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Termush. Atlanterhavskysten
En atomkrig har ødelagt alt og alt håb er dødt. Midt i lammelsen og chokket sikrer en gruppe mennesker sig plads på et hotel, som er indrettet som overlevelsescenter. Men snart går en skræmmende magtkamp i gang blandt de overlevende ...
100 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1967
175 people are currently reading
12107 people want to read
About the author
Sven Holm
77 books23 followersSven Holm (1940 – 2019) was a Danish author and playwright. His first short story collection, Den store fjende, was published in 1961. In 1974, Holm was awarded the Grand Prize of the Danish Academy.[1] He was awarded the Holberg Medal in 1991.[2] In 2001, Holm was made a member of the Danish Academy.[3] That same year, he was awarded the Danish Critics Prize for Literature.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 747 reviews
October 1, 2024
Nuclear war has devastated the environment but a small group of the wealthy and elite were prepared for this possibility, so now they’re cocooned at Termush, a large hotel resort on the edge of the Atlantic. One of them chronicles their experiences as he tries to make sense of what’s happening around him. A former academic he attempts to rationalise events but finds his thoughts and feelings are not so easily contained.
Acclaimed Danish writer Sven Holm published his novella in 1967 which places it as one of many Cold War narratives then in circulation, speculative fiction woven out of collective anxieties and political uncertainties. But, unlike the stories of writers like Nevil Shute or John Wyndham there’s no sense of Holm attempting to comfort his readers or suggest the probability of order inevitably following chaos. There’s no grand plan for Holm’s select band of survivors, no suggestion of repopulating the world – sterilisation is the preferred option, in order to conserve supplies for Termush’s existing guests – or any signs of an investment in species survival, and the few remaining children are not cherished as symbols of the future. Instead Termush’s residents are intent on maintaining their privilege and personal safety, disconnected from roaming ‘strangers’ somehow still alive in the wider world.
This preoccupation with status and privilege is reinforced by a collective horror of contamination ostensibly from the radioactive dust that pervades the air, blowing across the grounds, sparking Termush’s elaborate alarm system. But Holm’s clearly interested in notions of contamination in a broader sense, from fear of the weak or the injured to fear of excess emotion and irrational actions, his band of survivors display all the signs of a community drawn from a society that excludes and labels. And it’s Holm’s broader themes that make this seem curiously modern, all too familiar in an age of mass migrations and global pandemics, Holm is clearly engaged in political allegory as much as in storytelling. His lack of interest in particular details, the nature of the war, the nationality of the hotel guests, all combine to allow his piece to escape any sense of being dated or grounded in a specific historical moment.
The narrator is lucid yet enigmatic, his observations often understated, although they’re also punctuated by hallucinatory moments and ominous dreams. His unease is set off by a growing awareness of Termush’s underlying authoritarianism, the withholding of information, the insistence that “an inspired lie could be preferred to a malignant truth.” His is a portrait of a repressive, deeply unequal society in miniature, one in which nonconformity results in ostracization, where individual responses born out of trauma are swiftly pathologized and suitably medicated. Each hotel room is carefully furnished with classic works of art which act not to stimulate the imagination or inspire new ways of seeing but as a pacifying force, culture as opiate – something Holms found particularly disturbing. Increasingly hatred of the ‘other’ seems the only sure way of unifying Termush’s disparate inhabitants. It’s a deeply compelling, almost hypnotic piece, translated by Sylvia Clayton, it’s accompanied by an illuminating introduction from Jeff VanderMeer. Another great entry in Faber Editions’ impressive list of carefully-curated vintage titles centred on highlighting “radical rediscovered voices.”
Thanks to Netgalley and publisher Faber for an ARC
Acclaimed Danish writer Sven Holm published his novella in 1967 which places it as one of many Cold War narratives then in circulation, speculative fiction woven out of collective anxieties and political uncertainties. But, unlike the stories of writers like Nevil Shute or John Wyndham there’s no sense of Holm attempting to comfort his readers or suggest the probability of order inevitably following chaos. There’s no grand plan for Holm’s select band of survivors, no suggestion of repopulating the world – sterilisation is the preferred option, in order to conserve supplies for Termush’s existing guests – or any signs of an investment in species survival, and the few remaining children are not cherished as symbols of the future. Instead Termush’s residents are intent on maintaining their privilege and personal safety, disconnected from roaming ‘strangers’ somehow still alive in the wider world.
This preoccupation with status and privilege is reinforced by a collective horror of contamination ostensibly from the radioactive dust that pervades the air, blowing across the grounds, sparking Termush’s elaborate alarm system. But Holm’s clearly interested in notions of contamination in a broader sense, from fear of the weak or the injured to fear of excess emotion and irrational actions, his band of survivors display all the signs of a community drawn from a society that excludes and labels. And it’s Holm’s broader themes that make this seem curiously modern, all too familiar in an age of mass migrations and global pandemics, Holm is clearly engaged in political allegory as much as in storytelling. His lack of interest in particular details, the nature of the war, the nationality of the hotel guests, all combine to allow his piece to escape any sense of being dated or grounded in a specific historical moment.
The narrator is lucid yet enigmatic, his observations often understated, although they’re also punctuated by hallucinatory moments and ominous dreams. His unease is set off by a growing awareness of Termush’s underlying authoritarianism, the withholding of information, the insistence that “an inspired lie could be preferred to a malignant truth.” His is a portrait of a repressive, deeply unequal society in miniature, one in which nonconformity results in ostracization, where individual responses born out of trauma are swiftly pathologized and suitably medicated. Each hotel room is carefully furnished with classic works of art which act not to stimulate the imagination or inspire new ways of seeing but as a pacifying force, culture as opiate – something Holms found particularly disturbing. Increasingly hatred of the ‘other’ seems the only sure way of unifying Termush’s disparate inhabitants. It’s a deeply compelling, almost hypnotic piece, translated by Sylvia Clayton, it’s accompanied by an illuminating introduction from Jeff VanderMeer. Another great entry in Faber Editions’ impressive list of carefully-curated vintage titles centred on highlighting “radical rediscovered voices.”
