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The Haunted Hotel: A Mystery of Modern Venice
Is there no explanation of the mystery of The Haunted Hotel? Is The Haunted Hotel the tale of a haunting -- or the tale of a crime? The ghost of Lord Montbarry haunts the Palace Hotel in Venice --- or does it? Montbarry's beautiful-yet-terrifying wife, the Countess Narona, and her erstwhile brother are the center of the terror that fills the Palace Hotel. Are their malefactions at the root of the haunting -- or is there something darker, something much more unknowable at work? (Jacketless library hardcover.)
228 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1879
499 people are currently reading
9619 people want to read
About the author
Wilkie Collins
2,378 books2,943 followersWilkie Collins was an English novelist and playwright, best known for The Woman in White (1860), an early sensation novel, and The Moonstone (1868), a pioneering work of detective fiction. Born to landscape painter William Collins and Harriet Geddes, he spent part of his childhood in Italy and France, learning both languages. Initially working as a tea merchant, he later studied law, though he never practiced. His literary career began with Antonina (1850), and a meeting with Charles Dickens in 1851 proved pivotal. The two became close friends and collaborators, with Collins contributing to Dickens' journals and co-writing dramatic works.
Collins' success peaked in the 1860s with novels that combined suspense with social critique, including No Name (1862), Armadale (1864), and The Moonstone, which established key elements of the modern detective story. His personal life was unconventional—he openly opposed marriage and lived with Caroline Graves and her daughter for much of his life, while also maintaining a separate relationship with Martha Rudd, with whom he had three children.
Plagued by gout, Collins became addicted to laudanum, which affected both his health and later works. Despite declining quality in his writing, he remained a respected figure, mentoring younger authors and advocating for writers' rights. He died in 1889 and was buried in Kensal Green Cemetery. His legacy endures through his influential novels, which laid the groundwork for both sensation fiction and detective literature.
Collins' success peaked in the 1860s with novels that combined suspense with social critique, including No Name (1862), Armadale (1864), and The Moonstone, which established key elements of the modern detective story. His personal life was unconventional—he openly opposed marriage and lived with Caroline Graves and her daughter for much of his life, while also maintaining a separate relationship with Martha Rudd, with whom he had three children.
Plagued by gout, Collins became addicted to laudanum, which affected both his health and later works. Despite declining quality in his writing, he remained a respected figure, mentoring younger authors and advocating for writers' rights. He died in 1889 and was buried in Kensal Green Cemetery. His legacy endures through his influential novels, which laid the groundwork for both sensation fiction and detective literature.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 967 reviews
July 21, 2016
Intriguing opening chapters dreadfully dull middle, and suspenseful and exciting horror towards the end. In some ways the writing feels very dated, in others, it still manages to shock and titillate.
I really like Serial Reader, though! It's a new free app that delivers a new "issue," or section of a classic, to your phone every day, with the idea that it allows you to read books in short increments of no more than 20 minutes. Clean, pleasurable interface and reading experience, and it definitely makes tackling old classics you've been meaning to read feel less daunting and more manageable. Small selection so far, but they've just gotten started.
I downloaded the app because I posted a photo of A Tale of Two Cities to Litsy, and a couple of people told me they were reading it via SR. I love the idea of people doing that, since Dickens (and Wilkie Collins too) was so well known for having stories published via serials in newspapers. It's a modern day Victorian reading app!
I really like Serial Reader, though! It's a new free app that delivers a new "issue," or section of a classic, to your phone every day, with the idea that it allows you to read books in short increments of no more than 20 minutes. Clean, pleasurable interface and reading experience, and it definitely makes tackling old classics you've been meaning to read feel less daunting and more manageable. Small selection so far, but they've just gotten started.
I downloaded the app because I posted a photo of A Tale of Two Cities to Litsy, and a couple of people told me they were reading it via SR. I love the idea of people doing that, since Dickens (and Wilkie Collins too) was so well known for having stories published via serials in newspapers. It's a modern day Victorian reading app!
February 14, 2024
Wilkie Collins was an important Victorian mystery author. He contributed heavily toward the mystery genre becoming an indispensable author of the genre. Centuries later, he is still mostly noted for his association with the mystery genre. The Haunted Hotel is yet another proof to justify the linking of Collins with the genre.
Fusing drama, supernatural, and borrowed characteristics from gothic mystery, Collins creates a modern mystery of a haunted hotel. A ghost of a late English Lord haunts a newly opened hotel in Venice. When his family members come to stay there while holidaying in Venice he seems to be appealing to them for retribution. A suspicious finger is raised at his widow and her brother. Is it all conjecture or has the late Lord been truly murdered? This is the story of The Haunted Hotel.
It is a good mystery, methodically narrated, clearing up the puzzle step by step. The ending is indistinct, and that gives an overall mystifying effect. The story is presented dramatically with a touch of melodrama, reminding us of his love for theatre. There were a few strong characters to hold the reader's attention. The only problem I could find was the want of atmosphere. Collins has staged the story through the characters neglecting the atmosphere. It would have been more effective if he had created the ambiance of the haunted hotel and balanced the scale.
Overall it was an entertaining read, and I had quite a fun time reading it. As was said above the ending is indistinct, but I thought it suited this story (and this is coming from a person who favours decided endings :)). The Haunted Hotel is not the best work by Collins but it has enough merit to be worth your precious reading time.
Fusing drama, supernatural, and borrowed characteristics from gothic mystery, Collins creates a modern mystery of a haunted hotel. A ghost of a late English Lord haunts a newly opened hotel in Venice. When his family members come to stay there while holidaying in Venice he seems to be appealing to them for retribution. A suspicious finger is raised at his widow and her brother. Is it all conjecture or has the late Lord been truly murdered? This is the story of The Haunted Hotel.
It is a good mystery, methodically narrated, clearing up the puzzle step by step. The ending is indistinct, and that gives an overall mystifying effect. The story is presented dramatically with a touch of melodrama, reminding us of his love for theatre. There were a few strong characters to hold the reader's attention. The only problem I could find was the want of atmosphere. Collins has staged the story through the characters neglecting the atmosphere. It would have been more effective if he had created the ambiance of the haunted hotel and balanced the scale.
Overall it was an entertaining read, and I had quite a fun time reading it. As was said above the ending is indistinct, but I thought it suited this story (and this is coming from a person who favours decided endings :)). The Haunted Hotel is not the best work by Collins but it has enough merit to be worth your precious reading time.
October 14, 2020
Misterio! Eso es lo que pensé al leer la sinopsis de este libro. Y, misterio hay, solo que a mi parecer a tardado mucho en aparecer. Creo que hubiera sido perfecto de ser más corto, más compacto, por decir algo; uno de esos libros que mantienen al lector pegado a las páginas solo por saber qué pasará a continuación.
May 6, 2016
This is my third Wilkie Collins novel and I loved it just as much as the other two.
We follow the story of a family who have been told of their relative's death whilst on his honeymoon in Italy. None of them want to believe the letters confirming his death and they all begin to feel rather suspicious of his new wife; especially as rumours are spread around London regarding her past. They decide to set out to Italy themselves to uncover the mystery behind his death. On reaching the hotel each family member experiences something of the paranormal and they begin to question whether their relative really died in the innocent ways that have been described to them - the mystery deepens. What happened to their relative in the hotel? What will they uncover whilst sleeping under the roof where he died?
A brilliantly written and enjoyable read! I would highly recommend Collins to any lover of Agatha Christie!
We follow the story of a family who have been told of their relative's death whilst on his honeymoon in Italy. None of them want to believe the letters confirming his death and they all begin to feel rather suspicious of his new wife; especially as rumours are spread around London regarding her past. They decide to set out to Italy themselves to uncover the mystery behind his death. On reaching the hotel each family member experiences something of the paranormal and they begin to question whether their relative really died in the innocent ways that have been described to them - the mystery deepens. What happened to their relative in the hotel? What will they uncover whilst sleeping under the roof where he died?
A brilliantly written and enjoyable read! I would highly recommend Collins to any lover of Agatha Christie!
May 30, 2021
“The Countess now occupies the stage alone, and indulges in a soliloquy which develops her character.”
Wilkie Collins has always been a writer for me whose female characters – both the nice ones and the cunning ones – generally arouse deep interest within the reader. If I have ever fallen in love with a character from a novel, I have fallen in love with Collins’s Lydia Gwilt, who had an overwhelming presence in a novel I did not particularly like. In The Haunted Hotel, a rather short novel, we have two central female characters: Shed all over in the brightest light of virtue and virtually dripping with the milk of human kindness (but also the camomile tea of boredom) we find Agnes Lockwood, and in the other corner, there is the infamous Countess Narona, a woman around whom dark rumours entwine and who has a cruel sparkle in her eyes (at least, at times). Between these two women, there is Lord Montbarry, who eventually jilts Agnes for the Countess and thereby signs his own death warrant.
In this short novel, Collins skilfully blends elements of horror with elements of mystery and has us witness a very intricate murder plot which seems to be inspired as much by circumstance as by the antagonist’s propensity for evil. Let us listen once more to the Countess describing her own character:
Not only does this show that Collins avoids the use of one-dimensional scoundrels in favour of psychologically more interesting characters, but the Countess’s self-description is also remarkably typical of what a wrong-doer would say of himself: If only circumstances had been more favourable and I had been treated better by others, I would never have stooped to doing the things I eventually did. There may be a lot of truth in it, but it is also the common reasoning of most people – my bad actions are attributable to society, whereas my good ones are entirely my own merit. What is deplorable, however, is that, all in all, the Countess does not get a lot of time in the novel, and so we hardly have the opportunity to see her good inclinations wrestle with the darker sides of her soul. Maybe, to have stuck with the Countess more would have ruined the mystery plot to a certain degree, and that is why Collins decided against it.
