What do you think?
Rate this book
Hotels of North America
From the acclaimed Rick Moody, a darkly comic portrait of a man who comes to life in the most unexpected of ways: through his online reviews.
Reginald Edward Morse is one of the top reviewers on RateYourLodging.com, where his many reviews reveal more than just details of hotels around the globe--they tell his life story.
The puzzle of Reginald's life comes together through reviews that comment upon his motivational speaking career, the dissolution of his marriage, the separation from his beloved daughter, and his devotion to an amour known only as "K." But when Reginald disappears, we are left with the fragments of a life--or at least the life he has carefully constructed--which writer Rick Moody must make sense of.
An inventive blurring of the lines between the real and the fabricated, Hotels of North America demonstrates Moody's mastery ability to push the bounds of the novel.
Reginald Edward Morse is one of the top reviewers on RateYourLodging.com, where his many reviews reveal more than just details of hotels around the globe--they tell his life story.
The puzzle of Reginald's life comes together through reviews that comment upon his motivational speaking career, the dissolution of his marriage, the separation from his beloved daughter, and his devotion to an amour known only as "K." But when Reginald disappears, we are left with the fragments of a life--or at least the life he has carefully constructed--which writer Rick Moody must make sense of.
An inventive blurring of the lines between the real and the fabricated, Hotels of North America demonstrates Moody's mastery ability to push the bounds of the novel.
199 pages, Hardcover
First published November 10, 2015
120 people are currently reading
3368 people want to read
About the author
Rick Moody
165 books346 followersHiram Frederick Moody III is an American novelist and short story writer best known for the 1994 novel The Ice Storm, a chronicle of the dissolution of two suburban Connecticut families over Thanksgiving weekend in 1973, which brought him widespread acclaim, became a bestseller, and was made into the film The Ice Storm. Many of his works have been praised by fellow writers and critics alike.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 327 reviews
September 26, 2017
Whenever one communicates, no matter the means or subject, one reveals a bit of himself. I am acutely aware of this and often tend to keep my thoughts, lightly dancing in the safety of my cranium, to myself. The reason of this could be that this is simply an innate characteristic, or a consequence of some buried childhood traumas. Whatever the case, the result is that I like to keep myself close to my chest, as it were. Maybe that is why people around me sigh in exasperation when, after asking about my holidays, all they get is a Very good, thank you, instead of the detailed accounts they were hoping to get. When politics is discussed, I tend to restrict myself to two or three on the one hand, on the other hand utterances while hoping the conversation will move on to more interesting pastures, where I will remain equally silent and vague, but perhaps with a wistful smile on my face.
One notable exception of this deplorable lack of generosity in sharing my thoughts is of course my reviewing activities here on Goodreads. Quite often, like now, I include some information about myself, my youth, my frustrations and my sources of happiness, because of the conviction that these nuggets of information are of relevance to my reading experience, be it as context or as tangential similarities between my life and that which is described in the book. But even if I wouldn't be so explicit in sharing certain memories and experiences, I think one might glean a lot from my opinions on certain book passages and identify core sensitivities I carry around with me. If one would choose to make a study out of it, such a person could grow to know me quite well, maybe even more so than I would be comfortable with. Websites that are built around user reviews have as their first mission to inform people of experiences that customers had with products and services. But as a result of this rather economic activity a whole area of interaction far outside the regions of the reviewed topic comes into play and the customers, slowly but inevitably, become people. Or as the book's blurb offers about reviewing websites:
But the real joy of those sites is not so much the advice they offer, but the people who offer it.
Introduced by a tagline that seems specifically designed to woo us Goodreads-reviewers, Rick Moody made such a character study, thankfully not of me, but of the (I assume fictional) top reviewer on a website that focusses on hotels. The reviewer in question who calls himself Reginald Edward Morse travels around a lot so knows what he’s talking about when writing, with wit and verve, about his frustrations with thin walls and mouldy bathroom corners as well as the joys of having extramarital sex in a hotel bed.
Inadvertently, as described above, the reviewer reveals more and more about himself and his personal life. When reviewing his nights spent on an Ikea parking lot, the reader can surmise things were not always going well for this man. Repeated references to the estrangement from his daughter add a tragic layer to a man whose reviews become increasingly three-dimensional, talking about hotels, himself and life all at once.
I loved the premise of the book, and smirked when reading about the protagonist’s frustrations with the lack of subtlety and nuance that comes with 5-star-scaled ratings, as well as his retorts to his critical, and quite frankly rude, readers.
The main problem I have with this book is that it’s only occasionally funny. Some observations on life in and around hotels are mildly amusing, but they can’t hold a novel together, at least not in the same way for example Three Men In A Boat did (though barely). The unexpectedly tragic elements (how unexpected can it really be if it’s mentioned in the blurb) are clearly meant to add weight to the whole thing, but they fall short of doing that due to a severe lack of depth. The hidden vein of this book and basically the protagonist's name, "remorse", doesn't fit a book that is essentially presented as a comedy. The gimmick of delivering this novel as a series of reviews, while enjoyable at first, got stale rather quickly, slowed down the pace considerably and made one care even less about the small amount of plot there is to be discerned. It’s like getting little scraps of paper that you need to put together, only to find out in the end that it’s mostly a blank page and it doesn’t matter very much where you actually put the pieces.
No, I can’t quite recommend this book. The little gems it has to offer are not worth the digging, though it pains me to say it because I don't exactly regret reading it either.
One notable exception of this deplorable lack of generosity in sharing my thoughts is of course my reviewing activities here on Goodreads. Quite often, like now, I include some information about myself, my youth, my frustrations and my sources of happiness, because of the conviction that these nuggets of information are of relevance to my reading experience, be it as context or as tangential similarities between my life and that which is described in the book. But even if I wouldn't be so explicit in sharing certain memories and experiences, I think one might glean a lot from my opinions on certain book passages and identify core sensitivities I carry around with me. If one would choose to make a study out of it, such a person could grow to know me quite well, maybe even more so than I would be comfortable with. Websites that are built around user reviews have as their first mission to inform people of experiences that customers had with products and services. But as a result of this rather economic activity a whole area of interaction far outside the regions of the reviewed topic comes into play and the customers, slowly but inevitably, become people. Or as the book's blurb offers about reviewing websites:
But the real joy of those sites is not so much the advice they offer, but the people who offer it.
Introduced by a tagline that seems specifically designed to woo us Goodreads-reviewers, Rick Moody made such a character study, thankfully not of me, but of the (I assume fictional) top reviewer on a website that focusses on hotels. The reviewer in question who calls himself Reginald Edward Morse travels around a lot so knows what he’s talking about when writing, with wit and verve, about his frustrations with thin walls and mouldy bathroom corners as well as the joys of having extramarital sex in a hotel bed.
Inadvertently, as described above, the reviewer reveals more and more about himself and his personal life. When reviewing his nights spent on an Ikea parking lot, the reader can surmise things were not always going well for this man. Repeated references to the estrangement from his daughter add a tragic layer to a man whose reviews become increasingly three-dimensional, talking about hotels, himself and life all at once.
I loved the premise of the book, and smirked when reading about the protagonist’s frustrations with the lack of subtlety and nuance that comes with 5-star-scaled ratings, as well as his retorts to his critical, and quite frankly rude, readers.
The main problem I have with this book is that it’s only occasionally funny. Some observations on life in and around hotels are mildly amusing, but they can’t hold a novel together, at least not in the same way for example Three Men In A Boat did (though barely). The unexpectedly tragic elements (how unexpected can it really be if it’s mentioned in the blurb) are clearly meant to add weight to the whole thing, but they fall short of doing that due to a severe lack of depth. The hidden vein of this book and basically the protagonist's name, "remorse", doesn't fit a book that is essentially presented as a comedy. The gimmick of delivering this novel as a series of reviews, while enjoyable at first, got stale rather quickly, slowed down the pace considerably and made one care even less about the small amount of plot there is to be discerned. It’s like getting little scraps of paper that you need to put together, only to find out in the end that it’s mostly a blank page and it doesn’t matter very much where you actually put the pieces.
