I remembered enjoying this at 19. I still like the idea and hermetic feel of mysterious enclosed spaces—just that at the time I didn't know authors who do it better, like Ballard or Kafka... A feeling of Heller too: can't get off the island or whatever (I never made it through Catch 22, several times.)
And amongst my "books so good I won't read them again" are the first two Gormenghast novels. "There is nothing but the castle" is just so perfect. A location crumbling under the weight of its tedious monarchy. Nothing else exists because nothing else, no other mode of existence, is imaginable. The implications of that resonate so deeply. In Hospital, the effect is apparently emptier.
But I don't know: the fact that the hermetic location effect has no definite purpose, and is unhinged from tangible symbolism, doesn't turn me off it entirely. In fact, that it is tethered to no specific earthly commentary made the book a portal to something completely unknown—when I was 19. And I'm still excited to explore the possibilities of this method in my own writing in future, even though I didn't make it through this book a second time.
In fact, this exact book, with the content trimmed down and the tone changed, would be perfect. As is, it's just hard to read lists of people suffering from horrific ailments just because the author is trying to impress me with his world-building skills. Most pages reek of this insensitivity, and it's this that turned me off a second read, not what may understandably be perceived as "weirdness for weirdness' sake."
Whole pages of characters are thrown at the reader, though they serve no apparent purpose. The inside back cover gives a complete list of all the patients, and such quantity-based impressing methods in literature are almost always dick-measuring contests.
"4329 words today!"
"Almost! 4330+ would've gotten you awards and/or laid. Better luck tomorrow!"
People don't suck books, loser; they read them.