Thanks to Netgalley and publisher Faber for an ARC
December 8, 2019
They're at this Swedish hotel. The world's just ended. I thought it was a rather harsh criticism of the Swedish hospitality industry, but not entirely unjustified.
July 8, 2023
don't worry darling meets a world of radiation
I LOVED the concept of this, but unfortunately a lot more than the actual execution... though lots of the book was fascinating and also beautifully written, I often felt like it went a little too slow for me (despite it being just over 100 pages).
I LOVED the concept of this, but unfortunately a lot more than the actual execution... though lots of the book was fascinating and also beautifully written, I often felt like it went a little too slow for me (despite it being just over 100 pages).
June 8, 2023
As a passionate reader, it pains me to admit that this book left me feeling thoroughly disappointed. From the very first pages, I couldn't help but notice the language used in the book, or perhaps it was the translation, that immediately put me off. It felt as though the author or translator had gone overboard with a thesaurus, replacing simple words with fancy synonyms that didn't enhance the story but instead made it seem pretentious. I longed for straightforward and accessible language that would have allowed me to immerse myself in the narrative.
Another significant struggle I faced was its disjointed structure. Each sentence felt like a standalone clause, devoid of any connection or flow. There was no coherent story holding everything together, leaving me adrift in a sea of disconnected words. It almost felt like a collection of random sentences that didn't complement each other in any meaningful way. I found it increasingly challenging to engage with the book.
I must confess, as an avid fan of Nordic literature, I had high hopes for this book. However, it turned out to be a bumpy ride that failed me on multiple levels. Even though it was only around 100 pages, it became an excruciating task to finish. Halfway through, I had a realisation - I had no clear understanding of what I was reading. The lack of clarity and coherence left me feeling frustrated and disconnected from the story, if there ever was one.
It's puzzling to me how this is labelled as a classic when it falls so far short of other deserving works. I was hoping for a captivating and imaginative journey, but this book failed to deliver on every possible front.
Another significant struggle I faced was its disjointed structure. Each sentence felt like a standalone clause, devoid of any connection or flow. There was no coherent story holding everything together, leaving me adrift in a sea of disconnected words. It almost felt like a collection of random sentences that didn't complement each other in any meaningful way. I found it increasingly challenging to engage with the book.
I must confess, as an avid fan of Nordic literature, I had high hopes for this book. However, it turned out to be a bumpy ride that failed me on multiple levels. Even though it was only around 100 pages, it became an excruciating task to finish. Halfway through, I had a realisation - I had no clear understanding of what I was reading. The lack of clarity and coherence left me feeling frustrated and disconnected from the story, if there ever was one.
It's puzzling to me how this is labelled as a classic when it falls so far short of other deserving works. I was hoping for a captivating and imaginative journey, but this book failed to deliver on every possible front.
January 9, 2024
How could injured people keep showing up at MY post-apocalytpic hotel? I PAID to be here??
October 4, 2025
Hmmm, proza sucha, narracja płaska.
Posłowie pozornie ciekawe ale... o czym świadczy fakt, że żeby docenić książkę trzeba przeczytać komentarz do niej? Moim zdaniem elitaryzm jest największym wrogiem upowszechniania czytelnictwa. Jeśli autor posłowia tłumaczy nam co autor miał na myśli i w jakich okolicznościach napisał książkę to coś jest nie tak, bo dzieło powinno mówić samo za siebie. Jeśli jest czytelne dla nielicznych to po prostu sztuka dla sztuki.
Posłowie pozornie ciekawe ale... o czym świadczy fakt, że żeby docenić książkę trzeba przeczytać komentarz do niej? Moim zdaniem elitaryzm jest największym wrogiem upowszechniania czytelnictwa. Jeśli autor posłowia tłumaczy nam co autor miał na myśli i w jakich okolicznościach napisał książkę to coś jest nie tak, bo dzieło powinno mówić samo za siebie. Jeśli jest czytelne dla nielicznych to po prostu sztuka dla sztuki.
December 4, 2023
Strange book, didn't leave a huge impression on me just felt like a snapshot of a bigger, more interesting store that was unwritten. The nerdy part of me liked that the writing style was similar to an observation study
February 18, 2024
Termush is a Danish postapocalyptic novella, first published in 1967. I read the whole thing in the office over my lunchbreak. I found it existentially unsetting, but not to the point of impeding the subsequent afternoon's work. The title refers to a hotel where certain well-off persons have paid to shelter from nuclear war. The novella opens as these residents emerge from shelters under the hotel and move into their rooms. The narrator begins by commenting that the world has changed fundamentally - although he does not know exactly what has happened or how much has been destroyed - and yet feels very much the same. As time passes, the changes become more evident and the safety of the hotel's residents more fragile.
Termush reminded me of a play in its carefully deliniated scope: the hotel, its grounds, the staff, the residents, occasional outsiders. I found the narrative psychologically astute and very effective at conveying the creeping terror of invisible accumulating radiation:
The elegant Faber edition I read includes a thoughtful introduction by Jeff Vandermeer, which notes how well the novella has aged. Vandermeer comments on why the fears depicted still feel apposite in the 21st century:
In addition to climate change, I found myself thinking of air quality (invisible particulates entering our lungs and blood) and microplastics (fuck knows what they're doing). The measured tone of Termush belies the chaos and disaster that the hotel cannot insulate its privileged residents from. It is a memorable and powerful snapshot of catastrophe's aftermath.