No, I can’t quite recommend this book. The little gems it has to offer are not worth the digging, though it pains me to say it because I don't exactly regret reading it either.
abandoned
August 22, 2021The cheap hotel where I started reading this novella had a high rating on TripAdvisor, which was why I'd taken a chance on a non-refundable booking a few days earlier. But the morning after I paid, I looked more closely - including at its recent reviews, which were appalling. I became increasingly apprehensive. Would it be so intolerable I'd have to run away back home? Was my money gone on a pig-in-a-poke, or like the victim of a bank run before savings guarantees existed?
On arrival, I left my stuff on the doorstep, went into the room and looked in all the corners, and under the bedding and the mattress, for evidence of bedbugs (the one problem not mentioned by the disgruntled TripAdvisor users, but something dreaded by every traveller with an ounce of sense). As I couldn't see any - with my totally untrained eye - and altogether, the room didn't look that bad, I took the plunge and moved right in.
It was either later that day, or more probably the day after, as my nervousness about the possibility bedbugs was beginning to wane, when I picked up Hotels of North America. Somehow, I wanted to impress upon myself the importance of reading hotel reviews, even if they didn't necessarily reflect my own experience, and it seemed like the perfect time to read it.
I've loved the idea of this book, and in particular the satisfyingly recursive prospect of reviewing it online, since I first heard of it, either in a publisher's catalogue or as someone else's ARC on Goodreads. And, I don't know about you, but there are times, especially when tired, when I feel more like reading internet posts than whole books; with Hotels of North America I could read those and a book at once.
But the existing Goodreads reviews have always dismayed me. I expected, in my own review, to berate others for their lack of sense of humour when faced with a work of fiction about a prolific online reviewer. Surely the negative-to-middling reviews were the rage of Caliban seeing his own face in a glass?
It turns out that my own review is going to be the disappointment of Caliban not seeing his face in a glass.
There's such a lack of verisimilitude that the thing ceases to be satire and just looks clumsy - and intertwined with this is poor pacing in making revelations about the narrator. (It's supposed to be one of those novels where the narrator is slowly going round the bend.) Too much is revealed too soon, and it is stupendously unlikely that an online reviewer would put some of this material in a public post. Especially the bit where Reginald goes into detail about scams that he and his wife pull to get free accommodation or refunds. I abandoned the book at only 19%, and I don't think that should have been there yet. Neither is there a more general sense of warming up, of a new poster getting used to the site and the form in his early reviews, of posts getting longer and franker, as often happens with real online reviewers. He springs fully formed, sounding from the off like someone who's been reviewing on his favourite site for two or three years.
But some things Moody gets just right. There's the overweening confidence in our own voices, stories and prolixity that a moderate following on a reviewing site can bring. (This is me attacking myself as much as anyone, as there have been at least a couple of occasions in recent months where the reflex and assumption that everyone will find me that interesting, and has the time to read screeds, has got in the way socially, and left me with regrets.) Reginald does plenty of what some people would call oversharing - and in particular, the novel is strong on the type of review where the poster appears not to be aware how bad what they're saying actually is. That trick definitely has a place here, if only the story were more carefully paced. (These reminded me of a piece I once saw on a public reviewing site, containing an anecdote about the poster being abusive to a previous partner - if one applies relatively recent criteria - but the tone was as if their behaviour had merely been wacky.)
I'd rather like to hear more of Reginald Morse's story, but, I just realised today, not enough to cringe and highlight my way through even more of what I've been finding clumsy here. I have less time for reading these days as I'm in better health and able to do more (like travel, stay in hotels, and hang out with other people away from my own home), and I want to spend it on books I enjoy and admire.
The hotel where I began reading this book turned out to be considerably better than the recent reviewers said. I only recognised one of the major problems they described, and it wasn't as bad as they said. Had the proprietors perhaps improved things without making any comment on TripAdvisor? Though there were still other issues such as a lack of aircon in a noisy location, meaning one had to choose between sleeping poorly due to stuffy air, or due to noise. I don't think I'm particularly tough, but maybe memories of tatty student accommodation and youth hostels meant I found the place adequate where others wouldn't? I really ought to review it on TripAdvisor to balance things out, but still haven't got round to it...
On arrival, I left my stuff on the doorstep, went into the room and looked in all the corners, and under the bedding and the mattress, for evidence of bedbugs (the one problem not mentioned by the disgruntled TripAdvisor users, but something dreaded by every traveller with an ounce of sense). As I couldn't see any - with my totally untrained eye - and altogether, the room didn't look that bad, I took the plunge and moved right in.
It was either later that day, or more probably the day after, as my nervousness about the possibility bedbugs was beginning to wane, when I picked up Hotels of North America. Somehow, I wanted to impress upon myself the importance of reading hotel reviews, even if they didn't necessarily reflect my own experience, and it seemed like the perfect time to read it.
I've loved the idea of this book, and in particular the satisfyingly recursive prospect of reviewing it online, since I first heard of it, either in a publisher's catalogue or as someone else's ARC on Goodreads. And, I don't know about you, but there are times, especially when tired, when I feel more like reading internet posts than whole books; with Hotels of North America I could read those and a book at once.
But the existing Goodreads reviews have always dismayed me. I expected, in my own review, to berate others for their lack of sense of humour when faced with a work of fiction about a prolific online reviewer. Surely the negative-to-middling reviews were the rage of Caliban seeing his own face in a glass?
It turns out that my own review is going to be the disappointment of Caliban not seeing his face in a glass.
There's such a lack of verisimilitude that the thing ceases to be satire and just looks clumsy - and intertwined with this is poor pacing in making revelations about the narrator. (It's supposed to be one of those novels where the narrator is slowly going round the bend.) Too much is revealed too soon, and it is stupendously unlikely that an online reviewer would put some of this material in a public post. Especially the bit where Reginald goes into detail about scams that he and his wife pull to get free accommodation or refunds. I abandoned the book at only 19%, and I don't think that should have been there yet. Neither is there a more general sense of warming up, of a new poster getting used to the site and the form in his early reviews, of posts getting longer and franker, as often happens with real online reviewers. He springs fully formed, sounding from the off like someone who's been reviewing on his favourite site for two or three years.
But some things Moody gets just right. There's the overweening confidence in our own voices, stories and prolixity that a moderate following on a reviewing site can bring. (This is me attacking myself as much as anyone, as there have been at least a couple of occasions in recent months where the reflex and assumption that everyone will find me that interesting, and has the time to read screeds, has got in the way socially, and left me with regrets.) Reginald does plenty of what some people would call oversharing - and in particular, the novel is strong on the type of review where the poster appears not to be aware how bad what they're saying actually is. That trick definitely has a place here, if only the story were more carefully paced. (These reminded me of a piece I once saw on a public reviewing site, containing an anecdote about the poster being abusive to a previous partner - if one applies relatively recent criteria - but the tone was as if their behaviour had merely been wacky.)
I'd rather like to hear more of Reginald Morse's story, but, I just realised today, not enough to cringe and highlight my way through even more of what I've been finding clumsy here. I have less time for reading these days as I'm in better health and able to do more (like travel, stay in hotels, and hang out with other people away from my own home), and I want to spend it on books I enjoy and admire.