Thinking about the writer’s decisions, one may say that the blend of mystery and the supernatural works well – although it has some deus ex machina effect and brings about poetical justice – but that the story does has some few lengths, which can mainly be put down to Collins’s having made the Lord’s family too large and having all sorts of minor characters – Montbarry family members and those linked to them by marriage – parade the stage and make matters unnecessarily complicated without really adding to the mystery. The last few chapters, however, will surely cast a spell on the reader and acquaint him with a murder plan that must have been extremely shocking to Collins’s contemporaries. Therefore, this little book is really worth taking a plunge.
Wilkie Collins has always been a writer for me whose female characters – both the nice ones and the cunning ones – generally arouse deep interest within the reader. If I have ever fallen in love with a character from a novel, I have fallen in love with Collins’s Lydia Gwilt, who had an overwhelming presence in a novel I did not particularly like. In The Haunted Hotel, a rather short novel, we have two central female characters: Shed all over in the brightest light of virtue and virtually dripping with the milk of human kindness (but also the camomile tea of boredom) we find Agnes Lockwood, and in the other corner, there is the infamous Countess Narona, a woman around whom dark rumours entwine and who has a cruel sparkle in her eyes (at least, at times). Between these two women, there is Lord Montbarry, who eventually jilts Agnes for the Countess and thereby signs his own death warrant.
In this short novel, Collins skilfully blends elements of horror with elements of mystery and has us witness a very intricate murder plot which seems to be inspired as much by circumstance as by the antagonist’s propensity for evil. Let us listen once more to the Countess describing her own character:
”It is at once a dangerous and attractive character. Immense capacities for good are implanted in her nature, side by side with equally remarkable capacities for evil. It rests with circumstances to develop either the one or the other.”
Not only does this show that Collins avoids the use of one-dimensional scoundrels in favour of psychologically more interesting characters, but the Countess’s self-description is also remarkably typical of what a wrong-doer would say of himself: If only circumstances had been more favourable and I had been treated better by others, I would never have stooped to doing the things I eventually did. There may be a lot of truth in it, but it is also the common reasoning of most people – my bad actions are attributable to society, whereas my good ones are entirely my own merit. What is deplorable, however, is that, all in all, the Countess does not get a lot of time in the novel, and so we hardly have the opportunity to see her good inclinations wrestle with the darker sides of her soul. Maybe, to have stuck with the Countess more would have ruined the mystery plot to a certain degree, and that is why Collins decided against it.
Thinking about the writer’s decisions, one may say that the blend of mystery and the supernatural works well – although it has some deus ex machina effect and brings about poetical justice – but that the story does has some few lengths, which can mainly be put down to Collins’s having made the Lord’s family too large and having all sorts of minor characters – Montbarry family members and those linked to them by marriage – parade the stage and make matters unnecessarily complicated without really adding to the mystery. The last few chapters, however, will surely cast a spell on the reader and acquaint him with a murder plan that must have been extremely shocking to Collins’s contemporaries. Therefore, this little book is really worth taking a plunge.
January 12, 2023
Enjoyed it more than The Moonstone, but it still was slow and plodding at times. A real gothic feel doesn't creep into the story into about 2/3 of the way into the reading, which then moves this from 2 stars to 3. This novella doesn't develop most of the characters fully, there are a few holes in the plot line which together leaves one not fully satisfied. A few surprises but most mystery aficionados will figure out most of what went on before the reveal. I suspect it was quite novel in its day. I did find the literary device used for a confession unique.
This was a catching up with the classics group read.
This was a catching up with the classics group read.
January 18, 2023
I actually quite enjoyed reading this weird horror story although it was constructed in a way that made the conclusion less effective. Most of the characters are unlikeable (including Agnes, for me anyway, the good woman of the story) and the most interesting character’s behaviour (the bad woman, Countess Narona) is never really fully explored. Some parts are atmospheric and it ended up a fun read.
October 23, 2017
Ehhhhhhhhh not sure about this one!
Very slow on the suspense and intrigue and creepiness, but I was definitely suckered in by the foreshadowing. Absolutely fascinating characters, and I quite enjoyed the way the Countess was introduced, as it garnered instant sympathy for her and her troubled spirit.
Agnes was pretty bland, considering how much hinged on her, but it was balanced by the enigmatic Henry through his devotion to her.
The characters were all introduced in different contexts which really enhanced that idea that nothing was as it seemed. I liked that I questioned everyone's motives, and each different tale. It was cleverly written, that's for sure.
I guess what I didn't like was that it all felt like a bit of an anti-climax to me. It's called 'The Haunted Hotel' but the hotel doesn't even exist until well over halfway through the story. The opening chapter was superb, but the rest was really dragged out. There just wasn't any horror, and aside from there wasn't a great deal of mystery, either.
That ending though, wow! that really hooked me.
Overall, a decent expression of atmosphere and an okay tale of intrigue. If you're looking for horror or major chills, though, I'd probably look elsewhere.
Very slow on the suspense and intrigue and creepiness, but I was definitely suckered in by the foreshadowing. Absolutely fascinating characters, and I quite enjoyed the way the Countess was introduced, as it garnered instant sympathy for her and her troubled spirit.
Agnes was pretty bland, considering how much hinged on her, but it was balanced by the enigmatic Henry through his devotion to her.
The characters were all introduced in different contexts which really enhanced that idea that nothing was as it seemed. I liked that I questioned everyone's motives, and each different tale. It was cleverly written, that's for sure.
I guess what I didn't like was that it all felt like a bit of an anti-climax to me. It's called 'The Haunted Hotel' but the hotel doesn't even exist until well over halfway through the story. The opening chapter was superb, but the rest was really dragged out. There just wasn't any horror, and aside from there wasn't a great deal of mystery, either.
That ending though, wow! that really hooked me.
Overall, a decent expression of atmosphere and an okay tale of intrigue. If you're looking for horror or major chills, though, I'd probably look elsewhere.
January 7, 2015
3.5
The last chapters transform this story from decent to pretty good. The title promises ghosts, but the way that is handled is subtle and never in your face. The supernatural element is there, but it never gets the attention you'd expect in a story like this.
I found some of the characters beyond annoying though.
The Haunted House is also a murder mystery. You are left questioning what you've read in the end.
The last chapters transform this story from decent to pretty good. The title promises ghosts, but the way that is handled is subtle and never in your face. The supernatural element is there, but it never gets the attention you'd expect in a story like this.
I found some of the characters beyond annoying though.
The Haunted House is also a murder mystery. You are left questioning what you've read in the end.
November 14, 2020
Este libro de misterio ha sido mi lectura de Halloween de este año. Se trata de un libro no tan conocido de Wilkie Collins, pero a mi parecer, entretenido y bien escrito.
En la primera parte del libro, el autor nos presenta a los personajes, nos sitúa en la historia y en el momento en el acontece (época victoriana). Nos da a conocer a Agnes, una mujer joven, cuya vida ha cambiado drásticamente al verse abandonada por su prometido (Lord Montbarry). Éste ha conocido a la condesa Narona, y de forma improvisada, ha decidido casarse con ella.
La pareja decide viajar a Venecia, donde se aloja en un antiguo palacio. Lentamente, Lord Montbarry empieza a encontrarse enfermo, y finalmente, fallece.
Pero todo resulta extraño: la desaparición de un ayudante del lord, el oscuro hermano de la condesa, la vida disoluta de la condesa..... No es hasta que Agnes, junto a la familia de Lord Montbarry, deciden viajar a Venicia y alojarse en el palacio (ahora reconvertido en hotel), cuando empiecen a acontecer sucesos extraños, grotescas apariciones y sensaciones agónicas.
En la primera parte del libro, el autor nos presenta a los personajes, nos sitúa en la historia y en el momento en el acontece (época victoriana). Nos da a conocer a Agnes, una mujer joven, cuya vida ha cambiado drásticamente al verse abandonada por su prometido (Lord Montbarry). Éste ha conocido a la condesa Narona, y de forma improvisada, ha decidido casarse con ella.
La pareja decide viajar a Venecia, donde se aloja en un antiguo palacio. Lentamente, Lord Montbarry empieza a encontrarse enfermo, y finalmente, fallece.
Pero todo resulta extraño: la desaparición de un ayudante del lord, el oscuro hermano de la condesa, la vida disoluta de la condesa..... No es hasta que Agnes, junto a la familia de Lord Montbarry, deciden viajar a Venicia y alojarse en el palacio (ahora reconvertido en hotel), cuando empiecen a acontecer sucesos extraños, grotescas apariciones y sensaciones agónicas.
June 1, 2022
Copious quantities of creepy and overwrought Victorian shenanigans make this a fun read, even if it’s not Collins’s best work.
Desiccated heads for the win!
Desiccated heads for the win!
August 23, 2019
Charming short novel by dear Wilkie Collins, full of drama, mystery, ghost story, social critique and good humour. Great page-turner with lovely language and very carefully structured to satisfy the reader with a well-deserved climactic ending. I absolutely love Collins for his ability to combine styles, themes and techniques in his books and cannot get enough of his excellent, very enjoyable writing.
October 20, 2024
"The Haunted Hotel" by Wilkie Collins is a perfect little gem of a supernatural thriller of the Victorian Period. Collins knew how to create suspense, gradually building up the pace of this neat and proper murder mystery with a wonderfully creepy ghost story thrown in for fun. It's short, almost a novella, and one that could be read in a sitting.