Termush reminded me of a play in its carefully deliniated scope: the hotel, its grounds, the staff, the residents, occasional outsiders. I found the narrative psychologically astute and very effective at conveying the creeping terror of invisible accumulating radiation:
Late at night the alarm went off. [...]
But there is no reason why chaos should break out when the alarm has sounded. The limit of radiation intensity which is set as a maximum is a point arbitrarily chosen. A rate a few degrees lower than the radiation meters permit could, over a long period, cause more serious damage than an excessive rate over a short period. [...]
The management has exploited our wish for infallible systems: here is the water, there is the land, no one can make a mistake. Up to this line there is no danger; on the other side of the line waits certain death. Therefore the alarm wails and the guests flee from their rooms with their clothes fluttering around them. The illusion of complete safety so long as the margin is not reached bears the reverse implication of complete panic once the margin is exceeded. It is easier to choose these sharp demarcation lines than uncertainty in our individual situation; the adjustment has been so small that in itself it is not disastrous, but it could contribute to disaster.
The elegant Faber edition I read includes a thoughtful introduction by Jeff Vandermeer, which notes how well the novella has aged. Vandermeer comments on why the fears depicted still feel apposite in the 21st century:
The detritus and decisions of the past may still affect our future, in that the threat of nuclear holocaust has not left us. But in the interim, other disasters that manifest in largely 'invisible' ways have overtaken us - our fear of radiation and immolation has led to climate crisis fear, which has led to pandemic fear. The grappling of minds with these threats leads to derangement and odd visions because the elements of infiltration and contamination baffle the brain. Our hauntings in the modern era so often now are not ghosts but simply the things we cannot see - but that radically affect us.
In addition to climate change, I found myself thinking of air quality (invisible particulates entering our lungs and blood) and microplastics (fuck knows what they're doing). The measured tone of Termush belies the chaos and disaster that the hotel cannot insulate its privileged residents from. It is a memorable and powerful snapshot of catastrophe's aftermath.
May 21, 2023
Termush is a novel about a luxury coastal resort which is being used to house those rich enough to book a place there. In the outside world there has been some sort of radiation attack and Termush acts as a safe house and bunker to keep the healthy in and the sick out. The brief equilibrium of Termush begins to disintegrate slowly as those who weren’t able to afford their own place at the resort demand health care and hospitality to the horror of the current inhabitants.
I really did like how subtle this novel was as there’s little to no explanation for what was going on - in this way it reminded me a lot of I Who Have Never Known Men in that we follow people in a post-apocalyptic barren landscape and are left to figure out for ourselves what could have happened. The ideas around radiation as an invisible horror were so haunting as the narrator describes expecting his whole world to visually and physically change, but the way that things seem to be chugging along as normal with small things seemingly out of place was so uncanny. It made it even more creepy in that humanity is left to create their own horror inside their heads to make up for the lack of it on the outside. There is a line which says “everything is still so new that what happened can neither be comprehended by reason nor has it yet been able to penetrate the subconscious”. The characters live in a really horrid and uncanny state of suspense in that they are living through a biological disaster without there being a satisfyingly visual or intense pay off in order for them to be psychologically satiated and validated in their reactions.
This is a book I appreciated more reading about and studying the psychology of than actually reading as the narrative is slightly flat, although is a quick and intense read and there are some true haunting moments. It would make a really good book to study in relation to dystopia and apocalyptic fiction in the 20th century and I’m also glad I have now read something translated from Danish.
I really did like how subtle this novel was as there’s little to no explanation for what was going on - in this way it reminded me a lot of I Who Have Never Known Men in that we follow people in a post-apocalyptic barren landscape and are left to figure out for ourselves what could have happened. The ideas around radiation as an invisible horror were so haunting as the narrator describes expecting his whole world to visually and physically change, but the way that things seem to be chugging along as normal with small things seemingly out of place was so uncanny. It made it even more creepy in that humanity is left to create their own horror inside their heads to make up for the lack of it on the outside. There is a line which says “everything is still so new that what happened can neither be comprehended by reason nor has it yet been able to penetrate the subconscious”. The characters live in a really horrid and uncanny state of suspense in that they are living through a biological disaster without there being a satisfyingly visual or intense pay off in order for them to be psychologically satiated and validated in their reactions.
This is a book I appreciated more reading about and studying the psychology of than actually reading as the narrative is slightly flat, although is a quick and intense read and there are some true haunting moments. It would make a really good book to study in relation to dystopia and apocalyptic fiction in the 20th century and I’m also glad I have now read something translated from Danish.
August 7, 2023
Our protagonist feared a possible nuclear contamination or a collapse of the government and therefore he safeguarded his future by moving to Termush, a hotel with heavy security and vast resources.
“We expected to find a world completely annihilated. This was what we insured ourselves against when we enrolled at Termush….We paid money to go on living in the same way that one once paid health insurance; we bought the commodity called survival, and according to all existing contracts no one has the right to take it from us or make demands upon it.”
The protagonist begins to question the information offered and the actions taken by the Termush management team.
"No, I mean after all we have experienced in the last few days. Or rather all that we have been spared from experiencing, but which we know has happened."
Though he often complains about the actions taken by the hotel management and its security personal, he takes no action to change the circumstances.
