Hotel Iris by Yoko Ogawa

Seventeen year old Mari is narrator of the Hotel Iris. Her life is not the kind of life any girl her age, or anyone for that matter, would envy. A high school dropout, she lost her father to a violent death at the age of eight, and now she spends her days and nights working the front desk, among other duties, at the Hotel Iris which is owned by her mother. Mari is clearly not only a lonely girl, but an emotionally damaged one as well. Her father’s death and the treatment she receives from her mother, who is who is constantly barking orders and criticizing her, have not helped her self esteem.

The hotel is a shabby seaside hotel, presumably in Japan. The only other hotel employee besides Mari and her mother is a kleptomaniac for a maid. The hotel is rarely busy off season; in fact oftentimes its only customers are prostitutes and their clients. One day while Mari is working the front desk a loud commotion and fight ensues in Room 202. A man in his 50′s chases a woman, obviously a prostitute, out of the room. He yells, “Shut up whore” at the woman. When Mari hears his voice yelling at the woman, her reaction is, “when giving orders……his voice is beautiful”. This, of course, is in contrast to the way her mother orders her around all the time.

When Mari later sees the mysterious man in town she decides to follow him, wanting to find out more about him. Once she meets him, she follows him to an isolated island cottage, there she finds out he is a Russian translator, and what follows is a sick sadomasochistic relationship.

For no matter where the story goes (and it takes us into some strange territory indeed) it retains some of those qualities of eager innocence, a bud that opens in the span of a single summer. But nothing about the book prepares the reader for the R-rated content. The girl, Mari, first encounters the older man (simply referred to as “the translator” since he ekes out a living translating from Russian) when her mother throws him out of the hotel after a noisy row with a prostitute. Bumping into Mari some days later, he is apologetic and almost old-fashioned in his meticulous courtesy; we assume that this was a one-time occasion that will not be repeated. But Mari, it seems, was equally attracted by the man’s power and sense of danger. More than once, she lets him take her to his home on an island a short ferry-ride from the town, and all that happens there is embraced by her as much as by him.

In some ways this book was like a horrible car crash you pass on the highway–you don’t want to look, but you can’t help yourself. I felt the same way about the book, I wanted to turn my head, but the beautiful writing just would not let me quit. The writing hooked me from the first page of the short (164 page) novel. Because the story is so short, I never felt I totally understood what was going on inside of Mari’s head, and why she was so obsessed about continuing to see the unnamed translator; her obsession with him was unshakable. It is tough to read in parts, but in the end, I am very glad I read this novel.

Hotel Iris; Ogawa, Yoko; Picador First Edition; $14.00