April 1, 2018
Δεύτερο βιβλίο του Γουίλκι Κόλινς που διαβάζω, μετά την ατμοσφαιρική αλλά μάλλον μέτρια νουβέλα "Ο ζωντανός νεκρός" που διάβασα περίπου τέτοια εποχή πριν από πέντε ολόκληρα χρόνια. Τώρα έχουμε να κάνουμε με ένα αρκετά καλογραμμένο αλλά παλιομοδίτικο μελόδραμα μυστηρίου με υπόνοιες υπερφυσικού τρόμου, το οποίο υπό προϋποθέσεις μπορεί να συγκινήσει και να αγγίξει τον σύγχρονο αναγνώστη. Η ιστορία κυλάει με αργούς και σταθερούς ρυθμούς, οι όποιες εξάρσεις είναι σχετικά λίγες και δοσμένες μελοδραματικά, γενικά μάλλον δύσκολα ο σύγχρονος αναγνώστης θα εκπλαγεί από τις διάφορες αποκαλύψεις που γίνονται. Από την άλλη, η όλη αποτύπωση της εποχής κατά την οποία διαδραματίζεται η ιστορία είναι πολύ ρεαλιστική και δίνει την ευκαιρία στον αναγνώστη να πάει (πολύ) πίσω στον χρόνο και να γνωρίσει έναν άλλο κόσμο, ενώ και η ατμόσφαιρα είναι σαφώς εξαιρετική. Η γραφή δείχνει σε πολύ μεγάλο βαθμό τα (σχεδόν) εκατόν τριάντα χρόνια της, όμως μπορώ να πω ότι μου άρεσε: Εδώ που τα λέμε, γενικά απολαμβάνω αυτή την κάπως παλιομοδίτικη γραφή των Βικτωριανών συγγραφέων (αν και δεν έχω διαβάσει όσους πρέπει ή θα ήθελα να διαβάσω - θα γίνει και αυτό, όμως!). Γενικά, πρόκειται για ένα ενδιαφέρον και συμπαθητικό ανάγνωσμα, το οποίο πιστεύω ότι είναι και μια καλή ευκαιρία για να γνωρίσει κανείς τον συγγραφέα.
July 21, 2015
Really 2 and 1/2 stars. This felt more like an outline of a novel, as the characters were not well-developed nor very interesting. The two main female characters (Agnes and The Countess) were pretty annoying at times. There was a big "info dump" at the end that seemed like lazy writing on the author's part. Not as well-written as some of the author's earlier books, and not as much fun to read. Don't start with this book, if you are new to Wilkie Collins. He does write some good novels - this book just isn't one of them.
June 1, 2025
This eerily charged tale begins when Lord Montbarry abandons his engagement to Agnes Lockwood to marry the enigmatic Countess Narona, a decision that sends him to Venice and seals his doom. He dies soon after in a crumbling palazzo under circumstances so suspicious they spark rumors of poison and collusion.
The decrepit Venetian mansion, soon repurposed as a luxury hotel, becomes the axis around which mystery, madness, and metaphysical dread orbit — especially Room 14, where Montbarry expired, and where guests now flee in fright, undone by unseen terrors and “chemical odors” no concierge can explain.
Agnes, now improbably connected to the widow, begins receiving unsettling messages suggesting something more malign than bronchitis. “The doctors were quite right. There was no hope from the first,” writes the attending physician, but the insurance company grows wary as enormous claims pour in.
Henry Westwick, Montbarry’s brother and Agnes’s devoted if sidelined admirer, begins to pull at the fraying threads of the affair. As he investigates, Countess Narona oscillates between cold clarity and operatic unraveling, declaring at one point, “I am responsible for nothing that happened in that house of horrors!”
Her companion in scandal, the slippery Baron Rivar—ostensibly her brother—produces documentation that’s suspiciously tidy, while the haunting absence of the missing courier, Ferrari, manifests in his wife’s panicked search and the eventual discovery of human remains with an ambiguous identity.
Agnes, sleepwalking through prophecy, experiences visions that drift unnervingly between psychological projection and something beyond reason.
Collins scatters clues like poisoned breadcrumbs: a half-burned manuscript in Montbarry’s hand (“I have reason to fear that I am watched”), a theatrical fainting spell here, a reeking stench of decomposition there.
The result is a haunted house story draped in bureaucratic lace: insurance claims, forged signatures, and the sort of theatrical madness only legal ambiguity can produce.
Venice, with its cracked façades and mirror-like canals, performs double duty as location and accomplice. As the investigation drags justice across continents, readers are invited to weigh legal evidence against spectral suggestion, caught between forensic logic and Gothic murk.
Collins never quite decides which is more terrifying — ghosts or marriage contracts — and wisely lets both haunt the final reckoning.
The palazzo’s commodification into a hotel becomes its own indictment, a monument to commerce attempting to gloss over murder with linens and lobbies. The true horror, as Collins implies, lies in how smoothly atrocity is absorbed by industry.
The Haunted Hotel is Collins’s sly lament for a world where murder has a price tag and guilt survives in smoke and wallpaper. He understands that horror rarely arrives in screams — it comes in silence, polite letters, and the legal normalization of corruption.
The emotional residue is vivid: the ache of betrayal, the rage of injustice, and the queasy realization that crime, when cloaked in wealth and etiquette, not only escapes punishment — it books itself a suite.
As allegory, the story indicts a society so enamored with appearances that it romanticizes decay while sidestepping its cause. Collins’s ghost is guilt in a frock coat, murmuring in courtrooms and hotel corridors alike.
In our age of money laundering, hedge fund scandals, and elite immunity, the spectral relevance of this Venetian phantasm remains unsettlingly intact.
The decrepit Venetian mansion, soon repurposed as a luxury hotel, becomes the axis around which mystery, madness, and metaphysical dread orbit — especially Room 14, where Montbarry expired, and where guests now flee in fright, undone by unseen terrors and “chemical odors” no concierge can explain.
Agnes, now improbably connected to the widow, begins receiving unsettling messages suggesting something more malign than bronchitis. “The doctors were quite right. There was no hope from the first,” writes the attending physician, but the insurance company grows wary as enormous claims pour in.
Henry Westwick, Montbarry’s brother and Agnes’s devoted if sidelined admirer, begins to pull at the fraying threads of the affair. As he investigates, Countess Narona oscillates between cold clarity and operatic unraveling, declaring at one point, “I am responsible for nothing that happened in that house of horrors!”
Her companion in scandal, the slippery Baron Rivar—ostensibly her brother—produces documentation that’s suspiciously tidy, while the haunting absence of the missing courier, Ferrari, manifests in his wife’s panicked search and the eventual discovery of human remains with an ambiguous identity.
Agnes, sleepwalking through prophecy, experiences visions that drift unnervingly between psychological projection and something beyond reason.
Collins scatters clues like poisoned breadcrumbs: a half-burned manuscript in Montbarry’s hand (“I have reason to fear that I am watched”), a theatrical fainting spell here, a reeking stench of decomposition there.
The result is a haunted house story draped in bureaucratic lace: insurance claims, forged signatures, and the sort of theatrical madness only legal ambiguity can produce.
Venice, with its cracked façades and mirror-like canals, performs double duty as location and accomplice. As the investigation drags justice across continents, readers are invited to weigh legal evidence against spectral suggestion, caught between forensic logic and Gothic murk.
Collins never quite decides which is more terrifying — ghosts or marriage contracts — and wisely lets both haunt the final reckoning.
The palazzo’s commodification into a hotel becomes its own indictment, a monument to commerce attempting to gloss over murder with linens and lobbies. The true horror, as Collins implies, lies in how smoothly atrocity is absorbed by industry.
The Haunted Hotel is Collins’s sly lament for a world where murder has a price tag and guilt survives in smoke and wallpaper. He understands that horror rarely arrives in screams — it comes in silence, polite letters, and the legal normalization of corruption.
The emotional residue is vivid: the ache of betrayal, the rage of injustice, and the queasy realization that crime, when cloaked in wealth and etiquette, not only escapes punishment — it books itself a suite.
As allegory, the story indicts a society so enamored with appearances that it romanticizes decay while sidestepping its cause. Collins’s ghost is guilt in a frock coat, murmuring in courtrooms and hotel corridors alike.
In our age of money laundering, hedge fund scandals, and elite immunity, the spectral relevance of this Venetian phantasm remains unsettlingly intact.
November 5, 2018
Μη με αφήνεις μόνη Χένρι! Δε μπορώ να πάω κάτω, στους χαρούμενους ανθρώπους
Το Στοιχειωμένο Ξενοδοχείο είναι το μοναδικό άλλο έργο του Γουίλκι στο οποίο χρησιμοποιείται συμβατική εξιστόρηση, όπως συμβαίνει και με το νεώτερο κατά 6 χρόνια Άρμαντέιλ. Από την αρχή έκανα τη σκέψη πως υπήρχαν στοιχεία ομοιότητας που πλησίαζαν το μεταφυσικό και μου έδιναν την εντύπωση κάποιας συγγενής φύσης με το Ντίκενς, κάτι που δεν είναι αυτονόητο επειδή ήταν φίλοι. Σε κανένα άλλο έργο του Γουίλκι δεν έχω δει κάτι τέτοιο, ενώ μια τάση να μοιάζει σε κάποια σημεία του φαίνεται να ακολουθεί ο Ντίκενς. Έχω αδιαφορήσει σε καφετέρια για τη δυσφορία που προκαλεί αυτή η άποψη μου σε όσους θεωρούν το Ντίκενς κλασικό άρα και άγγιχτο, πόσο μάλιστα σε μια προσωπική αξιολόγηση που κάνω. Εν πάση περιπτώσει, σε πολλά σημεία λοιπόν, είχα την αίσθηση πως κάτι στην όλη ατμόσφαιρα μου θύμιζε τη συλλογή διηγημάτων του Ντίκενς που περιείχε τη Δίκη και άλλες τύπου νουάρ ιστορίες. Δε θυμάμαι τον τίτλο. Έπρεπε να φτάσω στη σελίδα 345 για να γκουγκλάρω του Γουίλκι, γιατί η αλήθεια είναι πως ο συγκεκριμένος τίτλος δε μου έλεγε κάτι, ενώ γενικά γνωρίζω την εργογραφία του Γούιλκι. Σύμφωνα με τη Wiki λοιπόν, το έργο αυτό είναι αποτέλεσμα συνεργασίας του Κόλλινς, με το Ντίκενς, τη Γκάσκελ και ορισμένους άλλους.