“It is in fact the scientific principle of observation and can thus easily be applied to the rest of existence. I wanted above all to avoid over-simplification, and individual action appeared to be a form of simplification.”
The protagonist reports odd occurrences and has strange dreams. What is causing these hallucinations?
“One picture in our minds gives us constant anxiety; we see the day when the fish leave the water and push through the sand and earth to the trees, where they bite into the bark with their skinless jaws and drag themselves up into the branches to live according to new instincts. We see the trees bare of leaves, festooned with fishy skeletons, their skins rustling like a death-rattle.”
The crisis at the end seems inevitable and as the yacht sails off, you know what is to come.
“Outside the sea is still; there is no darkness and no light.”
“We expected to find a world completely annihilated. This was what we insured ourselves against when we enrolled at Termush….We paid money to go on living in the same way that one once paid health insurance; we bought the commodity called survival, and according to all existing contracts no one has the right to take it from us or make demands upon it.”
The protagonist begins to question the information offered and the actions taken by the Termush management team.
"No, I mean after all we have experienced in the last few days. Or rather all that we have been spared from experiencing, but which we know has happened."
Though he often complains about the actions taken by the hotel management and its security personal, he takes no action to change the circumstances.
“It is in fact the scientific principle of observation and can thus easily be applied to the rest of existence. I wanted above all to avoid over-simplification, and individual action appeared to be a form of simplification.”
The protagonist reports odd occurrences and has strange dreams. What is causing these hallucinations?
“One picture in our minds gives us constant anxiety; we see the day when the fish leave the water and push through the sand and earth to the trees, where they bite into the bark with their skinless jaws and drag themselves up into the branches to live according to new instincts. We see the trees bare of leaves, festooned with fishy skeletons, their skins rustling like a death-rattle.”
The crisis at the end seems inevitable and as the yacht sails off, you know what is to come.
“Outside the sea is still; there is no darkness and no light.”
February 9, 2025
El libro es de 1967 y se nota. Ha envejecido mal. A día de hoy no nos está contando nada que no hayamos leído en otros libros. Se trata de una distopía en un mundo post-apocalíptico en el que solo unos pocos privilegiados parecen haberse salvado. A diferencia de otros libros en los que los supervivientes tienen que sobrevivir en un medio hostil, aquí los personajes están en una especie de burbuja que les aisla de todo lo malo. De ahí su forma de reacionar ante lo que les va ocurriendo.
Los personajes no están definidos lo que hace que no termines de empatizar con ninguno. Además, la falta de diálogos entre ellos hace que no termines de conocer cómo se sienten y por qué actúan como lo hacen. Es todo muy frío e impersonal. Su lectura me ha resultado muy monótona. Por suerte no es muy largo, pero no ha llegado a engancharme en ningún momento.
Los personajes no están definidos lo que hace que no termines de empatizar con ninguno. Además, la falta de diálogos entre ellos hace que no termines de conocer cómo se sienten y por qué actúan como lo hacen. Es todo muy frío e impersonal. Su lectura me ha resultado muy monótona. Por suerte no es muy largo, pero no ha llegado a engancharme en ningún momento.
August 12, 2023
A fascinating and slightly disturbing novella about a group of wealthy guests sheltering from a nuclear disaster in a well equipped hotel (with underground bunker)
It's a quick but really interesting read that creates as much of an unusual scenario as anything JG Ballard wrote.
It's a quick but really interesting read that creates as much of an unusual scenario as anything JG Ballard wrote.
September 22, 2023
First published 1967.
Translated from the Danish by Sylvia Clayton and recently republished by Faber Editions as part of a series of rediscovered gems.
Sadly, the prize-winning writer Sven Holm passed away in 2019.
This is bleak dystopia.
The world has been decimated by a nuclear explosion. A community lives in a remote hotel called Termush, a safe house from radiation. All of the guests applied and paid money to stay at the hotel in light of impending apocalypse.
Despite the decimated exterior world, life in Termush mirrors the world before the change in many ways. A micro-community; hierarchical, featuring a management team, chairmen, guards, a doctor and the guests themselves.
The narrator, a former teacher, is doubtful of the integrity of those in power - questioning transparency, ethics, and the morality of the organisation.
The arrival of a bedraggled stranger in poor condition from a nearby village begins to unsettle the residents as it compromises their future: 'we bought the commodity called survival'. The guest is offered a place and treated for malnutrition, thus stirring further cynicism: 'And suddenly the stranger appears and expects to share in our protection'.
Paranoia and chaos begin to spread more quickly than radiation sickness, as more and more strangers begin appearing, and jeopardising the future of Termush.
I've not read many dystopian novels but very much enjoyed this. Short and lively, grim and poignant.
Translated from the Danish by Sylvia Clayton and recently republished by Faber Editions as part of a series of rediscovered gems.
Sadly, the prize-winning writer Sven Holm passed away in 2019.
This is bleak dystopia.
The world has been decimated by a nuclear explosion. A community lives in a remote hotel called Termush, a safe house from radiation. All of the guests applied and paid money to stay at the hotel in light of impending apocalypse.
Despite the decimated exterior world, life in Termush mirrors the world before the change in many ways. A micro-community; hierarchical, featuring a management team, chairmen, guards, a doctor and the guests themselves.
The narrator, a former teacher, is doubtful of the integrity of those in power - questioning transparency, ethics, and the morality of the organisation.
The arrival of a bedraggled stranger in poor condition from a nearby village begins to unsettle the residents as it compromises their future: 'we bought the commodity called survival'. The guest is offered a place and treated for malnutrition, thus stirring further cynicism: 'And suddenly the stranger appears and expects to share in our protection'.
