The Invisible Hotel

Yeji Y. Ham’s speculative horror is based on the life of a women as she adjusts to the shifting identity long after the Korean war. Yewon keeps seeing a hotel in her dreams. One with infinite keys and rooms where she is desperate to escape. In reality she still live with her mother and works at a convenience store. Her mother obsessively washes the bones of her ancestors in their bathtub, a tradition everyone does so not to forget those who were lost to war. Now her sister has recently experienced a tragedy, her brother is stationed near the North Korean border and her mother’s health is declining fast. Yewon’s dreams of this hotel are leading her towards an uncomfortable truth.

Told through Yewon’s experiences, the story was quite harrowing to read. There are many themes and perspectives of struggle explored which left Yewon confused as to what they meant. Through her dreams of this hotel, she realises the bigger picture and her role within her family.

At times this became quite emotional to read. the descriptions of war, the metaphors behind the day to day tasks her mother was carrying out, her explanations of why she was seeing so many despairing events occur, it felt like a build up to some things people can relate to gong through similar circumstances.

I would say this book is in the same vein as reading the works of Han Kong and Yoko Ogawa. It will leave you thinking about it long after you have finished it.

The story is told from the perspective of a young woman in South Korea, struggling to reconcile her own personal lack of purpose, the various tensions in her family, and the macro political tensions with North Korea. The book explores the interconnectedness between the national trauma of South Koreans and their personal trauma, and how these things feed each other, making it very difficult to plan, hope, or aspire for a better future. There is a sense of impermanence permeating the entire story, even if it ends on a more positive note than the majority of the narrative.

I really liked what I read. What struck me most was the way the author wove the macro and the micro together, creating a very tangible, so real you could touch it, reality that emanated from the protagonist's experiences. There was something so powerful in this juxtaposition that it almost felt like a spiral the reader could easily fall into - hopelessness and despair. I also loved the pacing of the story, and how the real intermingled with the imaginary (or dreamt), to create the subjective reality experienced by the protagonist.

It was also a deeply illuminating book. I loved learning more about the contemporary experience of South Koreans and how much of it was shaped by the imparnence of the sense of safety they were living in. It is just something that never crossed my mind, but when it did, illustrated by the author's skill, it opened a new way of thinkkng about South Korea, and, more importantly, about conflict, especially the silent kind.

It's hard for me to call out a major theme I disliked about the book. It was not always easy to read, but, frankly, it comes with the territory. The main drawback, perhaps, was my struggle to fully understand the hotel analogy. It kept coming back throughout the story, and it felt important. That being said, I never connected with it, and struggled to see what it was really for.

I recommend to anyone interested in contemporary South Korea, the history of conflict, and the story of families subject to it.

My thanks to Netgalley and the publisher for providing me with an early copy of this novel in return for an honest review.