The hotel where I began reading this book turned out to be considerably better than the recent reviewers said. I only recognised one of the major problems they described, and it wasn't as bad as they said. Had the proprietors perhaps improved things without making any comment on TripAdvisor? Though there were still other issues such as a lack of aircon in a noisy location, meaning one had to choose between sleeping poorly due to stuffy air, or due to noise. I don't think I'm particularly tough, but maybe memories of tatty student accommodation and youth hostels meant I found the place adequate where others wouldn't? I really ought to review it on TripAdvisor to balance things out, but still haven't got round to it...
August 26, 2017
Most unique novel consisting of reviews of hotels and motels posted by the protagonist on an online review site. In the reviews he tells much more about himself and his loneliness than he tells about the hotels and motels. This book is amazing.
February 9, 2016
As a society, we're kind of obsessed with giving our opinions about everything—restaurants, movies, businesses, products, etc. (No, the irony is not lost on me that I'm making this comment in a book review I'm writing.)
While many of these reviews you find on sites like Yelp or Amazon (or Goodreads) can be useful, have you ever stopped to wonder what possesses people to share stream-of-consciousness ramblings that have very little relevancy to what is being reviewed? And while we're at it, have you ever been so interested in these people that you find yourself reading a lot of their reviews?
This is the concept behind Rick Moody's Hotels of North America . Presented as a compendium-of-sorts of the reviews of Reginald Edward Morse, which he posted on a fictional website called RateYourLodging.com, the book is both a commentary about one person's opinions on the declining state of many of the country's (and the world's) hotels, as well as the portrait of a man whose life is spiraling out of control, and how he chooses to handle it.
Morse started his career as an investment banker and erstwhile day trader, only to suddenly pursue a (not particularly) successful career as a motivational speaker. As his reviews unfold, we learn that he has been as unlucky in love as he has been in his career—his marriage has ended, and his short-lived affair with a "certain professor of language arts" didn't last, although he admitted to sporadic "bouts of recidivism" where she was concerned. In some of his reviews he mentions K., his companion (who also likes to be referred to by various bird names), with whom he experiences some of the worst hotel experiences, and with whom he practices a number of different cons to try and avoid paying for said hotel stays.
Hotels of North America is similar to Julie Schumacher's Dear Committee Members in that the reviews that comprise this book are much less about the hotels than about Morse's state of mind, although the latter book is more humorous in tone than this one is. Morse comments on everything from front desk clerks at cut-rate hotels ("The young man at the front desk looked like there was no sorrow he had not experienced") to cheese grits ("...it is not possible to consider a serving of cheese grits as falling under the rubric of grits") and Waffle House ("...it was presumed at Waffle House that you were on your last nickel, that you had squandered opportunities, that all was illusion"). He also takes the time to criticize those on RateYourLodging.com who call his veracity into question, or simply criticize his writing or make assumptions about his personal habits.
One of my favorite pieces of Morse's commentary is his thoughts on bed-and-breakfasts: "To summarize, these are the three main problems of bed-and-breakfast establishments: throw pillows, potpourri, and breakfast conversation, and the fourth problem is gazebos. And the fifth problem is water features. And the sixth problem is themed rooms, and the seventh problem is provenance (who owned the inn before and who owned the inn before that, and who owned it before that, and what year the bed-and-breakfast was built, and how old the timber is in the main hall), and the eighth problem is pride of ownership, because why can't it just be a place you stay, why does it always have to be an ideological crusade?"
The reviews are interesting, at times funny, at times poignant, but the book seems to drag on longer than it needs to. And then Moody throws himself into the story, under the guise that he had been asked to write an afterword for the compilation of Morse's reviews, only to find Morse had vanished. I felt this was an unnecessary gimmick that, while it provided some interesting commentary, didn't advance the book in any way.
This is only the second book of Moody's I've ever read, the first being The Ice Storm a number of years ago. As with that book, Hotels of North America proves his storytelling ability and his talent at satirizing suburban America and its denizens. I just wish the book was longer on substance and shorter on gimmickry.
See all of my reviews at http://itseithersadnessoreuphoria.blo....
While many of these reviews you find on sites like Yelp or Amazon (or Goodreads) can be useful, have you ever stopped to wonder what possesses people to share stream-of-consciousness ramblings that have very little relevancy to what is being reviewed? And while we're at it, have you ever been so interested in these people that you find yourself reading a lot of their reviews?
This is the concept behind Rick Moody's Hotels of North America . Presented as a compendium-of-sorts of the reviews of Reginald Edward Morse, which he posted on a fictional website called RateYourLodging.com, the book is both a commentary about one person's opinions on the declining state of many of the country's (and the world's) hotels, as well as the portrait of a man whose life is spiraling out of control, and how he chooses to handle it.
Morse started his career as an investment banker and erstwhile day trader, only to suddenly pursue a (not particularly) successful career as a motivational speaker. As his reviews unfold, we learn that he has been as unlucky in love as he has been in his career—his marriage has ended, and his short-lived affair with a "certain professor of language arts" didn't last, although he admitted to sporadic "bouts of recidivism" where she was concerned. In some of his reviews he mentions K., his companion (who also likes to be referred to by various bird names), with whom he experiences some of the worst hotel experiences, and with whom he practices a number of different cons to try and avoid paying for said hotel stays.
Hotels of North America is similar to Julie Schumacher's Dear Committee Members in that the reviews that comprise this book are much less about the hotels than about Morse's state of mind, although the latter book is more humorous in tone than this one is. Morse comments on everything from front desk clerks at cut-rate hotels ("The young man at the front desk looked like there was no sorrow he had not experienced") to cheese grits ("...it is not possible to consider a serving of cheese grits as falling under the rubric of grits") and Waffle House ("...it was presumed at Waffle House that you were on your last nickel, that you had squandered opportunities, that all was illusion"). He also takes the time to criticize those on RateYourLodging.com who call his veracity into question, or simply criticize his writing or make assumptions about his personal habits.
One of my favorite pieces of Morse's commentary is his thoughts on bed-and-breakfasts: "To summarize, these are the three main problems of bed-and-breakfast establishments: throw pillows, potpourri, and breakfast conversation, and the fourth problem is gazebos. And the fifth problem is water features. And the sixth problem is themed rooms, and the seventh problem is provenance (who owned the inn before and who owned the inn before that, and who owned it before that, and what year the bed-and-breakfast was built, and how old the timber is in the main hall), and the eighth problem is pride of ownership, because why can't it just be a place you stay, why does it always have to be an ideological crusade?"
The reviews are interesting, at times funny, at times poignant, but the book seems to drag on longer than it needs to. And then Moody throws himself into the story, under the guise that he had been asked to write an afterword for the compilation of Morse's reviews, only to find Morse had vanished. I felt this was an unnecessary gimmick that, while it provided some interesting commentary, didn't advance the book in any way.
This is only the second book of Moody's I've ever read, the first being The Ice Storm a number of years ago. As with that book, Hotels of North America proves his storytelling ability and his talent at satirizing suburban America and its denizens. I just wish the book was longer on substance and shorter on gimmickry.
See all of my reviews at http://itseithersadnessoreuphoria.blo....
May 16, 2016
I picked this up at the public library on a whim but my hesitations at the beginning (I read the first 50 pages waiting for some work on my car) continued through the end. I wasn't as intrigued with the hotel reviewer as I think as I was supposed to be, so my interest in the story would wax and wane as quickly as his hotel opinions. Definitely one you can pick up, read a few pages of, and leave on a stack for a while before returning to. There is just not a lot of momentum to be had in the first place.
ETA I do think Moody is the first person to compare a librarian to a mattress.
"...Such was the profundity of the two-inch memory-foam topper in terms of its luxury and enveloping qualities. To lay your head on the topper was like laying your head on the breast of your slightly soft librarian friend. It was like sinking into an acceptance of the afterlife."
Hey. Don't get any ideas.
ETA I do think Moody is the first person to compare a librarian to a mattress.