Paranoia and chaos begin to spread more quickly than radiation sickness, as more and more strangers begin appearing, and jeopardising the future of Termush.
I've not read many dystopian novels but very much enjoyed this. Short and lively, grim and poignant.
April 22, 2024
uhh… ok, I guess?
September 30, 2025
Niestety mnie nie porwała. Myślałam, że ustawię ją obok „Ja, która nie poznałam mężczyzn” i „Onych”, ale niestety. Czegoś mi zabrało, niedopowiedzenia tym razem wywołały irytację, a nie fascynację.
Ale bardzo doceniam posłowie - kocham za to Cymelie - i nakreślenie kontekstu.
Ale bardzo doceniam posłowie - kocham za to Cymelie - i nakreślenie kontekstu.
June 2, 2023
For fans of ‘Snowpiercer’, here is a microcosmic inspection of social division and order, and encapsulated communities at large. It reads as elaborate yet personal recollections from one hotel resident, almost like diary entries. Everything about this novella was subtle and nuanced which served to make Termush all the more convincing. The division between the sick and the able-bodied strikingly resembled sentiments that flared around the time of covid, showing just how much ‘Termush’ has remained relevant sixty years since being published.
June 19, 2023
I had so many hopes for this short little novel before I started it and I just found it so disappointing. Reminded a lot of Catcher in the Rye as the narrator is just free flowing consciousness. The story lacked depth and grit which I would expect in a dystopian novel. All the events felt white and washed and far removed. There were plot holes and incomplete ideas. Maybe if it had been longer it would have had more time to come to complete fruition. However, I wouldn’t recommend this book despite the interesting premise.
September 27, 2025
Rzeczywistość postapokaliptyczna, powietrze skażone radioaktywnym pyłem, woda niezdatna do picia, umierający na ulicach ludzie i zwierzęta, nieustanna walka o przetrwanie, a w samym środku tej ponuklearnej masakry, luksusowy hotel dla bogaczy, którzy lata przed katastrofą wykupili w nim bezpieczne schronienie. Goście mają zapewnione jedzenie, dzięki zakopanym na terenie hotelu zapasom żywności czy dostęp do nieskażonych wód gruntowych. Dodatkowo pod hotelem znajdują się jaskinie pełniące funkcje schronów, a bezpieczeństwa pilnują wyspecjalizowane służby i grupy zwiadowcze. Ale coś się zaczyna psuć, władze instytucji są z gośćmi coraz mniej szczerzy, a za mury enklawy dostają się ocaleńcy gotowi zrobić wszystko, by ratować życie.
Całą tę krótką, niewiele ponad stustronicową historię poznajemy z perspektywy jednego z gości hotelu. Nie dowiadujemy się od niego szczegółów jak doszło do katastrofy, co dokładnie dzieje się poza hotelem, jaka jest sytuacja w reszcie świata. Skupiamy się na tu i teraz, podanym w sposób oszczędny i emocjonalnie powściągliwy.
Sven Holm świetnie oddał psychikę zarówno jednostki, jak i całej zbiorowości znajdującej się w takiej sytuacji, zwłaszcza zbiorowości złożonej z wybrańców czasu przed i po apokalipsie. Dodatkowo w tak niewielkiej objętościowo książce zdołał poruszyć szerokie spektrum tematów. Kwestie nierówności klasowych, zachowania ludzi w sytuacjach granicznych, mechanizmy działania narastającego strachu, zmiany klimatyczne i ich konsekwencje, itd.
Ach no i świetnie jest to napisane (podziękowania dla tłumaczki Iwony Zimnickiej). Do tego cały klimat książki, skontrastowanie zdystansowanej narracji
z powoli narastającym niepokojem otoczenia - bardzo mój vibe postapo! Czytajcie :)
Całą tę krótką, niewiele ponad stustronicową historię poznajemy z perspektywy jednego z gości hotelu. Nie dowiadujemy się od niego szczegółów jak doszło do katastrofy, co dokładnie dzieje się poza hotelem, jaka jest sytuacja w reszcie świata. Skupiamy się na tu i teraz, podanym w sposób oszczędny i emocjonalnie powściągliwy.
Sven Holm świetnie oddał psychikę zarówno jednostki, jak i całej zbiorowości znajdującej się w takiej sytuacji, zwłaszcza zbiorowości złożonej z wybrańców czasu przed i po apokalipsie. Dodatkowo w tak niewielkiej objętościowo książce zdołał poruszyć szerokie spektrum tematów. Kwestie nierówności klasowych, zachowania ludzi w sytuacjach granicznych, mechanizmy działania narastającego strachu, zmiany klimatyczne i ich konsekwencje, itd.
Ach no i świetnie jest to napisane (podziękowania dla tłumaczki Iwony Zimnickiej). Do tego cały klimat książki, skontrastowanie zdystansowanej narracji
z powoli narastającym niepokojem otoczenia - bardzo mój vibe postapo! Czytajcie :)
August 19, 2023
Termush is a luxury resort where the wealthy guests are survivors who reserved their places before the nuclear apocalypse.
At first, things proceed as normally as could be expected after a nuclear war. The guests are comfortable, there's plenty of food, though there are alarms when excessive radiation levels are monitored and the guests have to go down to the shelters.
Then as toxic dust falls in the gardens which has to be cleared by security staff and dead birds are found, some of the guests begin become ill at ease. Survivors from outside Termush arrive at the resort and not all survive. Guests complain that these people are eating their food, food that they've paid for. Dead bodies are found on the steps, a nervous guest makes a run for it, and contact is lost with an expeditionary force sent out to make contact with other survivors.
