Hotel Europa is a bizarre geological phenomenon, a collection of indentations, creating a school of puddles, each autonomous, yet porous enough to allow interaction. The premise of the Romanian uprising which deposed Ceausescu alights each of the pools with fecund genetic happenings. Each teems. Bristles, even. A plot develops in one, only to be altered and enhanced by another. This is also the tale of an exiled novelist in Paris struggling to complete his work, badgered by his French wife and his mocking Siamese cat, his efforts spurred by a collection of news clippings and worn Deutschmarks which lead him further afield.

This isn’t a philosophical novel nor is one which is eager to rub elbows with other texts. It sort of stands aloof like an immigrant in transit, sitting alone in a rail station’s pub.

3.5/5 ( )

An odd novel. I enjoyed its structure: there are essentially three time frames; the narrator in the process of writing the novel & his daily life; the events & characters of the novel being written; & the "real life" events & characters upon which the novel is based. What makes this interesting is that all three time/event frames bleed into one another, so all is quite fluid. What makes it less interesting is that the main "character" in the novel (other than the writer of the novel) Ian is just not that engaging. Much about Romania at the time of overthrow of Ceaucescu & aftermath. Old exiles (the writer who lives in Paris)& new ones (younger, mostly students who wonder around Europe from East to West, from one version of Hotel Europa to another. ( )