"...Such was the profundity of the two-inch memory-foam topper in terms of its luxury and enveloping qualities. To lay your head on the topper was like laying your head on the breast of your slightly soft librarian friend. It was like sinking into an acceptance of the afterlife."
Hey. Don't get any ideas.
October 5, 2015
This was a highly original, funny, and moving book that breaks the conventions of traditional story-telling. Although the novel is a series of hotel reviews from an online critic, it's really a mystery: who is this reviewer? Can you divine a man from his online opinions? Well, fortunately for the reader, when the online critic cares more for talking about himself than the hotels he's purportedly reviewing, you can. But, because this narrator does not excel in self-awareness, his true nature is still somewhat shrouded. The disconnect between the reviewer and himself, as well as the reviewer and the rest of humanity drives the humor, pathos, and suspense of the book. You read to get a better sense of this man. Also, you read on because it's fun and easily digestible
Anyone who's followed Moody's career knows he has the power to transform language into moments of magic and art, but I was not prepared for the sheer humor of this novel. I laughed out loud several times. I was moved in equal measure. THe reviewer/protagonist has an amusing trait of believing his most specific human experiences speak for all humanity, but isn't that the nature of the critic -- to believe his personal encounters define what he has encountered for all? Playing with this idea, Hotels of North America, is a mystery, a comedy, and, ultimately, a sentimental journey of a man behind his e-rhetoric.
Can't wait to read it again.
Anyone who's followed Moody's career knows he has the power to transform language into moments of magic and art, but I was not prepared for the sheer humor of this novel. I laughed out loud several times. I was moved in equal measure. THe reviewer/protagonist has an amusing trait of believing his most specific human experiences speak for all humanity, but isn't that the nature of the critic -- to believe his personal encounters define what he has encountered for all? Playing with this idea, Hotels of North America, is a mystery, a comedy, and, ultimately, a sentimental journey of a man behind his e-rhetoric.
Can't wait to read it again.
November 17, 2015
Overall, the book worked for me, but I'd be very hesitant in recommending it to my friends. Starts out in the vein of a cranky hotel reviewer, but that aspect fades until the latter part of the book is pretty much all about his personal life, which is basically a dysfunctional mess (by implication). I suppose that if I had to describe the story in a single word that'd be "quirky"; however, there's also an aspect of Murakami-like surrealism at times - a collection of dark vignettes, if you will.
I uprated my stars slightly as the narration really helped carry the story. Not sure what I thought of the final chapter, where the author comments on the protagonist, but I suppose it does succeed in providing a sort of closure.
Definitely interested in more from the author, and even more so from the narrator!
I uprated my stars slightly as the narration really helped carry the story. Not sure what I thought of the final chapter, where the author comments on the protagonist, but I suppose it does succeed in providing a sort of closure.
Definitely interested in more from the author, and even more so from the narrator!
May 19, 2016
(Reprinted from the Chicago Center for Literature and Photography [cclapcenter.com]. I am the original author of this essay, as well as the owner of CCLaP; it is not being reprinted illegally.)
So before anything else, I should mention that I've never read the two big early books that first made Rick Moody famous, 1992's Garden State and 1994's The Ice Storm, so have no basis for comparing his newer books to this one; but that said, I've been hugely disappointed by the handful of his books I've read since then, with this newest from 2015 being no exception. Ostensibly an epistolatory novel in which a motivational speaker's frequent Yelp-type online reviews of North American hotels can be added together to present a deep portrait of his life and loves, the actual manuscript published under this title doesn't even begin to hold up to the premise; even just the second and third reviews of the book are actually set in Europe, not North America, while the fifth writeup isn't a review of a hotel at all, but a story about the narrator sleeping in his car at an IKEA parking lot one night, and the narratives themselves don't even pretend to sound like actual reviews, instead being fully fleshed-out literary short stories that contain no mystery, symbolism, or epistolatory elements at all, the main reason I picked this up in the first place. This would be bad enough, but then when you add the fact that the narrator is an insufferably pretentious ass, who talks in the overblown purplish prose of a character from a Victorian novel, you're left with a book that wasn't even worth the time it took me to travel to my neighborhood library and check it out. Eventually I'll get around to reading those two widely admired early novels of his, just to see whether the hype about them is deserved; but this newest one is a real stinker, and is not recommended to a general audience.
Out of 10: 1.6
So before anything else, I should mention that I've never read the two big early books that first made Rick Moody famous, 1992's Garden State and 1994's The Ice Storm, so have no basis for comparing his newer books to this one; but that said, I've been hugely disappointed by the handful of his books I've read since then, with this newest from 2015 being no exception. Ostensibly an epistolatory novel in which a motivational speaker's frequent Yelp-type online reviews of North American hotels can be added together to present a deep portrait of his life and loves, the actual manuscript published under this title doesn't even begin to hold up to the premise; even just the second and third reviews of the book are actually set in Europe, not North America, while the fifth writeup isn't a review of a hotel at all, but a story about the narrator sleeping in his car at an IKEA parking lot one night, and the narratives themselves don't even pretend to sound like actual reviews, instead being fully fleshed-out literary short stories that contain no mystery, symbolism, or epistolatory elements at all, the main reason I picked this up in the first place. This would be bad enough, but then when you add the fact that the narrator is an insufferably pretentious ass, who talks in the overblown purplish prose of a character from a Victorian novel, you're left with a book that wasn't even worth the time it took me to travel to my neighborhood library and check it out. Eventually I'll get around to reading those two widely admired early novels of his, just to see whether the hype about them is deserved; but this newest one is a real stinker, and is not recommended to a general audience.
Out of 10: 1.6
January 22, 2016
What a sly and subversive novel. Ostensibly the collated writings of online hotel reviewer Reginald Edward Morse (geddit!?), author Rick Moody warns on the copyright page that ‘Persons and places in the book are either fictional or are used fictionally’.
Continuing the dizzying meta-fictional elusiveness, Moody – as a character in his own novel – remarks in an Afterword to Morse’s officially sanctioned collection that ‘this is not a book about hotels but a collection of writings about what it means to be alone’.
So what is it about? Well, everything from bedbugs to the quality of hotel porn and food, through to the risible overuse of scatter cushions in B&B establishments. Oh, and death, love, family, home, gender, identity and existential crisis.
Not to mention lots of gallows humour, including a particularly garish scene involving a menstruating partner indelibly staining a hotel’s pristine linen. In other words, your typical Moody novel.
While not nearly as OTT as The Four Fingers of Death, the tone here is much more elegiac and melancholic, alternating between the very dark and the blindingly sublime. The writing is as inspired as ever, favouring long riffs on selected topics that read like print versions of gospel singers circling nirvana.
Extraordinary. One of the most original and gonzo novels I have read in ages, from a truly madcap writer.
Continuing the dizzying meta-fictional elusiveness, Moody – as a character in his own novel – remarks in an Afterword to Morse’s officially sanctioned collection that ‘this is not a book about hotels but a collection of writings about what it means to be alone’.
So what is it about? Well, everything from bedbugs to the quality of hotel porn and food, through to the risible overuse of scatter cushions in B&B establishments. Oh, and death, love, family, home, gender, identity and existential crisis.
Not to mention lots of gallows humour, including a particularly garish scene involving a menstruating partner indelibly staining a hotel’s pristine linen. In other words, your typical Moody novel.
While not nearly as OTT as The Four Fingers of Death, the tone here is much more elegiac and melancholic, alternating between the very dark and the blindingly sublime. The writing is as inspired as ever, favouring long riffs on selected topics that read like print versions of gospel singers circling nirvana.
Extraordinary. One of the most original and gonzo novels I have read in ages, from a truly madcap writer.