The narrator maintains a connection with a fellow, female guest as the management of the resort tighten their control of the guests' lives, sedating some and allowing the others out to go on a boat ride. Tension rises when a basket of fruit is contaminated by a radiation suit and a dozen guests get radiation sickness.
Towards the end, Termush comes under attack from survivors who kill some of the security personnel and a decision has to be made as to whether the guests leave on the boat or stay behind to see what fate has in store for them.
At first, things proceed as normally as could be expected after a nuclear war. The guests are comfortable, there's plenty of food, though there are alarms when excessive radiation levels are monitored and the guests have to go down to the shelters.
Then as toxic dust falls in the gardens which has to be cleared by security staff and dead birds are found, some of the guests begin become ill at ease. Survivors from outside Termush arrive at the resort and not all survive. Guests complain that these people are eating their food, food that they've paid for. Dead bodies are found on the steps, a nervous guest makes a run for it, and contact is lost with an expeditionary force sent out to make contact with other survivors.
The narrator maintains a connection with a fellow, female guest as the management of the resort tighten their control of the guests' lives, sedating some and allowing the others out to go on a boat ride. Tension rises when a basket of fruit is contaminated by a radiation suit and a dozen guests get radiation sickness.
Towards the end, Termush comes under attack from survivors who kill some of the security personnel and a decision has to be made as to whether the guests leave on the boat or stay behind to see what fate has in store for them.
February 18, 2024
This short dystopian novella is enjoying a second life, it was originally published in Denmark in 1967 and translated into English in 1969, and enjoyed only moderate success. Faber Editions, who endeavour to find neglected books, have given it a reprint, and it seems it will gain a much wider readership second time round.
Our unnamed narrator is one of a group of wealthy guests at Hotel Termush who have purchased expensive places at the specially equipped residence before the apocalypse. Holm’s writing provides a chilling atmosphere from the outset, giving a gradual reveal to the state of the world from within the hotel’s grounds.
These elite, the residents, have survived the nuclear event in bunkers underground, and have now emerged to hotel life where it seems not much has changed.
In these days of emergence from a global pandemic, growing concerns of the use of nuclear weapons, and the growing popularity of far right politics determined to protect borders at all costs, the novel feels relevant, even prophetic.
Holm writes for his narrator in a deadpan style, which gives the tale a bleakness and an ethereal feeling that grasps the attention.
Our unnamed narrator is one of a group of wealthy guests at Hotel Termush who have purchased expensive places at the specially equipped residence before the apocalypse. Holm’s writing provides a chilling atmosphere from the outset, giving a gradual reveal to the state of the world from within the hotel’s grounds.
These elite, the residents, have survived the nuclear event in bunkers underground, and have now emerged to hotel life where it seems not much has changed.
In these days of emergence from a global pandemic, growing concerns of the use of nuclear weapons, and the growing popularity of far right politics determined to protect borders at all costs, the novel feels relevant, even prophetic.
Holm writes for his narrator in a deadpan style, which gives the tale a bleakness and an ethereal feeling that grasps the attention.
August 3, 2025
Lo mejor del libro sin duda es su brevedad ya que de haber durado más lo habría abandonado.
El protagonista (del que no sabemos ni el nombre), describe a modo de diario, su día a día en un viejo hotel, que ahora sirve de refugio para aislarse de la radiactividad exterior. La premisa es lo único que engancha a leer este tostón, de capítulos cortos que no dicen absolutamente nada, y cuando el autor "intenta" narrar algo más interesante, trasmite el mismo entusiasmo que cuando uno lee la etiqueta de un champú.
El protagonista (del que no sabemos ni el nombre), describe a modo de diario, su día a día en un viejo hotel, que ahora sirve de refugio para aislarse de la radiactividad exterior. La premisa es lo único que engancha a leer este tostón, de capítulos cortos que no dicen absolutamente nada, y cuando el autor "intenta" narrar algo más interesante, trasmite el mismo entusiasmo que cuando uno lee la etiqueta de un champú.
August 23, 2023
It did keep me hooked until the end but it lacks something. The premise, the story is promising and very interesting but had it been longer the book could have had more depth to it. I get the idea behind this story but it kinda feels flat.
March 7, 2024
For the first few chapters I thought I was enjoying a good old-fashioned post-apocalypse. But then, slowly, elegantly, it began to pivot into ... something ... well, not exactly something else. But something subtle and extraordinary. I don't expect to be able to shake it off for quite some time.
October 29, 2025
Podobało mi się w tej książce najbardziej to że jest tu tak dużo niedopowiedziane. Są jakieś wydarzenia, ale koncentrujemy się głównie na tym co się dzieje po. Możemy też obserwować sytuację tylko przez soczewki autora dziennika, który sam twierdzi że zawsze lubił być w tej roli. Tak troszkę można się wczuć w tą postać która właśnie tak się zachowuje, na uboczu.
Ciekawiły mnie też wątki różnych zachowań ludzi w hotelu, dyrekcji i całego tego otoczenia, są przedstawione kilka takich postaw, które sprawiły że trochę zaczęłam myśleć w jaką rolę bym ja poszła w analogicznej sytuacji i mówiąc szczerze nie jestem w stanie tego stwierdzić. Taka sytuacja niesamowicie graniczna i jakiekolwiek wydaje mi się przekonania tracą na znaczeniu, bo nie wiemy jak byśmy się zachowali.