Σύμφωνα με τα παραπάνω λοιπόν καταλαβαίνουμε πως στο παρόν υπάρχει φλερτάρισμα με το μεταφυσικό. Θα μου επιτραπεί να αποφύγω τον όρο υπερφυσικό και νομίζω πως όποιος το έχει διαβάσει, ή θα το διαβάσει, θα κατανοήσει γιατί εμμένω σ’ αυτή την άποψη. Αυτό δεν είναι συνηθισμένο στο Γουίλκι. Επίσης, σε συνέχεια με τα παραπάνω, εδώ δε θα βρούμε εξιστόρηση πολλών προσώπων όπου θα μας ανατριχιάζει ο τρόπος που ο συγγραφέας γίνεται ( με μεγάλη έμφαση αυτό το ρήμα παρακαλώ ) ο κάθε ρόλος για να δούμε τα όσα γνωρίζει απ’ τα μάτια του. Υπάρχει μια φωνή αφήγησης και κυλιόμενα αρκετοί διάλογοι, όπου η σκιαγράφηση είναι αρκετά καλή, έως άριστη για κάποιους χαρακτήρες. Ενώ για άλλους, όχι και τόσο. Άρα αμέσως – αμέσως αυτή η μεγάλη αρετή του Κόλλινς να γίνεται και άντρας και γυναίκα και παιδί και νέος και γριά απουσιάζει. Τον αισθάνομαι να βρίσκεται μέσα στην Κόμισσα σε κάποιους διαλόγους, αλλά και πάλι μπορεί να είναι ιδέα μου.
Το Άρμαντέϊλ είναι κακό έργο λοιπόν που ακολουθείται συμβατική εξιστόρηση; Όχι βέβαια! Από το συγκεκριμένο έργο όμως δεν απουσιάζει το πνεύμα του συγγραφέα στη φύση κάθε χαρακτήρα και επίσης δεν είναι έργο μυστηρίου, όσο κι αν αποτελεί μυστήριο πολλές φορές για τον άντρα, η γυναίκα και για τη γυναίκα, ο άντρας. Για να γυρίσω όμως στο Στοιχειωμένο Ξενοδοχείο, πήρα μυστηρίου του Κόλλινς, για να διαβάσω Κόλλινς και απ’ αυτή την άποψη δεν ικανοποιήθηκα.
Τα βασικά σημεία που κυνηγάει το μυθιστόρημα είναι η θυματοποίηση ή αγιοποίηση ορισμένων ανθρώπων που βασίζεται στην ‘’αύρα’’ της πρώτης εντύπωσης, είτε αρνητικά, είτε θετικά και σε αυτό επιτυγχάνει να είναι έργο κλασικό, όσο και σύγχρονο, ίσως πολύ μοντέρνο για την εποχή του. Άλλο ζήτημα είναι η αύρα ορισμένων χώρων ή τόπων και το πώς μας προκαταβάλλουν και μετά απ’ όλα αυτά υπάρχει μια λυσσαλέα μάχη αν τελικά το έργο θα γείρει περισσότερο προς το μεταφυσικό στοιχείο ή προς το ρεαλιστικό. Είναι ενδιαφέρον το παιχνίδισμα αυτό, ουσιαστικά προσφέρει μια διαδραστική θέση στον αναγνώστη. Αυτό θα μου επιτρέψετε να ξέρω ότι σίγουρα είναι προσφορά του Κόλλινς στο έργο. Γενικά του αρέσει να φλερτάρει με τον αναγνώστη και να τον συμπεριλαμβάνει.
Έχετε ακούσει ποτέ γι' αυτό που λένε γοητεία του τρόμου; Έλκομαι από εσάς, από μια γοητεία του τρόμου. Δεν έχω το δικαίωμα να σας επισκέπτομαι, δεν επιθυμώ να σας επισκέπτομαι: είστε εχθρά μου. Για πρώτη φορά στη ζωή μου, ενάντια στη θέληση μου, υποτάσσομαι στην εχθρό μου. Βλέπετε! Περιμένω, επειδή μου είπατε να περιμένω - και ο φόβος μου για σας ( το ορκίζομαι! ) έρπει μέσα μου, όσο στέκομαι εδώ. Ω, μη μου επιτρέψετε να σας κινήσω την περιέργεια, ή τον οίκτο! Να είστε σκληρή και αδυσώπητη, και μνησίκακη, σαν αυτόν. Κάντε μου τη χάρη, να μ' ελευθερώσετε. Πείτε μου να φύγω
Αν διασκέδασα; Καταδιασκέδασα! Πολύ γρήγορο, ατμοσφαιρικό, ζωντανό με μεγάλη ενάργεια στην παρουσίαση των χαρακτήρων. Κάποιοι απ’ τους οποίους μου ήταν πολύ αγαπητοί. Αλλά δεν είχε βάθος. Και σε κάποια σημεία μοιάζει συγκεχυμένο. Θίγει ορισμένα θέματα, όπως ταίριαζε άλλωστε και στους δυο συγγραφείς, που οριοθετούνται και περιγράφονται με κοφτερή ακρίβεια, αλλά τα θέματα αλλάζουν σαν το καλειδοσκόπιο, σαν εικόνες δηλαδή που φεύγουν, κάνουν κύκλο και μετά τις ξαναβλέπεις κάποια στιγμή κι ίσως να δει και κάτι άλλο. Γιατί πρέπει να βρεις ντε και καλά και κάτι περισσότερο, θα αναρωτηθεί κάποιος, η απάντηση είναι πως όταν μπαίνουν κάποια ονόματα στον τίτλο, εγώ έχω ορισμένες απαιτήσεις διότι με καλόμαθαν οι ίδιοι.
Τέλος, η επιμέλεια των εκδ. Ερατώ ήταν πάρα πολύ καλή και οι σημειώσεις υπέραρκετές.
Κατά τα λοιπά, είναι ένα ωραίο εργάκι που κάνει καλή παρέα και σε πάει όπου θες να πας.
Το Στοιχειωμένο Ξενοδοχείο είναι το μοναδικό άλλο έργο του Γουίλκι στο οποίο χρησιμοποιείται συμβατική εξιστόρηση, όπως συμβαίνει και με το νεώτερο κατά 6 χρόνια Άρμαντέιλ. Από την αρχή έκανα τη σκέψη πως υπήρχαν στοιχεία ομοιότητας που πλησίαζαν το μεταφυσικό και μου έδιναν την εντύπωση κάποιας συγγενής φύσης με το Ντίκενς, κάτι που δεν είναι αυτονόητο επειδή ήταν φίλοι. Σε κανένα άλλο έργο του Γουίλκι δεν έχω δει κάτι τέτοιο, ενώ μια τάση να μοιάζει σε κάποια σημεία του φαίνεται να ακολουθεί ο Ντίκενς. Έχω αδιαφορήσει σε καφετέρια για τη δυσφορία που προκαλεί αυτή η άποψη μου σε όσους θεωρούν το Ντίκενς κλασικό άρα και άγγιχτο, πόσο μάλιστα σε μια προσωπική αξιολόγηση που κάνω. Εν πάση περιπτώσει, σε πολλά σημεία λοιπόν, είχα την αίσθηση πως κάτι στην όλη ατμόσφαιρα μου θύμιζε τη συλλογή διηγημάτων του Ντίκενς που περιείχε τη Δίκη και άλλες τύπου νουάρ ιστορίες. Δε θυμάμαι τον τίτλο. Έπρεπε να φτάσω στη σελίδα 345 για να γκουγκλάρω του Γουίλκι, γιατί η αλήθεια είναι πως ο συγκεκριμένος τίτλος δε μου έλεγε κάτι, ενώ γενικά γνωρίζω την εργογραφία του Γούιλκι. Σύμφωνα με τη Wiki λοιπόν, το έργο αυτό είναι αποτέλεσμα συνεργασίας του Κόλλινς, με το Ντίκενς, τη Γκάσκελ και ορισμένους άλλους.
Σύμφωνα με τα παραπάνω λοιπόν καταλαβαίνουμε πως στο παρόν υπάρχει φλερτάρισμα με το μεταφυσικό. Θα μου επιτραπεί να αποφύγω τον όρο υπερφυσικό και νομίζω πως όποιος το έχει διαβάσει, ή θα το διαβάσει, θα κατανοήσει γιατί εμμένω σ’ αυτή την άποψη. Αυτό δεν είναι συνηθισμένο στο Γουίλκι. Επίσης, σε συνέχεια με τα παραπάνω, εδώ δε θα βρούμε εξιστόρηση πολλών προσώπων όπου θα μας ανατριχιάζει ο τρόπος που ο συγγραφέας γίνεται ( με μεγάλη έμφαση αυτό το ρήμα παρακαλώ ) ο κάθε ρόλος για να δούμε τα όσα γνωρίζει απ’ τα μάτια του. Υπάρχει μια φωνή αφήγησης και κυλιόμενα αρκετοί διάλογοι, όπου η σκιαγράφηση είναι αρκετά καλή, έως άριστη για κάποιους χαρακτήρες. Ενώ για άλλους, όχι και τόσο. Άρα αμέσως – αμέσως αυτή η μεγάλη αρετή του Κόλλινς να γίνεται και άντρας και γυναίκα και παιδί και νέος και γριά απουσιάζει. Τον αισθάνομαι να βρίσκεται μέσα στην Κόμισσα σε κάποιους διαλόγους, αλλά και πάλι μπορεί να είναι ιδέα μου.
Το Άρμαντέϊλ είναι κακό έργο λοιπόν που ακολουθείται συμβατική εξιστόρηση; Όχι βέβαια! Από το συγκεκριμένο έργο όμως δεν απουσιάζει το πνεύμα του συγγραφέα στη φύση κάθε χαρακτήρα και επίσης δεν είναι έργο μυστηρίου, όσο κι αν αποτελεί μυστήριο πολλές φορές για τον άντρα, η γυναίκα και για τη γυναίκα, ο άντρας. Για να γυρίσω όμως στο Στοιχειωμένο Ξενοδοχείο, πήρα μυστηρίου του Κόλλινς, για να διαβάσω Κόλλινς και απ’ αυτή την άποψη δεν ικανοποιήθηκα.