June 4, 2020
Many readers insist that online reviewing is shallow, that reviewers are vindictive, that their prose is bad, that they want for human feeling, that their physical isolation...suggests that the worst possible instincts are liable to come to the surface in this online reviewing process. 149
This may very well be true of some online reviews. Of course, the reviews he is writing are ostensibly regarding hotels, but the quote above is flexible. Here on GR I have read enough of those picky, meanspirited kinds of things, but not that much. They are more interesting than the ones that try to paraphrase the dust jacket. But the mighty thing about GR is that there are an impressive scattering of people who write thoughtful, intelligent, often funny and brilliant reviews, with insight and compassion. Often they will point out things that I missed; sometimes they put a whole new spin on a book and sometimes they will convince me to try something that otherwise I may have missed. There are a few who write in rich detail of books I will never have the patience or temerity to read myself. I don't always nor do I feel compelled to agree with them. I have, on occasion gone delirious over a particularly delicious review. I adore my favourite reviewers who have when petitioned extended words of encouragement over an impossible book that I was reading outside my comfort zone but totally inspired by their words. A few have become real friends, that is, our friendship extends past the realm of GR. I consider this a real bonus.
There are always times that are hard, but it's our job, during hard times, to look a little deeper and try to find ways to love. p34
Looking a little deeper into this particular book, the reader fairly soon begins to get the impression that the reviews here are more of the reviewers life than the life of the hotels that he is rating. The fact that it is set up as The Collected Writings of Reginald Edward Morse with an afterword by Rick Moody, the author, did cause me to briefly wonder if the bulk of the biographical details belonged to him.
I have learned only what is obvious, that this is not a book about hotels but a collection of writings about what it means to be alone. p194 from the afterword
All this is very fine and there are some very funny and some considerably poignant moments. There are also some rather appalling bits, and some truly dreadful sentence structures. What really drove me wild, and lowered my rating, is the fact that these reviews are not only all over the map, as one would expect, but they are not chronological. As surprised as I was to find myself griping over my attempts to make sense of the narrative arc, at one point I abandoned my reading of the text and just studied the chronology on the inside cover. Why couldn't the editors have used that as a plan? They probably compiled it. Also, they could have made him a bit more likeable. After all, curmudgeons are supposed to have a lovable streak. REM is just too self-centred and unpredictable in his taste. Maybe he was just cranky from poor sleep on so many strange mattresses.
...there is nothing that I will not say for the sake of the review, because the truth of the review is everything. p58
December 26, 2015
Rick Moody is an author who continues to surprise me. Most of my reading of his works took place before recording here, but I remember well his deconstruction of 70's suburban America in The Ice Storm as well as several of his short stories. I must admit struggling with his science fiction, but Hotels of North America is in a class by itself. There is really nothing else like it. Reginald E. Morse is a motivational speaker who spends a lot of time on the road due to the nature of his work. But his true self is revealed in his online blog in which he "rates" the various establishments he stays in. Reg is fictional, yes, but some of the establishments are so well described that my reading was slowed down by curiosity, and I found myself looking them up. There are passages that made me laugh out loud, and one sequence involving a notorious brand of gummy bears, that defies description. Maybe not for everybody, but for those who like something different that is so well done, highly recommended.
January 5, 2025
At times witty, and urbane; but most of the time morosely self-indulgent and rambling, I was at my wit's end by the time at the end, and I didn't care at all about Reginald Morse's adventures at travel or his self pitying lack of real love.
March 9, 2016
online motel reviewer tells of his sordid and sad life through his travels/reviews . has timeline for reader to keep track of his situations/partners or lack of, in given times and places. a 'classic' of 'modern' usa ennui, virtual communications, pomo literature. l loved this, some readers could very well loath it.
October 3, 2020
Definitely dove into Hotels of North America for a challenge and it just happened to be my next travel book as well. Now that there's a reviewer for basically anything.. because I mean we write book reviews on this website. So people who review hotels and motels seems realistic to me.
Instead of just getting reviews, we get so much more from this book. It was interesting to see what Morse was going through whether it was writing reviews or his personal life. He went from an investment baker to becoming a motivational speaker. As his career went down the drain so did his love life. The one thing that was interesting to me was his cons in order to not pay for hotels. Pretty genius because those things are expensive in some places.
Other than that, I did laugh when he was talking about bed and breakfast places. I've never been to one and I've always wanted to experience them. Yet, I laughed so hard at when he described them. Still want to try it out to form my own opinion but it was enjoyable to read about.
In the end, it was an okay book in my eyes.
Instead of just getting reviews, we get so much more from this book. It was interesting to see what Morse was going through whether it was writing reviews or his personal life. He went from an investment baker to becoming a motivational speaker. As his career went down the drain so did his love life. The one thing that was interesting to me was his cons in order to not pay for hotels. Pretty genius because those things are expensive in some places.
Other than that, I did laugh when he was talking about bed and breakfast places. I've never been to one and I've always wanted to experience them. Yet, I laughed so hard at when he described them. Still want to try it out to form my own opinion but it was enjoyable to read about.
In the end, it was an okay book in my eyes.
May 5, 2016
It hurts me not to rave about any Rick Moody title, since I've long thought and frequently said that he's the most naturally talented American wordsmith of my generation. Incredibly gifted with language, never at a loss for inventive story ideas, genius-level book smarts, and yet with this ear close to the ground. His books are always interesting and often astonishing. But Hotels of North American really fell flat for me. On the surface the premise of the novel sounds nifty, an interesting form experiment: telling a fictional story through a series of pretend online hotel reviews. Problem is, the character who writes these reviews is a perfectly dismal narrator, pretentious and insufferable. Reginald E. Morse speaks with a familiar Rick Moody-styled voice: that of the sensitive but lonely and mostly hapless middle-aged man. The style is florid, the vocabulary ridiculous; he's given to predictable self-deprecation, embarrassing honesty, and semi-comic/non-comic philosophical musings.
It's only a mildly interesting voice; a little goes a long way. Problem is, here that voice carries the entire novel. What's baffling to me is the Rick Moody, middle-aged himself at this point, knows better. His educated older man character sounds like an idea of an educated older man from seventy years ago; maybe one hundred years ago. It's a Rick Moody-type that is so far removed from reality, from the real way real middle-aged men (or women) write that one can't take it seriously. So, you might ask, is the voice funny then? No, not really. Is it meant to be funny? No, not really. I think readers are supposedly to be mildy and ironically amused by Morse, emit polite little chuckles along with a strong dose of sympathy. But that amounts to a pretty pallid reading experience. The "Afterword" to the novel, written by Moody but as fictional as anything else in here, tries to instill a bit more interest in the character of Morse by "revealing" that Morse has mysteriously stopped posting reviews and disappeared. Indeed, apparently no one even knows if Reginald E. Morse is his real name; no one seems to know anything about him at all, save what he wrote on the (fictional) Rate Your Lodging website. This Afterword is definitely more interesting than the rest of the novel, but that's not saying much. Mostly the reader is just happy to be done with Morse's tiresome voice and to hear someone else's. The fact that Morse's "reviews" are not the slightest bit credible as real world hotel reviews does not bother me at all. You have to allow Moody a lot of elbow room if these reviews are supposed to add up to a story. What bothers me is that Morse's reviews are simply not very engaging; and the novel ends up telling almost no story at all. I look forward to better efforts from Moody in the future. Maybe if he stopped trying to be clever and just told a story. I know he is more than capable of doing so.