A i jeszcze ogłoszenia dyrekcji zajechały mi taką korpogadka, dyrekcja rozumie…
Ciekawiły mnie też wątki różnych zachowań ludzi w hotelu, dyrekcji i całego tego otoczenia, są przedstawione kilka takich postaw, które sprawiły że trochę zaczęłam myśleć w jaką rolę bym ja poszła w analogicznej sytuacji i mówiąc szczerze nie jestem w stanie tego stwierdzić. Taka sytuacja niesamowicie graniczna i jakiekolwiek wydaje mi się przekonania tracą na znaczeniu, bo nie wiemy jak byśmy się zachowali.
A i jeszcze ogłoszenia dyrekcji zajechały mi taką korpogadka, dyrekcja rozumie…
April 13, 2024
Un classique de la SF danoise. Bien écrit et très contemplatif.
Read
February 23, 2024I was not able to engage with Termush in any meaningful way. The operation of the titular hotel seemed facially absurd and there was never any attempt to explain it, the thin characters often didn't behave in ways that made sense, the book didn't say anything insightful that I was able to discern, and I bounced off of Sven Holm's minimalist prose hard. To me this was not a real story, just a strange simulacrum of one, like an A.I. writing a post-apocalyptic pastiche, so I find myself unable to rate it. Instead of reading Termush I'd recommend watching the movie Triangle of Sadness instead.
February 2, 2024
A post nuclear disaster novella from 1967. Termush is a hotel on the coast where rich people have paid big money to survive just such an event. There’s radiation shelters, security, healthcare, posh food etc. but it can’t last. The outside world (other survivors) eventually wants in and the doctor and some others want to help them. Management and many of the guests want security to take care of it. The unnamed narrator(one of the guests) reveals the unsettling fear that the ‘guests’ are starting to feel through weird dreams and other psychological reactions.
I always find it amazing that the rich think their money will mean something in a post apocalyptic world and why is their survival so important when they don’t care about others surviving?
I found this a good read. It’s not as bleak as something like The Road but there is nothing hopeful here either.
I always find it amazing that the rich think their money will mean something in a post apocalyptic world and why is their survival so important when they don’t care about others surviving?
I found this a good read. It’s not as bleak as something like The Road but there is nothing hopeful here either.
March 4, 2023
Termush is a novella from 1967 that tells the story of rich survivors after a disaster, living in a luxury hotel with special radiation shelters. The narrator, one of the guests, tells the story of what happens after they emerge from the shelters after the disaster to live in the hotel, with management keeping watch, security men and doctors and servants keeping them safe and well, and other guests arguing about what to do. As survivors from outside of Termush keep coming, hoping for shelter and medical treatment, the wealthy residents must decide what to do about them.
This dystopian novella published by Faber Editions with a new introduction by Jeff VanderMeer, which explores the book's themes and how it fits into 20th century dystopian fiction, as well as its relevance to the modern day. In fact, the modern relevance of the novella is almost on the nose, with radiation fear replaced by virus fear, and the fact that there is a lack of technology in the book due to the time period (and the fact it isn't written as something far in the future, but focuses more on the human reality) makes it feel more timeless anyway. It isn't necessarily the most different dystopia by now, as there's been so many and lots that explore similar questions, but it is unnerving how true it still feels.
As VanderMeer says in the introduction, it does feel like somewhere between other, cosier 20th century 'after the disaster' type dystopias and J.G. Ballard type dystopias in which people turn on each other and morality and capitalism are thrown into the spotlight. Termush doesn't let you forget that the narrator and the other residents are wealthy and paid to be survivors, and some of them care mostly about maintaining this status of privilege against other survivors who want to be let in. It is easy to see how this questions the mindset of the wealthy even without a presumably nuclear disaster, and how systems are designed to allow people to keep themselves privileged over others' need.
As a novella, the book is tight and gripping, not focusing on claustrophobic mundanity but a dreamlike quality, in which the narrator combines facts about bad things happening with dreams and visions. It feels like a good companion to a lot of the recent 'rich people isolate themselves' fiction like Glass Onion and The Menu, but Termush is also a classic dystopia that doesn't quite let you know what happened, but allows you to imagine a similar scenario for any horrifying apocalypse.
This dystopian novella published by Faber Editions with a new introduction by Jeff VanderMeer, which explores the book's themes and how it fits into 20th century dystopian fiction, as well as its relevance to the modern day. In fact, the modern relevance of the novella is almost on the nose, with radiation fear replaced by virus fear, and the fact that there is a lack of technology in the book due to the time period (and the fact it isn't written as something far in the future, but focuses more on the human reality) makes it feel more timeless anyway. It isn't necessarily the most different dystopia by now, as there's been so many and lots that explore similar questions, but it is unnerving how true it still feels.
As VanderMeer says in the introduction, it does feel like somewhere between other, cosier 20th century 'after the disaster' type dystopias and J.G. Ballard type dystopias in which people turn on each other and morality and capitalism are thrown into the spotlight. Termush doesn't let you forget that the narrator and the other residents are wealthy and paid to be survivors, and some of them care mostly about maintaining this status of privilege against other survivors who want to be let in. It is easy to see how this questions the mindset of the wealthy even without a presumably nuclear disaster, and how systems are designed to allow people to keep themselves privileged over others' need.
As a novella, the book is tight and gripping, not focusing on claustrophobic mundanity but a dreamlike quality, in which the narrator combines facts about bad things happening with dreams and visions. It feels like a good companion to a lot of the recent 'rich people isolate themselves' fiction like Glass Onion and The Menu, but Termush is also a classic dystopia that doesn't quite let you know what happened, but allows you to imagine a similar scenario for any horrifying apocalypse.
March 2, 2023
Thanks ever so much to @faberbooks for sharing this title with me on @netgalley!
Termush by Sven Holm
Short but sweet*
*delightfully unnerving.