Τα βασικά σημεία που κυνηγάει το μυθιστόρημα είναι η θυματοποίηση ή αγιοποίηση ορισμένων ανθρώπων που βασίζεται στην ‘’αύρα’’ της πρώτης εντύπωσης, είτε αρνητικά, είτε θετικά και σε αυτό επιτυγχάνει να είναι έργο κλασικό, όσο και σύγχρονο, ίσως πολύ μοντέρνο για την εποχή του. Άλλο ζήτημα είναι η αύρα ορισμένων χώρων ή τόπων και το πώς μας προκαταβάλλουν και μετά απ’ όλα αυτά υπάρχει μια λυσσαλέα μάχη αν τελικά το έργο θα γείρει περισσότερο προς το μεταφυσικό στοιχείο ή προς το ρεαλιστικό. Είναι ενδιαφέρον το παιχνίδισμα αυτό, ουσιαστικά προσφέρει μια διαδραστική θέση στον αναγνώστη. Αυτό θα μου επιτρέψετε να ξέρω ότι σίγουρα είναι προσφορά του Κόλλινς στο έργο. Γενικά του αρέσει να φλερτάρει με τον αναγνώστη και να τον συμπεριλαμβάνει.
Έχετε ακούσει ποτέ γι' αυτό που λένε γοητεία του τρόμου; Έλκομαι από εσάς, από μια γοητεία του τρόμου. Δεν έχω το δικαίωμα να σας επισκέπτομαι, δεν επιθυμώ να σας επισκέπτομαι: είστε εχθρά μου. Για πρώτη φορά στη ζωή μου, ενάντια στη θέληση μου, υποτάσσομαι στην εχθρό μου. Βλέπετε! Περιμένω, επειδή μου είπατε να περιμένω - και ο φόβος μου για σας ( το ορκίζομαι! ) έρπει μέσα μου, όσο στέκομαι εδώ. Ω, μη μου επιτρέψετε να σας κινήσω την περιέργεια, ή τον οίκτο! Να είστε σκληρή και αδυσώπητη, και μνησίκακη, σαν αυτόν. Κάντε μου τη χάρη, να μ' ελευθερώσετε. Πείτε μου να φύγω
Αν διασκέδασα; Καταδιασκέδασα! Πολύ γρήγορο, ατμοσφαιρικό, ζωντανό με μεγάλη ενάργεια στην παρουσίαση των χαρακτήρων. Κάποιοι απ’ τους οποίους μου ήταν πολύ αγαπητοί. Αλλά δεν είχε βάθος. Και σε κάποια σημεία μοιάζει συγκεχυμένο. Θίγει ορισμένα θέματα, όπως ταίριαζε άλλωστε και στους δυο συγγραφείς, που οριοθετούνται και περιγράφονται με κοφτερή ακρίβεια, αλλά τα θέματα αλλάζουν σαν το καλειδοσκόπιο, σαν εικόνες δηλαδή που φεύγουν, κάνουν κύκλο και μετά τις ξαναβλέπεις κάποια στιγμή κι ίσως να δει και κάτι άλλο. Γιατί πρέπει να βρεις ντε και καλά και κάτι περισσότερο, θα αναρωτηθεί κάποιος, η απάντηση είναι πως όταν μπαίνουν κάποια ονόματα στον τίτλο, εγώ έχω ορισμένες απαιτήσεις διότι με καλόμαθαν οι ίδιοι.
Τέλος, η επιμέλεια των εκδ. Ερατώ ήταν πάρα πολύ καλή και οι σημειώσεις υπέραρκετές.
Κατά τα λοιπά, είναι ένα ωραίο εργάκι που κάνει καλή παρέα και σε πάει όπου θες να πας.
September 7, 2018
Bueno, la narración de la historia me ha gustado, es muy fácil y rápido de leer, los personajes están bien logrados, para mí fue un libro de suspenso más que de miedo o de fantasmas , creo que era predecible lo que iba a suceder.
October 9, 2018
0,4 estrellas
Es una novela gótica y fiel a su época. Me recordó mucho a "Mi prima Rachel" de Daphne Du Maurier. Tienen mucho en común; Sin olvidar que esta fue escrita en 1878 y la de Du Maurier en 1951.
De lectura ágil, su desenlace no defrauda como muchas de su tiempo.
La recomiendo!
Es una novela gótica y fiel a su época. Me recordó mucho a "Mi prima Rachel" de Daphne Du Maurier. Tienen mucho en común; Sin olvidar que esta fue escrita en 1878 y la de Du Maurier en 1951.
De lectura ágil, su desenlace no defrauda como muchas de su tiempo.
La recomiendo!
February 7, 2021
Enjoyed this cozy mystery book a lot, it was such a fun read and it felt very cozy curling up in bed with this book and a cup of tea. Will definitely reread Woman in white and give his other books a go after this!
December 27, 2020
Una curiosidad entretenida, ideal para alternar lecturas pesadas.
Recomendable.
Recomendable.
January 22, 2020
"The Haunted Hotel" is a novel by Wilkie Collins was serialised from June to November 1878. The full title of the novel is "The Haunted Hotel: A Story of Modern Venice." I'm not sure what was so modern about Venice, knowing almost nothing about it, and I'm also not sure if a book of only 200 pages or so is called a novel or a novella, but I'm calling it a novel, so far anyway. I suppose it would be called a mystery, it certainly was mysterious, or perhaps it is considered a ghost story, after all there is a haunted hotel. Perhaps it is a gothic novel, there is a ghost after all, and a creepy castle that unfortunately gets turned into a hotel, I suppose that would be considered modern, Some people disappear and others mysteriously die (or do they?), so I suppose it is gothic.
But for me it was mostly mysterious, and the most mysterious thing about it was the book itself. The pages of the book I mean. Every other page was different. By that I mean that one page would be typed out just like you would expect in a book, but the other one would be an obvious copy from a different book. It looked something like this:
I was confused about this the entire book. On the "copied" page the words are smaller and you can see the line down the page where the spine of the book would be, and part of the other page. I don't really care if it was copied or not, but why would you only copy every other page? It seems like it would have been easier to either type both pages or copy both pages, but that's not how it was done and the entire 200 pages were like this. Mystery number one.
My second mystery was the missing words. Sentences such as "Not one of the five...." was really "N t one of th five...." and because it bothered me I would carefully write in the missing letters. This also went on for the entire book. My husband asked me what I was doing and when I told him he looked at me like I was crazy, but he often does that.
OK, not clearing up the two first mysteries I'll move on to the story. In the first chapter one of our main characters "Countess Narona" goes to see a doctor because she thinks she is going mad. Now this doctor is just one of your regular physicians ( sorry to all the doctors out there I just called regular) he treats colds, sore throats, broken bones, that sort of thing. So I'm wondering why she would go to this type of doctor if she thinks she is going mad, but she does and he listens to her heart, and feels her pulse and asks her questions and finds nothing the matter with her, so she leaves very unsatisfied. I can't figure out why she went there at all, if I start going mad, or thinking I am, calling the doctor who gives me my high cholesterol medicine and migraine medicine wouldn't occur to me. Until now that is.
Anyway, now we have met the Countess and the doctor fades away from the story back to seeing his other patients I suppose. The Countess is about to be married to Lord Montbarry and no one wants this marriage to take place. As near as I can tell everyone in this novel hates the Countess and for most of the book I can't figure out why. She is going to marry a man who was engaged to another woman, a cousin of his, who as near as I can tell everyone loves. The Countess had no idea that Lord Montbarry was engaged when she agreed to marry him and as she says:
"I have innocently robbed her of her lover, and destroyed her prospects in life."
After finding out the truth the Countess tries to break the engagement:
"I implored him to release me from my promise. He refused. I declared I would break my engagement. He showed me letters from his sisters, his brothers and his dear friends - all entreating him to think again before he made me his wife; all repeating reports of me in Paris, Vienna, and London, which are so many vile lies. "If you refuse to marry me," he said, "you admit that these reports are true - you admit that you are afraid to face society in the character of my wife." What could I answer? There was no contradicting him - he was plainly right; if I persisted in my refusal, the utter destruction of my reputation would be the result. I consented to let the wedding take as we had arranged - "
Now everyone in the novel involved in any of this admits that the Countess knew nothing of his engagement, so why in the world do they all hate her? If they are going to be mad at someone then go be mad at the awful Lord. I'm also not sure what our good, sweet, much loved heroine loved about Lord Montbarry in the first place. The countess is called all sorts of awful names before they even have a reason to call her anything in my opinion. She is:
"that awful woman", "wicked", "False", "superstitious", "inveterately cruel" all sorts of things before anyone knows anything bad about her. Except she is crazy enough to marry into this family.
But now the Lord and the Countess are married and go off to a very old castle in Venice described as a "damp, moldy, rambling old palace", and that's where the people disappear from, or run away from, or die in, before some more people come along and make the whole thing into a hotel. I didn't want the palace turned into a hotel, I hate when old houses and mansions are turned into businesses; lawyers offices, doctors offices, dentists, I hate when that happens. Just read what happens to the poor palace:
"The outside of the building, with its fine Palladian front looking on the canal, was wisely left unaltered. Inside, as a matter of necessity, the rooms were almost rebuilt—so far at least as the size and the arrangement of them were concerned. The vast saloons were partitioned off into 'apartments' containing three or four rooms each. The broad corridors in the upper regions afforded spare space enough for rows of little bedchambers, devoted to servants and to travellers with limited means. Nothing was spared but the solid floors and the finely-carved ceilings."
However, I guess if the place wasn't turned into a hotel there wouldn't have been all the different people coming to stay there to have all the awful things happen to. Insomnia, nightmares, horrid smells, all kinds of things, even this:
"Midway between her face and the ceiling, there hovered a human head—severed at the neck, like a head struck from the body by the guillotine."
OK, that's all I'm saying, the review will soon be as long as the book was. I read it in one day, so go ahead and read it, if you hate it you haven't spent that much time on it anyway. I didn't hate it, but I know it wasn't fascinating enough for me that I'll remember the story for long. Those pages will stay with me for quite a while though.