It's only a mildly interesting voice; a little goes a long way. Problem is, here that voice carries the entire novel. What's baffling to me is the Rick Moody, middle-aged himself at this point, knows better. His educated older man character sounds like an idea of an educated older man from seventy years ago; maybe one hundred years ago. It's a Rick Moody-type that is so far removed from reality, from the real way real middle-aged men (or women) write that one can't take it seriously. So, you might ask, is the voice funny then? No, not really. Is it meant to be funny? No, not really. I think readers are supposedly to be mildy and ironically amused by Morse, emit polite little chuckles along with a strong dose of sympathy. But that amounts to a pretty pallid reading experience. The "Afterword" to the novel, written by Moody but as fictional as anything else in here, tries to instill a bit more interest in the character of Morse by "revealing" that Morse has mysteriously stopped posting reviews and disappeared. Indeed, apparently no one even knows if Reginald E. Morse is his real name; no one seems to know anything about him at all, save what he wrote on the (fictional) Rate Your Lodging website. This Afterword is definitely more interesting than the rest of the novel, but that's not saying much. Mostly the reader is just happy to be done with Morse's tiresome voice and to hear someone else's. The fact that Morse's "reviews" are not the slightest bit credible as real world hotel reviews does not bother me at all. You have to allow Moody a lot of elbow room if these reviews are supposed to add up to a story. What bothers me is that Morse's reviews are simply not very engaging; and the novel ends up telling almost no story at all. I look forward to better efforts from Moody in the future. Maybe if he stopped trying to be clever and just told a story. I know he is more than capable of doing so.
December 5, 2015
Moody satirizes online reviewing culture (hey everybody!) with pitch-perfect aplomb here while also creating a masterful work of layered metafiction. If it could've been novella length instead of its 199 pages, apparently making it more "novel" than "novella", it might've been perfect. But perhaps the imperfections are what make the book palatable, real, understandable and conceivable as opposed to obviously fictional. These are not just reviews of a hotel but scenes from a life, shared at arm's length (e.g. via the internet) but also inviting a reader in more closely than even a family or close friend might get to be. I salute all of the Reginald Morses out there - for we are all part of that human community, sharing our thoughts with those who'd hear us. And for you, readers, I speak for all of us when I say: we are thankful.
More Weds at RB: http://ragingbiblioholism.com/2015/12...
More Weds at RB: http://ragingbiblioholism.com/2015/12...
January 10, 2016
A masturbatory book about a masturbatory guy who writes masturbatory "reviews." There were a few funny moments but I can't see this book being published if it was his first. He's skating on the name Rick Moody.
September 29, 2017
Un romanzo insolito e sussurrato sul confine tra solitudine e libertà, sulla mancata comunicazione tra i sessi, sulla crisi della coppia, sulla stanchezza dei rapporti, sulla paura di vivere una vita autentica, sulla vita ai tempi di internet. Una storia disancorata geograficamente, in continuo movimento, per una volta potenzialmente universale. Una storia che racconta una scelta di vita al di fuori dagli stereotipi, sottolineandone non solo l'esistenza ma anche la legittimità rispetto ad aspettative sociali imbalsamate e soffocanti. Un tipo di narrativa al di là dei generi ed al di là delle delle routine.
La metafora attraverso cui viene narrata è quella del viaggio, dell'esperienza irripetibile non sempre all'altezza di una serie sconfinata di standard qualitativi.Un romanzo epistolare simbolico e divertente che segue le peregrinazioni del protagonista, Reginald Edward Morse ,attraverso i suoi spostamenti e le sue valutazioni più votate su «Rate Your Lodging» sito web simile a TripAdvisor. Morse è un uomo difficile : di mezza età, alcolista,ex agente di borsa e, al secolo, oratore motivazionale. Ha problemi di autocontrollo, una famiglia in disfacimento dopo un penoso divorzio, un rapporto problematico con la sua unica figlia e un malessere sordo causato da un padre che lo ha abbandonato quando era piccolo.
Morse ha fatto dei non-luoghi la sua dimora mobile : rifiuta la stanzialità e preferisce le zone liminali all'inquietante certezza della vita «normale» forse solo per evitare di rimanere troppo a lungo con se stesso e con i suoi fallimenti. Nelle mani di Moody, gli alberghi diventano una specie di purgatorio dove riflettere sui propri « peccati».
Una sorta di Moby-Dick ritoccato in tweet, perché la vita on-line è la vita del ventunesimo secolo. È qui che viviamo. Che ci piaccia o no, il world wide web verbalizza il bisogno di ciascuno di noi di raccontare la propria storia.Eccitante, triste, democratico e assolutamente narcisistico. Straordinario e orribile allo stesso tempo.
La metafora attraverso cui viene narrata è quella del viaggio, dell'esperienza irripetibile non sempre all'altezza di una serie sconfinata di standard qualitativi.Un romanzo epistolare simbolico e divertente che segue le peregrinazioni del protagonista, Reginald Edward Morse ,attraverso i suoi spostamenti e le sue valutazioni più votate su «Rate Your Lodging» sito web simile a TripAdvisor. Morse è un uomo difficile : di mezza età, alcolista,ex agente di borsa e, al secolo, oratore motivazionale. Ha problemi di autocontrollo, una famiglia in disfacimento dopo un penoso divorzio, un rapporto problematico con la sua unica figlia e un malessere sordo causato da un padre che lo ha abbandonato quando era piccolo.
Morse ha fatto dei non-luoghi la sua dimora mobile : rifiuta la stanzialità e preferisce le zone liminali all'inquietante certezza della vita «normale» forse solo per evitare di rimanere troppo a lungo con se stesso e con i suoi fallimenti. Nelle mani di Moody, gli alberghi diventano una specie di purgatorio dove riflettere sui propri « peccati».
Una sorta di Moby-Dick ritoccato in tweet, perché la vita on-line è la vita del ventunesimo secolo. È qui che viviamo. Che ci piaccia o no, il world wide web verbalizza il bisogno di ciascuno di noi di raccontare la propria storia.Eccitante, triste, democratico e assolutamente narcisistico. Straordinario e orribile allo stesso tempo.
August 14, 2019
The conceit of the novel is that of an author who reviews of a wide range of hotels for an online site, an intriguing concept. If you can wade through the author’s preoccupation with masturbation, semen and bed bugs there are some choice bits.