Clocking in at just under 150 pages, Termush could qualify as an easy, breezy read, were it not for how disturbing it is. Being a fan of all things dystopian, I really enjoyed this, but its short length was definitely a shortcoming for me. As per usual, I wanted to know more about everything: what caused this post-nuclear apocalypse? What's the history of this resort? How did the guests survive and end up there? How much are they paying for this luxury? I could've easily read a 400-page book on this same story: it was that unique and compelling.
The writing style felt a bit stunted and repetitive at times (I can only tolerate so much staccato), but I guess it's at least partly meant to replicate the dullness of daily life inside the resort. Kudos to whoever designed the jacket artwork, for it captures the book's eeriness perfectly.
There is nothing objectively wrong with this book but I so wish it could've been longer and had a more well-rounded ending. For fans of this genre, I would recommend I Who Have Never Known Men by Jacqueline Harpman, another short dystopian, speculative thriller that was one of my top reads last year and, obviously, The Road by Cormac McCarthy. In this house, we love additional context and a fully-fleshed back story.
3.5/5
Termush by Sven Holm
Short but sweet*
*delightfully unnerving.
Clocking in at just under 150 pages, Termush could qualify as an easy, breezy read, were it not for how disturbing it is. Being a fan of all things dystopian, I really enjoyed this, but its short length was definitely a shortcoming for me. As per usual, I wanted to know more about everything: what caused this post-nuclear apocalypse? What's the history of this resort? How did the guests survive and end up there? How much are they paying for this luxury? I could've easily read a 400-page book on this same story: it was that unique and compelling.
The writing style felt a bit stunted and repetitive at times (I can only tolerate so much staccato), but I guess it's at least partly meant to replicate the dullness of daily life inside the resort. Kudos to whoever designed the jacket artwork, for it captures the book's eeriness perfectly.
There is nothing objectively wrong with this book but I so wish it could've been longer and had a more well-rounded ending. For fans of this genre, I would recommend I Who Have Never Known Men by Jacqueline Harpman, another short dystopian, speculative thriller that was one of my top reads last year and, obviously, The Road by Cormac McCarthy. In this house, we love additional context and a fully-fleshed back story.
3.5/5
November 28, 2024
Termush is a resort-like haven for a group of well-off citizens in some unnamed country on the Atlantic coast. It is to there that the narrator of Sven Holm’s short novel has retreated after an unspecified event has inflicted radioactive destruction upon the world. Having retreated there in advance of the devastation, he and the other guests are catered to by a staff, looked after by doctors, and protected by security personnel. Yet for all the attempts to maintain normality with regular meals and boat rides on the ocean, reality persistently intrudes. Guests are summoned to the shelters when radiation detectors sound their alarm. A slow trickle of dying survivors shows up in search of refuge and care. And as the guests and staff debate what to do in response and the management attempts to maintain an increasingly strained aura of normality, the narrator finds his will slipping away as he becomes an increasingly passive bystander to the events unfolding around him.
Holm’s novel is a simple premise that is presented in minimalist prose. And herein lies the brilliance of his approach. By stripping everything down to its basics – characters (with one exception) devoid of names, events devoid of context, descriptions based on a limited range of sensory perceptions – he creates a powerful sense of his narrator’s growing disconnection from the world around him. While this was a process that was clearly underway before the opening page of the book, its acceleration as he tries to finds his place in the post-apocalyptic world only grows with events. The irony of this comes from the context of his environment, as the harder the anonymous staff labors to maintain a façade of prewar existence, the more unreal everything becomes. No amount of wealth, Holm implies, can insulate the rich few from reality.
While the narrator recognizes this early on, as events unfold he surrenders to his passivity. Holm presents him as the perennial observer, watching as the flimsy walls of pretense in which he invested crumble around him. Instead of fighting to preserve it, or to build something new from the ruins – or even to do anything at all – he allows himself to be carried off by the tide of events. In doing so, he gradually surrenders his individuality, becoming part of the community as it is driven by the outside forces they are unable to keep out. All of this makes for an efficiently-written tale that lingers in the mind long after the last page. More than just a post-apocalyptic novel, it serves as a powerful metaphor for the divisions in our society and the falseness of the belief that privilege can spare people from events and their consequences. In that respect it’s a work as relevant today as it was when it was originally published over half a century ago.
Holm’s novel is a simple premise that is presented in minimalist prose. And herein lies the brilliance of his approach. By stripping everything down to its basics – characters (with one exception) devoid of names, events devoid of context, descriptions based on a limited range of sensory perceptions – he creates a powerful sense of his narrator’s growing disconnection from the world around him. While this was a process that was clearly underway before the opening page of the book, its acceleration as he tries to finds his place in the post-apocalyptic world only grows with events. The irony of this comes from the context of his environment, as the harder the anonymous staff labors to maintain a façade of prewar existence, the more unreal everything becomes. No amount of wealth, Holm implies, can insulate the rich few from reality.
While the narrator recognizes this early on, as events unfold he surrenders to his passivity. Holm presents him as the perennial observer, watching as the flimsy walls of pretense in which he invested crumble around him. Instead of fighting to preserve it, or to build something new from the ruins – or even to do anything at all – he allows himself to be carried off by the tide of events. In doing so, he gradually surrenders his individuality, becoming part of the community as it is driven by the outside forces they are unable to keep out. All of this makes for an efficiently-written tale that lingers in the mind long after the last page. More than just a post-apocalyptic novel, it serves as a powerful metaphor for the divisions in our society and the falseness of the belief that privilege can spare people from events and their consequences. In that respect it’s a work as relevant today as it was when it was originally published over half a century ago.
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