But for me it was mostly mysterious, and the most mysterious thing about it was the book itself. The pages of the book I mean. Every other page was different. By that I mean that one page would be typed out just like you would expect in a book, but the other one would be an obvious copy from a different book. It looked something like this:
I was confused about this the entire book. On the "copied" page the words are smaller and you can see the line down the page where the spine of the book would be, and part of the other page. I don't really care if it was copied or not, but why would you only copy every other page? It seems like it would have been easier to either type both pages or copy both pages, but that's not how it was done and the entire 200 pages were like this. Mystery number one.
My second mystery was the missing words. Sentences such as "Not one of the five...." was really "N t one of th five...." and because it bothered me I would carefully write in the missing letters. This also went on for the entire book. My husband asked me what I was doing and when I told him he looked at me like I was crazy, but he often does that.
OK, not clearing up the two first mysteries I'll move on to the story. In the first chapter one of our main characters "Countess Narona" goes to see a doctor because she thinks she is going mad. Now this doctor is just one of your regular physicians ( sorry to all the doctors out there I just called regular) he treats colds, sore throats, broken bones, that sort of thing. So I'm wondering why she would go to this type of doctor if she thinks she is going mad, but she does and he listens to her heart, and feels her pulse and asks her questions and finds nothing the matter with her, so she leaves very unsatisfied. I can't figure out why she went there at all, if I start going mad, or thinking I am, calling the doctor who gives me my high cholesterol medicine and migraine medicine wouldn't occur to me. Until now that is.
Anyway, now we have met the Countess and the doctor fades away from the story back to seeing his other patients I suppose. The Countess is about to be married to Lord Montbarry and no one wants this marriage to take place. As near as I can tell everyone in this novel hates the Countess and for most of the book I can't figure out why. She is going to marry a man who was engaged to another woman, a cousin of his, who as near as I can tell everyone loves. The Countess had no idea that Lord Montbarry was engaged when she agreed to marry him and as she says:
"I have innocently robbed her of her lover, and destroyed her prospects in life."
After finding out the truth the Countess tries to break the engagement:
"I implored him to release me from my promise. He refused. I declared I would break my engagement. He showed me letters from his sisters, his brothers and his dear friends - all entreating him to think again before he made me his wife; all repeating reports of me in Paris, Vienna, and London, which are so many vile lies. "If you refuse to marry me," he said, "you admit that these reports are true - you admit that you are afraid to face society in the character of my wife." What could I answer? There was no contradicting him - he was plainly right; if I persisted in my refusal, the utter destruction of my reputation would be the result. I consented to let the wedding take as we had arranged - "
Now everyone in the novel involved in any of this admits that the Countess knew nothing of his engagement, so why in the world do they all hate her? If they are going to be mad at someone then go be mad at the awful Lord. I'm also not sure what our good, sweet, much loved heroine loved about Lord Montbarry in the first place. The countess is called all sorts of awful names before they even have a reason to call her anything in my opinion. She is:
"that awful woman", "wicked", "False", "superstitious", "inveterately cruel" all sorts of things before anyone knows anything bad about her. Except she is crazy enough to marry into this family.
But now the Lord and the Countess are married and go off to a very old castle in Venice described as a "damp, moldy, rambling old palace", and that's where the people disappear from, or run away from, or die in, before some more people come along and make the whole thing into a hotel. I didn't want the palace turned into a hotel, I hate when old houses and mansions are turned into businesses; lawyers offices, doctors offices, dentists, I hate when that happens. Just read what happens to the poor palace:
"The outside of the building, with its fine Palladian front looking on the canal, was wisely left unaltered. Inside, as a matter of necessity, the rooms were almost rebuilt—so far at least as the size and the arrangement of them were concerned. The vast saloons were partitioned off into 'apartments' containing three or four rooms each. The broad corridors in the upper regions afforded spare space enough for rows of little bedchambers, devoted to servants and to travellers with limited means. Nothing was spared but the solid floors and the finely-carved ceilings."
However, I guess if the place wasn't turned into a hotel there wouldn't have been all the different people coming to stay there to have all the awful things happen to. Insomnia, nightmares, horrid smells, all kinds of things, even this:
"Midway between her face and the ceiling, there hovered a human head—severed at the neck, like a head struck from the body by the guillotine."
OK, that's all I'm saying, the review will soon be as long as the book was. I read it in one day, so go ahead and read it, if you hate it you haven't spent that much time on it anyway. I didn't hate it, but I know it wasn't fascinating enough for me that I'll remember the story for long. Those pages will stay with me for quite a while though.
December 29, 2025
Chi ha letto qualche romanzo dello scrittore inglese William Wilkie Collins [1824-1889] si è reso subito conto che le sue principali qualità sono una scrittura sciolta, espressione della chiarezza delle sue idee e una penetrazione psicologica dei personaggi che lo rende quasi unico nel panorama della letteratura inglese dell’ottocento; a ciò si aggiunga che egli era un avvocato, un uomo di legge che aveva esercitato la professione e pertanto laddove le sue opere raccontano di misteriosi furti, scomparsa di persone, azioni criminali apparentemente inspiegabili, le sue spiegazioni sono sempre logiche e impeccabili come nel caso di questo romanzo del 1879 nel quale la morte inattesa e imprevedibile del facoltoso Lord Montbarry a Venezia e la scomparsa di un suo corriere in un’ingarbugliata faccenda di eredità, clausole assicurative e misteriose apparizioni, spingono il lettore a formulare svariate ipotesi anche fantasiose e magiche a cui con un colpo di spugna in un finale originale lo scrittore si diverte a regalare pagine di incrollabile logica investigativa. Opera minore ma di piacevolissima lettura “L’Albergo Stregato” vale la somma, peraltro esigua, spesa per l’acquisto.
August 18, 2018
Another Wilkie Mystery
17 August 2018
For some reason, ever since I read The Moonstone at book club I have been somewhat drawn towards works by Wilkie Collins. Maybe it has something to do with him being a lesser known 19th Century British writer, lesser known in the sense that I had never heard of him until they decided to read him. Okay, he has been credited with writing the first detective novel, the aforementioned Moonstone, but this book also seems to come across as a mystery as well.
Basically, we have the protagonist Agnes whose fiancé basically leaves her for another woman, the Countess Narona. In fact the Countess, who basically stole Agnes’ fiancé, comes into see a doctor to confess to him, though of course the doctor really isn’t all that interested in listening to somebody’s personal problems. I would say that he isn’t that sort of doctor, but then again I suspect that since we are still at least a quarter of a century away from Sigmund Freud, I’m not entirely sure if any of those sort of doctors actually existed, or at least counselors whose job was to basically tell their client’s that everything is all right, and as long as they aren’t actually breaking the law, then screw morality, just do what feels good.
Anyway, Agnes’ ex-fiancé suddenly dies of bronchitis, but for some reason the wife of one of their servants receives a thousand quid out of thin air. This sort of raises some questions, but then the insurance company gets involved, as they are prone to do whenever they are forced to pay out any money, and come to the conclusion that the death was legitimate and settled the policy (though I suspect that like most insurance companies, particularly life insurance companies, they will go to great lengths to not actually pay anything out).
So, the book then jumps to Venice, because as it turns out after they had finished their honeymoon they decided to stay in Venice and buy and old, run down palace (as a house in Venice is known as). A few years later, another person purchases the palace and turns it into a hotel, however it turns out that one of the rooms is haunted (or at least believed to be because, well, us rational people really don’t believe in ghosts, do we), in the sense that the people who stay in that room end up having nightmares.
Well, this book isn’t one of those Sherlock Holmes, everything has a rational explanation type of stories, though it probably isn’t as much of a mystery as those of Holmes, or more so the later detective writers where they riddled their works with clues so that the reader could attempt to work it out before the author revealed all (not that I’ve ever been all that good at that, but then again I’ve never been a huge fan of detective fiction anyway, other that Holmes of course, but that has a lot to do with him actually being a cocaine fiend that spends his spare time prize fighting and visiting brothels).
The other thing is that this book really doesn’t have a big reveal, or at least a big reveal by some French detective with a ridiculously long moustache that looks so bad that it completely put me off the movie. Though we are told a few things, if only because the confession is written as a play. Actually, when the play was being explained, it sort of reminded me a lot of Hamlet, where Hamlet writes a play, or at least gets the players to perform a play, that is so similar to what he believes happened to his father, that the king has a fit and storms out of the room.
Yet it makes me wonder whether such a confession would actually be accepted, you know, where the guilty person writes a story that appears to be entirely fictional, but in reality they are basically telling a story based on what they actually done. I guess it has something to do with some people really, really wanting to actually confess to their crimes. Sure, not everybody is like that, many people are so convinced that they haven’t done anything wrong that the feeling of guilt simply does not exist. Yet others get so torn with guilt that the only way that they can overcome that dreaded feeling is to actually say something. Maybe writing it out as a form of fiction is a way to confess one’s guilt without actually outright saying that they committed the crime.
Then again, the Countess certainly was the type of person who suffered from guilt, particularly since at the beginning of the play she goes and sees a doctor to confess that she is in the habit of seducing other people’s partners for her own pleasure. Yet it also makes me wonder about this idea of one constantly seeking affirmation for behaving, well, like a jerk. Maybe she wanted to confess because she wanted affirmation from somebody to tell her that what she had done was right. Well, killing somebody certainly doesn’t fall into that category, at least in the case here in this book, but the whole thing of dealing with guilt is an interesting thing, particularly where you basically seek that affirmation from your friends, or simply post it on Facebook to see how many likes you happen to get.
17 August 2018
For some reason, ever since I read The Moonstone at book club I have been somewhat drawn towards works by Wilkie Collins. Maybe it has something to do with him being a lesser known 19th Century British writer, lesser known in the sense that I had never heard of him until they decided to read him. Okay, he has been credited with writing the first detective novel, the aforementioned Moonstone, but this book also seems to come across as a mystery as well.