January 14, 2016
My brow must have furrowed in concern when, upon referring to the “Also By Rick Moody” page inside of his ninth and latest work of fiction, I discovered I have read all but one of them. I imagine the only thing stopping me from reading 2010’s The Four Fingers of Death, is that aside from a couple of short stories in The Ring of Brightest Angles Around Heaven (1995) and Demonology (2002), and the three novellas in Right Livelihoods (2007), I’ve never considered myself a big fan of his work. I even read 2002’s The Black Veil, his dark, unfocused work of genre-bending non-fiction: part recovery memoir, part exploration of his literary and ancestral bloodlines. Why, then, did I bothered to read his latest? It's a question I was asking myself by the time I was halfway through Hotels of North America. The more complicated answer: I am interested to see how Moody pulls off a novel told through hotel reviews because I have an interest in plotless fiction, and based on some cursory investigation, I think Hotels of North America might qualify as plotless. The short answer: Good jacket copy. Skewering review culture in the age of online comment threads and the frequently hilarious viral flare-ups they spawn is timely, and there’s certainly no shortage of research material. What proves difficult is turning that skewering into a functioning work of fiction. Moody’s Hotels of North America takes the form of the collected works of Reginald Edward Morse (note the prominent R.M. initials), a hard-luck motivational speaker whose online hotel reviews earn him a large online following. His deeply personal accounts of staying in everything from backwoods roadhouse cottages to cosmopolitan flagship hotels often contain only passing references to the lodgings themselves. A preface to Morse’s collected reviews (which make up the body of the novel) is ostensibly provided by Greenway Davies, Director, North American Society of Hoteliers and Innkeepers. In his preface, Greenway calls “The Collected Writings of Reginald Edward Morse” a “heartwarming, funny-bone-tickling volume about the peaks and troughs of itinerant life.” Moody himself provides an Afterword that goes to great lengths to convince the reader that Moody was handed the manuscript of Morse’s collected hotel reviews (for the purpose of writing the Afterword) by a former editor at RateYourLodging.com, where Morse’s reviews appeared before being collected in book form. Through several interviews and articles written about Hotels of North America (and a RateYourLodging.com website that’s more advertisement for the book than it is a clever expansion of the world of the novel into the actual), Moody has maintained that Morse is a real person and the only thing he provided, although listed throughout as the author, is the Afterword. We’ve seen this ‘found manuscript’ bit done before, and we’ve seen it done much better, because what the awkward Preface and Afterword bracket is a tiresome and disordered mess. Although each review includes the date(s) of Morse’s stay, the reviews are not offered in chronological order, but rather in the order Morse posted them online, the dates of the ostensible posting often coming years after the hotel stay. There may be something to glean from analyzing these dates more closely, but I needed something to grasp onto—something more than the dull author surrogate of Morse, who I didn’t find charming or funny (two things Greenway Davies all but promised in his glowing preface). A central symbolic device that the ‘plot’ or action hinges on (like Kraft’s grisly death during the disastrous bombing run in Catch-22), or revolves around (like Tom Mota’s chair in Joshua Ferris’ Then We Came To The End), would have been welcome orientation. Instead, what I got, printed on the endpapers of my first edition copy of the novel, was a chronological list all of Morse’s reviews, keyed to a colour-coded legend of who Morse was sleeping with (or not sleeping with) during that particular hotel stay. However, for the purposes of this review I am referencing a different first edition copy of the novel and I can’t help but notice that it does not have these endpapers, which makes me wonder if this attempt to give the reader some kind of lifeline, to impose at least a colour-coded order to the novel, was abandoned after the first print run because it was determined to be of little or no tactical advantage to the reader. One of the hallmarks of good plotless fiction is that, despite the lack of linear narrative focus, the fiction does not want for it. This is not the case with Hotels of North America. If the novel’s formal chaos is meant to reflect Morse’s melancholy, itinerant life, it fails all the more for it.
December 2, 2015
A Superb Fictional Look at the Present Courtesy of an Obscure Writer and his Online Hotel Reviews
In the short span of two months, three notable works of fiction have been published this year that delve richly into metafiction, starting with Catherynne Valente's "Radiance", followed by David Mitchell's "Slade House", and now, Rick Moody's "Hotels of North America". All three are notable for their surprisingly original takes on the novel, not least because of their reliance on metafiction, but Moody's falls into a class onto itself, as a darkly satirical - often hilarious - fictional view of contemporary online culture by the enigmatic Reginald Edward Morse, a self-proclaimed motivational speaker moonlighting as a hotel reviewer for the RateYourLodging.com website. Told in first person primarily from Morse's perspective, he offers readers ample glimpses into his personal life, taking readers along on a vicarious autobiographical journey cloaked within these hotel reviews. Morse's rambling discourses about the lodgings he's visited and his own personal history, will remind some readers of Henry James, Thomas Bernhard and Italo Calvino simply for his literary style, wit and wisdom. Morse's "collected writings" are introduced by a Greenway Davies, Director, North American Society of Hoteliers and Innkeepers, who ponders the reasons why Morse wrote rambling. barely coherent, prose. A writer named Rick Moody follows Morse's text, by explaining his unsuccessful effort in identifying Morse and meeting him in person. Despite its relative brevity, "Hotels of North America" represents an important addition to the real Rick Moody's literary oeuvre, as well as a sly, often revealing, exploration into contemporary online culture. If William Gibson opted to write like Henry James, Thomas Bernhard and Italo Calvino, then the resulting work of fiction might be nearly as memorable as "Hotels of North America", but I doubt it would be as simultaneously dark and humorous as this surprisingly original, quite compelling, work.
In the short span of two months, three notable works of fiction have been published this year that delve richly into metafiction, starting with Catherynne Valente's "Radiance", followed by David Mitchell's "Slade House", and now, Rick Moody's "Hotels of North America". All three are notable for their surprisingly original takes on the novel, not least because of their reliance on metafiction, but Moody's falls into a class onto itself, as a darkly satirical - often hilarious - fictional view of contemporary online culture by the enigmatic Reginald Edward Morse, a self-proclaimed motivational speaker moonlighting as a hotel reviewer for the RateYourLodging.com website. Told in first person primarily from Morse's perspective, he offers readers ample glimpses into his personal life, taking readers along on a vicarious autobiographical journey cloaked within these hotel reviews. Morse's rambling discourses about the lodgings he's visited and his own personal history, will remind some readers of Henry James, Thomas Bernhard and Italo Calvino simply for his literary style, wit and wisdom. Morse's "collected writings" are introduced by a Greenway Davies, Director, North American Society of Hoteliers and Innkeepers, who ponders the reasons why Morse wrote rambling. barely coherent, prose. A writer named Rick Moody follows Morse's text, by explaining his unsuccessful effort in identifying Morse and meeting him in person. Despite its relative brevity, "Hotels of North America" represents an important addition to the real Rick Moody's literary oeuvre, as well as a sly, often revealing, exploration into contemporary online culture. If William Gibson opted to write like Henry James, Thomas Bernhard and Italo Calvino, then the resulting work of fiction might be nearly as memorable as "Hotels of North America", but I doubt it would be as simultaneously dark and humorous as this surprisingly original, quite compelling, work.
November 29, 2015
I tend to be reluctant to review books by people I know, but I can't resist reviewing a book of reviews housed on an imagined website of reviews (that I have a review of a hotel on: http://rateyourlodging.com/post/12711...).
But it is an easy task to review this book because I loved it. The premise that we assemble details of the life of R.E. Morse through his hotel reviews has some pleasant shades of Pale Fire, and the facts of his character are smartly doled out. But what carries this is the often extraordinary writing - musical, heartfelt, unexpected - and insights into the way relationships dissolve and new ones assemble. I enjoyed the meta touches such as the afterword "by Rick Moody" and the way Morse interacts with commentators on the site, who themselves become pesky supporting characters. This is a work of great liveliness that serves as evidence that you can be ferociously contemporary without losing track of an emotional literary core. Check it out.
But it is an easy task to review this book because I loved it. The premise that we assemble details of the life of R.E. Morse through his hotel reviews has some pleasant shades of Pale Fire, and the facts of his character are smartly doled out. But what carries this is the often extraordinary writing - musical, heartfelt, unexpected - and insights into the way relationships dissolve and new ones assemble. I enjoyed the meta touches such as the afterword "by Rick Moody" and the way Morse interacts with commentators on the site, who themselves become pesky supporting characters. This is a work of great liveliness that serves as evidence that you can be ferociously contemporary without losing track of an emotional literary core. Check it out.
November 22, 2015
I've liked other Moody's better, but I've also been intrigued by other Moody's less. I've certainly been less torn by other Moody's. The concept is definitely interesting, though perhaps a little gimicky. The main interest for me is in the form (which I've already said can be a bit gimicky), the narrator's thought pattern (which can get a bit exhausting to read sometimes), and in the story between the lines (which I'm not sure is quite enough). I'm just not sure how to come down on this one finally. I'll just put it down as one a little tougher to draw a bead on and call that good. I did enjoy reading after all.
December 3, 2015
I enjoyed this quirky book, with it's lovely writing and sly humor. It appears to be a compilation of seemingly random hotel reviews from a "top online reviewer", Reginald Morse. In review after review, a little more of him is revealed until the hotel reviews are secondary to his musings on his life. This book is not for everyone, but I appreciated the unique concept, wry observations and wonderful prose.
