the dark ones past the point where they become dangerous. It’s just that sometimes all you need is someone to hear your music, see your art, or sit next to you quietly for as long as you may need.
Alexandra Bell masterfully weaves a story about love, both romantic and familiar, that cannot be contained by time. The Hotel brings souls together for a reason and that can sometimes be so that one will remind the other to just keep moving forward, however much time they need to take to do so. It encapsulates the bittersweetness of life, in a manner that recognizes that perfect Happily Ever Afters only exist in fairy tales, but a life fully lived is one of immeasurable joy and immense pain all bound together. One does not negate the other and neither should it.
I couldn’t put this book down and I have been thinking about it nonstop for days, in part trying to come up with the right words to say (and believe you me this isn’t even a tenth of what I’d like to go over) and in part because of how right and beautiful it felt. There are so many messages to take from this story and I love that every reader that gives this one a go will come out of it a little different no matter how they came into it. Whether you disagree and feel yourself fighting against what the characters are feeling/saying at the beginning, because you yourself were in that headspace in the past and know it gets better, or if you’re fully agreeing with them and seeing yourself in them in a way the feels a little to close for comfort, by the end you feel both understood and understanding. However cheesy that may have just sounded. I’m trying, ok? This book is extremely important and my brain is broken over it. But if you’ve stuck this far my point is this:
Pick up The White Octopus Hotel, let it transport you to different times, allow it to mirror your worst feelings or let it help you understand those of others close to you that are going through it. And by the end of it let it help you to grow and move forward.
This book comes out October 28th and I’m telling you dear reader, you don’t want to miss it. It is pure magic.
Until next time,
Eleni A.E.
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