Basically, we have the protagonist Agnes whose fiancé basically leaves her for another woman, the Countess Narona. In fact the Countess, who basically stole Agnes’ fiancé, comes into see a doctor to confess to him, though of course the doctor really isn’t all that interested in listening to somebody’s personal problems. I would say that he isn’t that sort of doctor, but then again I suspect that since we are still at least a quarter of a century away from Sigmund Freud, I’m not entirely sure if any of those sort of doctors actually existed, or at least counselors whose job was to basically tell their client’s that everything is all right, and as long as they aren’t actually breaking the law, then screw morality, just do what feels good.
Anyway, Agnes’ ex-fiancé suddenly dies of bronchitis, but for some reason the wife of one of their servants receives a thousand quid out of thin air. This sort of raises some questions, but then the insurance company gets involved, as they are prone to do whenever they are forced to pay out any money, and come to the conclusion that the death was legitimate and settled the policy (though I suspect that like most insurance companies, particularly life insurance companies, they will go to great lengths to not actually pay anything out).
So, the book then jumps to Venice, because as it turns out after they had finished their honeymoon they decided to stay in Venice and buy and old, run down palace (as a house in Venice is known as). A few years later, another person purchases the palace and turns it into a hotel, however it turns out that one of the rooms is haunted (or at least believed to be because, well, us rational people really don’t believe in ghosts, do we), in the sense that the people who stay in that room end up having nightmares.
Well, this book isn’t one of those Sherlock Holmes, everything has a rational explanation type of stories, though it probably isn’t as much of a mystery as those of Holmes, or more so the later detective writers where they riddled their works with clues so that the reader could attempt to work it out before the author revealed all (not that I’ve ever been all that good at that, but then again I’ve never been a huge fan of detective fiction anyway, other that Holmes of course, but that has a lot to do with him actually being a cocaine fiend that spends his spare time prize fighting and visiting brothels).
The other thing is that this book really doesn’t have a big reveal, or at least a big reveal by some French detective with a ridiculously long moustache that looks so bad that it completely put me off the movie. Though we are told a few things, if only because the confession is written as a play. Actually, when the play was being explained, it sort of reminded me a lot of Hamlet, where Hamlet writes a play, or at least gets the players to perform a play, that is so similar to what he believes happened to his father, that the king has a fit and storms out of the room.
Yet it makes me wonder whether such a confession would actually be accepted, you know, where the guilty person writes a story that appears to be entirely fictional, but in reality they are basically telling a story based on what they actually done. I guess it has something to do with some people really, really wanting to actually confess to their crimes. Sure, not everybody is like that, many people are so convinced that they haven’t done anything wrong that the feeling of guilt simply does not exist. Yet others get so torn with guilt that the only way that they can overcome that dreaded feeling is to actually say something. Maybe writing it out as a form of fiction is a way to confess one’s guilt without actually outright saying that they committed the crime.
Then again, the Countess certainly was the type of person who suffered from guilt, particularly since at the beginning of the play she goes and sees a doctor to confess that she is in the habit of seducing other people’s partners for her own pleasure. Yet it also makes me wonder about this idea of one constantly seeking affirmation for behaving, well, like a jerk. Maybe she wanted to confess because she wanted affirmation from somebody to tell her that what she had done was right. Well, killing somebody certainly doesn’t fall into that category, at least in the case here in this book, but the whole thing of dealing with guilt is an interesting thing, particularly where you basically seek that affirmation from your friends, or simply post it on Facebook to see how many likes you happen to get.
July 9, 2012
I liked this story. It was multifaceted in that it was not just a haunted house story, but also a murder mystery. Collins builds the suspense and the feeling of curiosity that keeps the reader engaged. I found the writing to be far from dated. The language was not antiquated, but felt almost modern in some ways. The print for my copy is rather small, and that's the only reason I didn't read it faster. Yesterday, I kept saying, I'll read to this point, and to that point, before I knew it, it was quite late and I had to put the book down to go to bed.
I didn't find the prose melodramatic. Instead, I found that Collins is matter of fact in describing horrors. It's merely in the reading of such things that the horror is evoked. I was quite surprised at the horrible things that had occurred, and it wasn't due to that Campy Gothic or Victorian Penny Dreadful tendency to use outlandish language to evoke a dark, sinister tone. I liked his subtle but hilarious humor, particularly in the part in which Francis Westwick goes to the room in question. I was laughing out loud on that part.
The Haunted Hotel starts out in an curious manner, with a false narrator. Which is quite brilliant. This beginning narrator never makes another appearance, and I was left to wonder how this plot thread would end up in the titular place. Further reading shows Collins' tendency to continuously introduce new point of views, leaving it up to the reader to see how it ties together. As I consider this novella, I wonder if this was not his way of revealing the intriguing character of the Countess through different eyes. So one cannot easily make up their mind about her.
Now an impatient reader will wish for Collins to get to the point, but I rather enjoyed the journey. I found the characters interesting, all of which evoking sympathy to some extent (except the Baron, who I found totally repugnant). Collins has a way of writing characters that is quite appealing to me. Even the lesser important characters come to life and earn their screen time when they come into the scenes. I enjoyed the roundabout way of presenting a story that was actually quite chilling in parts. I appreciated how intricately the mystery builds to a satisfying climax for this reader.
In the end, I was impressed with this novella by Mr. Collins. I will read more of his work because I think he has a way of writing mystery and suspense that is timeless, drawing me into his writing and not easily letting me go. His characters have impact and come to life for this reader, not sacrificed to a greater goal of evoking horror or terror, as can sometimes happen in this genre. I for one recommend this story to fans of classic/gothic horror and suspense.
Read out of The Haunted Hotel & Other Stories.
I didn't find the prose melodramatic. Instead, I found that Collins is matter of fact in describing horrors. It's merely in the reading of such things that the horror is evoked. I was quite surprised at the horrible things that had occurred, and it wasn't due to that Campy Gothic or Victorian Penny Dreadful tendency to use outlandish language to evoke a dark, sinister tone. I liked his subtle but hilarious humor, particularly in the part in which Francis Westwick goes to the room in question. I was laughing out loud on that part.
The Haunted Hotel starts out in an curious manner, with a false narrator. Which is quite brilliant. This beginning narrator never makes another appearance, and I was left to wonder how this plot thread would end up in the titular place. Further reading shows Collins' tendency to continuously introduce new point of views, leaving it up to the reader to see how it ties together. As I consider this novella, I wonder if this was not his way of revealing the intriguing character of the Countess through different eyes. So one cannot easily make up their mind about her.
Now an impatient reader will wish for Collins to get to the point, but I rather enjoyed the journey. I found the characters interesting, all of which evoking sympathy to some extent (except the Baron, who I found totally repugnant). Collins has a way of writing characters that is quite appealing to me. Even the lesser important characters come to life and earn their screen time when they come into the scenes. I enjoyed the roundabout way of presenting a story that was actually quite chilling in parts. I appreciated how intricately the mystery builds to a satisfying climax for this reader.
In the end, I was impressed with this novella by Mr. Collins. I will read more of his work because I think he has a way of writing mystery and suspense that is timeless, drawing me into his writing and not easily letting me go. His characters have impact and come to life for this reader, not sacrificed to a greater goal of evoking horror or terror, as can sometimes happen in this genre. I for one recommend this story to fans of classic/gothic horror and suspense.
Read out of The Haunted Hotel & Other Stories.
March 15, 2022
Wilkie Collins den okuduğum ikinci eser . Harika bir anlatım ve çevirme oldukça başarılı kesinlikle. Storytelden dinledim anlatıcı da çok iyiydi yani hepsi olağan üstüydü. İçerik çok sürükleyici.Merak içinde olsanızda sabredebiliyorsunuz sonuna kadar. Burda ne anlatsam az gelir ne kadar tahminlerde bulunursanız bulunun son daha başka bitmesi tam bir sürpriz.
October 6, 2018
Me declaro fan de Wilkie Collins, no se puede negar que el hombre tenía una mente bastante retorcida.
Si bien este libro está catalogado como terror, es en un estilo muy típico de su época, no puedo evitar pensar en la gente sentada alrededor de la chimenea leyendo esto para pasar el rato y luego no dormir, es inevitable admirar que Collins a más de 100 años de distancia nos dejara un escrito donde se disfruta esa innegable capacidad para generar un ambiente tétrico, una enorme capacidad para generar suspense. Yo me inclinaría a catalogar este libro más en lo gótico, pero eso es lo de menos, el mejor categoría en el que entra es en el "de los buenos libros"
En independencia de que en la actualidad este libro podría resultar, incluso "ingenuo" refiriéndose al tiempo de terror que maneja, la realidad es que es lo que es innegable es que Collins tiene la enorme habilidad de mantener al lector pegado a la historia y sin darnos respiro.
El personaje de la condesa es tremendo, el final maravilloso y construido además de una manera magistral.
Una escritura maravillosa y muy entretenida, imposible parar de leer, una vez que comencé, no lo pude soltar (no sé si al final de mi vida voy a padecer más de problemas de cuello o de vista), simplemente me he bebido este libro y lo he leído en una tarde, productiva en lectura e improductiva en la vida cotidiana, pero soy honesta, ha valido la pena no lavar trastes, no cenar y dejar plantada a una amiga 😂😂😂
Me ha gustado mucho
Si bien este libro está catalogado como terror, es en un estilo muy típico de su época, no puedo evitar pensar en la gente sentada alrededor de la chimenea leyendo esto para pasar el rato y luego no dormir, es inevitable admirar que Collins a más de 100 años de distancia nos dejara un escrito donde se disfruta esa innegable capacidad para generar un ambiente tétrico, una enorme capacidad para generar suspense. Yo me inclinaría a catalogar este libro más en lo gótico, pero eso es lo de menos, el mejor categoría en el que entra es en el "de los buenos libros"
En independencia de que en la actualidad este libro podría resultar, incluso "ingenuo" refiriéndose al tiempo de terror que maneja, la realidad es que es lo que es innegable es que Collins tiene la enorme habilidad de mantener al lector pegado a la historia y sin darnos respiro.
El personaje de la condesa es tremendo, el final maravilloso y construido además de una manera magistral.