September 18, 2016
Heard the author Rick Moody interviewed on Fresh Air and immediately ordered this book. The book uses a travel blog as a vehicle for telling the protagonists economic and personal rises and falls. Lesson learned: pithy satirical observations told over radio are entertaining but exhausting when compiled for an entire book.
Read
September 26, 2025I count myself among the 16% of people who read daily for pleasure—a definitely small but devoted group. Because that percentage is so low, I feel there should be no obligation to read anything that doesn’t genuinely bring me that pleasure.
'Hotels of North America' started off with an interesting premise. I was intrigued by the concept: using hotel settings as a narrative jumping point to explore the insights of life (?), the highs (?), the lows (?). But around the 69% mark into my reading, my enthusiasm waned. I couldn’t justify the continued slog to carry on.
I’m hopeful the next read puts me firmly back into the “16% of people who read daily for pleasure” group again.
'Hotels of North America' started off with an interesting premise. I was intrigued by the concept: using hotel settings as a narrative jumping point to explore the insights of life (?), the highs (?), the lows (?). But around the 69% mark into my reading, my enthusiasm waned. I couldn’t justify the continued slog to carry on.
I’m hopeful the next read puts me firmly back into the “16% of people who read daily for pleasure” group again.
January 3, 2016
One of the most hilariously tragic novels I've read in a while. The story unfolds as a series of Yelp-ish reviews of random motels and hotels posted on a website called "Rate Your Lodging," written by a man whose personal misfortunes are slowly woven into narratives describing magnifying mirrors in high-end hotels. For the record, this book made me laugh so hard I leaked and I'm not incontinent because I am a sucker for gallows humor and this novel was full of heart-wrenchingly lonely confessionals that could be the mantra for any peripatetic motel wanderer.
As the story progresses, the reviews start to look less like critiques of specific locales, and more like increasingly intimate confessions linked to a time and place loosely correlated with location. It's something similar to the one-side conversations the hunched-over regulars at a local bar might have with the barkeep as a way to unburden themselves in the absence of close friends.
Of course, I kept hoping for more redemption and less futile mastrubation and phone sex with underage Filipinos as a way to assuage the numbing loneliness, but I don't suppose this book would have been the same with a happy ending (no pun intended).
He should be able to turn on the television...and he should be able to find the pay-per-view adult entertainment channel, strip off his tie, and begin the investigation of his own loneliness that is to be revealed in Candy Store Vixens, a process which involves the same old self-pleasuring techniques that have worked since he first did this, let's say thirty-five years ago, it's almost impossible to stay awake while doing it now...he can barely keep the thing from softening into a doughy and unresponsive blob, and not even the enormous and artificially enhanced breasts will help.
As the story progresses, the reviews start to look less like critiques of specific locales, and more like increasingly intimate confessions linked to a time and place loosely correlated with location. It's something similar to the one-side conversations the hunched-over regulars at a local bar might have with the barkeep as a way to unburden themselves in the absence of close friends.
I had no particular reason to believe she existed....maybe I ought to meet her, just to avoid wasting weeks more of time, several hours a night, talking to her in chat rooms and wondering if she was on a respirator or had only one limb.
Of course, I kept hoping for more redemption and less futile mastrubation and phone sex with underage Filipinos as a way to assuage the numbing loneliness, but I don't suppose this book would have been the same with a happy ending (no pun intended).
May 29, 2016
When you enter the negative universe of Rick Moody's "Hotels of North America," remember you are walking the same path Jonathan Swift took with "Gulliver's Travels," and J.P. Donleavy's "The Ginger Man." That way, when you read the hilarious scatalogical adventures of Reginald Edward Morse you won't stop at the political incorrectness. The "hero" of this novel, the unreliable narrator, disburthens himself of his adventures in hotels across the USA, throwing in a few in Europe for good measure. The book is structured as a set of online hotel reviews (mostly bad) but the author intrudes with his sexual escapades, criminal activities, and general misbehaviour. As Moody explains in his metafictional "Afterward" the story is as much about aloneness, the feeling of being separate as anything else. For Morse, being separate gives him the license for misbehaviour. Morse is a cad and a creep. His quasi-reviews make us wonder a bit more about the people whose reviews we actually read on TripAdvisor (me included). I'm sure there is a "Morse" Code, maybe a cynical man's da Vinci Code, and it could take some time to find it. Moody puts the pretentious on trial, the hotels and motels that try to deliver a retail experience and why we fall for them. A hotel stay is a peculiar form of reality we adore because we too are pretentious. Home is not good enough for many of us so we crucify our homes as dull and boring. We look for "reality" on TV. What drove this home for me was the very funny passage on the porn channels that can be found on the TV sets of "family" hotels. Porn is the antithesis of home. Destructive. Disgusting. Moronic. And a big time profit centre for hoteliers. Go figure.
April 18, 2016
Have you ever read a book and just known that the author has to be a jerk in real life? I couldn't help but feel like Rick Moody must be everything I hate about the mildly successful male authors I've had the displeasure of knowing.
You can tell he thinks his writing is terribly clever, which I suppose I should have expected going it to this when the premise is that the book is written entirely in hotel reviews. I love the breadth of words available to us in the English vocabulary, but resent Moody's attempt to use every word he ever found impressive in this book. His verbosity serves only himself. I imagine him feeling incredibly self assured about how smart he is, even though the character doesn't at all strike me as someone who would speak the way he is written. Confederacy of Dunces pulls it off, this book doesn't.
The most offensive part of the book is the epilogue, written by Moody himself, wherein he takes the time to make sure to point out how clever, nuanced, innovative, and deep his book was, just in case you didn't catch it while you were reading.
I'm giving this book two stars. One star because he tried something new, and although I found it poorly executed, I appreciate the attempt. Another because there is one review about what home is that was beautiful.
Recommend to self important white men who would like to be reassured that their pathetic lives are meaningful.
You can tell he thinks his writing is terribly clever, which I suppose I should have expected going it to this when the premise is that the book is written entirely in hotel reviews. I love the breadth of words available to us in the English vocabulary, but resent Moody's attempt to use every word he ever found impressive in this book. His verbosity serves only himself. I imagine him feeling incredibly self assured about how smart he is, even though the character doesn't at all strike me as someone who would speak the way he is written. Confederacy of Dunces pulls it off, this book doesn't.
The most offensive part of the book is the epilogue, written by Moody himself, wherein he takes the time to make sure to point out how clever, nuanced, innovative, and deep his book was, just in case you didn't catch it while you were reading.
I'm giving this book two stars. One star because he tried something new, and although I found it poorly executed, I appreciate the attempt. Another because there is one review about what home is that was beautiful.
Recommend to self important white men who would like to be reassured that their pathetic lives are meaningful.
January 16, 2016
Normally I am not a fan of epistolary novels. But after having read Julie Schumacher's terrific "Dear Committee Members," I thought I'd have to give this book a try. It is fabulous. It's an erstwhile collection of online reviews of hotels--and not just in North America--where the protagonist, Reg, has stayed. There are so many layers, from the snarky reviews of seedy places the protagonist]has stayed as his life has crumbled around him to the wistful recollections of places he'd stayed in better times. There are commentaries about married life, as in the review of "Americas [sic]Best Value Inn" on page 78, that were so profound and beautiful and yet still held just the right whisper of sarcasm. Since I tend to be a relentless online chronicler of places to visit and stay, I was very invested in and amused by the protagonists use of reviews to give structure to his life. At just 198 pages I figured I would just rip through this slim volume. But no. There are entries you have to read over and over again. And then, because the entries are not in chronological order, there's the compulsion to try to order them to figure out exactly when and why Reg's life began to hit the skids. And then again, there is the hilarious description of the effect of a bag of sugar-free gummy bears on an online reviewer, and Reg's decision to purchase them as a gift for an officious front desk manager.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 327 reviews