Una escritura maravillosa y muy entretenida, imposible parar de leer, una vez que comencé, no lo pude soltar (no sé si al final de mi vida voy a padecer más de problemas de cuello o de vista), simplemente me he bebido este libro y lo he leído en una tarde, productiva en lectura e improductiva en la vida cotidiana, pero soy honesta, ha valido la pena no lavar trastes, no cenar y dejar plantada a una amiga 😂😂😂
Me ha gustado mucho
November 5, 2025
(3,7 de puntuación en realidad)
Wilkie Collins es uno de mis autores favoritos, desde hace algún tiempo tengo la costumbre de, por lo menos intentar, leerme una novela suya cada año. En 2025 he decidido unificar esta bonita tradición con Halloween y con el victober, la iniciativa que anima a leer autores victorianos durante todo el mes de octubre. Nunca consigo hacerla porque siempre me coincide con la spooky, que la llevo a rajatabla. Pero este año he conseguido hacerla un poquito gracias a una novela de Collins que creo que tenía desde hacía más de 10 años en mis estanterías, que tan solo por su título ya se ve que también es ideal para Halloween.
La sociedad londinense no da crédito cuando el Barón de Montbarry rompe su largo compromiso con una prima suya para casarse con la controvertida condesa de Narona, una oscura figura cuya reputación es la comidilla de media Europa. Pese a todo la boda tiene lugar, y la pareja pone rumbo a Venecia, donde se alojarán en un decadente palacio que se convertirá en el escenario de trágicos y misteriosos sucesos. Cuyos ecos aun perdurarán, cuando el palacio se convierta en un lujoso Hotel en el que, casualidad o destino, terminarán hospedándose una parte de la familia del Barón.
Una mujer misteriosa y astuta que se mueve entre la maldad y los remordimientos, un tétrico palacio a orillas de un canal veneciano, apariciones, deudas por saldar, misteriosas apariciones, nobles empobrecidos y una familia envuelta en lo inexplicable. Muchos de estos son ingredientes típicos de las novelas de Wilkie Collins, y una vez más, el autor británico demuestra que sabe muy bien cómo manejarlos. El que se considera padre de la novela de detectives y de las sensation novels, esas novelas que se publicaban capítulo a capítulo en periódicos semanales o mensuales y que siempre dejaban al lector, con ganas de saber qué es lo que iba a ocurrir en la entrega siguiente (de forma muy parecida a lo que ahora nos ocurre con los culebrones y las series o los mangas) manejo muchos géneros a lo largo de su prolífica, bibliografía. Deshumano salieron, novelas, obras de teatro y relatos varios, que se movían entre el género del misterio, el costumbrismo, la crítica social y también lo gótico. Sinceramente yo me pensaba que “ El Hotel Encantado” iba a virar más hacia el misterio y la investigación policial, todo ello condimentado con un toque sobre natural que luego iba a tener todo el sentido del mundo y ser explicado de una manera racional, a modo de las novelas de Sherlock Holmes. Por eso me ha sorprendido que el libro en realidad sí que tiene bastante de sobrenatural. Para bien, por supuesto. Creo que el toque de historia de terror da a la novela. Un punto único y especial que ayuda a que sea muy entretenida y disfrutable.
De hecho, tengo que decir, que me ha sorprendido llevarme algún que otro susto leyendo este libro. Y la manera en que el elemento fantasmagórico no desentona dentro de la trama que Collins nos propone en esta novela, que al principio tiene visos de Drama costumbrista y novela policial. Porque el libro no es solo que sea muy entretenido, también está muy inteligentemente hilvanada en cuanto a argumento se refiere, que al cerrarla no deja ningún nudo sin atar. En esto ayuda cómo usa diferentes técnicas narrativas dentro de este texto, algo bastante típico en la literatura victoriana y que ayuda a hacer avanzar la trama y a dar información al lector, como el uso de cartas, testimonios indirectos o, al final de la historia, de una obra de teatro, que se dice que es mentira, pero que se desvelará como una auténtica confesión. Y por supuesto, la forma en que Collins maneja diferentes tipos de literatura y géneros dentro de un solo libro, lo que da también mucha gracia al asunto y que tiene su mérito teniendo en cuenta que el volumen no llega a las 250 páginas. Hay una escena que la verdad es que te pone los pelos del punta, tal y como exige que sea el clímax de la historia. Una escena deudora de la más pura tradición gótica y de las novelas de apariciones de fantasmas que solo por ella creo que compensa con creces dedicarle un tiempo a la lectura de esta novela y que hará las delicias de todos los amantes de las historias ambientadas en palacios venidos a menos, edificaciones de arquitectura romántica o antiguo, mansiones embrujadas y casas encantadas.
Por lo que he podido encontrar en otra reseña, “ El Hotel Encantado” también fue publicado por entregas en el año 1878 en la revista Belgravia Magazine, apareciendo como libro completo un año más tarde. Como os menciono más arriba, Collins fue una de las figuras más destacadas en un género literario que tiene sus ecos en la actualidad y al que tanto sigue debiendo la literatura actual. Y del que se nota que esta intrigante novela corta bebe mucho. Hay misterio, intrigas, dramas familiares, conspiraciones y un toque de maldad y oscura astucia que me ha recordado mucho a las novelas puramente góticas. Collins demuestra una gran inteligencia narrativa al dar a cada uno de los elementos que aparecen en la novela su espacio y su tiempo, a saber sacar un mínimo de provecho de todos y cada uno de ellos. Y digo mínimo porque el gran pero que puedo ponerle al libro es que siento que en algunos momentos Collins mete el turbo y y no se para lo que debería en ciertos sucesos que acontecen a lo largo del texto, lo que da a todo el conjunto, una sensación de ligereza, que hace que se me quede en muy poca cosa, algo que creo que no habría sido así si el libro hubiera tenido unas poquitas páginas más para desarrollarse adecuadamente. de hecho, me ha decepcionado un poco el escaso jugo que le ha sacado a la ambientación en una ciudad tan hermosa y adecuada para la intriga gótica y lo terrorífico como Venecia. En realidad ll que de verdad importa es el palacio reconvertido en hotel en el que tienen lugar los hechos más importantes de la historia. El cual podría haberse ubicado perfectamente en Inglaterra, en España o en la Patagonia. Pero a lo que es la ambientación en Venecia tan solo se le saca todo el jugo que merece en una única escena que tiene lugar en la preciosa piazza de San Marcos y en el famoso Caffè Florian. Eso, la verdad es que me ha decepcionado, me hubiera gustado que la ciudad de los canales hubiera tenido más protagonismo.
Pero, pese a todo, “El Hotel Encantado” es una novela de lo más entretenida, que se le en un suspiro y que sabe mantener al lector con la intriga en cada uno de sus capítulos. Es cierto que a lo largo de la lectura encontramos varios elementos característicos de otros trabajos del autor y perfectamente reconocibles para los que ya nos hemos encontrado cada cara con Collins en otras lecturas. En esta historia, como en tantas otras salidas de su pluma hay mucho melodrama que a veces puede resultar un tanto pesado, y cosas que se dan por casualidades de lo más oportunas. Pero la gracia está en cómo sabe mantener su sello personal y aún así resultar un autor ligero y entretenido que gusta mucho y sabe componer unas historias en las que no faltan los golpes de efecto y el misterio. El libro se articula en tres cuadros o actos, los dos primeros tienen lugar en diferentes puntos de Inglaterra e Irlanda y es el último el que sucede en Venecia, en el Hotel que da título al libro. Y a lo largo de sus páginas nos encontraremos con fieles enamorados, dramas familiares, desapariciones, nobles Canallas y con dos mujeres que se contraponen como la noche y el día. Frente a una Agnes Lockwood, rubia y puramente inglesa, educada, sacrificada y bondadosa, la figura de la condesa de Narona o lady Montbarry resplandece como un sol oscuro. La condesa es pecaminosa, misteriosa, y puede llegar a hacer cosas que hielan la sangre y que, obviamente, solo podría hacerlo una continental europea, cosas que jamás se le pasarían por la cabeza a una buena inglesa de pura cepa. Y es que la verdad no se puede negar que Collins es hijo de los tiempos en los que vivió en muchos aspectos, y uno de los más destacados es en la manera de retratar a las figuras femeninas y en los prejuicios que exhibe hacia el resto de nacionalidades europeas, algo típico de la literatura victoriana. Por lo menos en esta novela. Porque tengo que deciros que si algo me gusta de este autor es que ha sabido crear figuras femeninas muy interesantes en otras de sus novelas. De hecho, la tétrica condesa me ha recordado a una de mis creaciones preferidas del autor, la fascinante y byroniana Lydia Gwilt de la muy recomendable “Armadale”. Las dos son mujeres que bailan entre el bien y el mal, sus debilidades y sus remordimientos, las pasiones que las mueven y su capacidad de hacer el mal sin que le tiemble el pulso. En el caso de la condesa, llámala atención por esa combinación tan interesante que resulta de que sea un cruce entre Lady Macbeth y María Magdalena, por no hablar de que la relación que de forma dramática establece con la bienintencionada y pura Agnes es uno de los motores más interesantes de la novela . Porque sí, muchas veces con Collins, como en tantas novelas y películas, el malo siempre es más interesante que los que se suponen los buenos.
Hay que reconocer que “El Hotel Encantado” no deja de ser una de sus composiciones menores de Wilkie Collins, que no llega al nivel de algunas de sus novelas más famosas como “La Dama de Blanco” o “La Piedra Lunar” ( que, por otra parte, siguen siendo mis dos favoritas del autor). Pero aún así, yo he disfrutado bastante de su lectura. Me ha durado un suspiro, se me ha hecho muy corto y en todo momento me ha tenido enganchada. Collins, como yo os he dicho antes, es un autor que me gusta, pero no todos sus trabajos lo hacen de la misma forma, y me temía que este que nos ocupa ahora no fuera a terminar de ser de mi agrado. No pasará por ser uno de mis preferidos del escritor Británico, pero tampoco será de los que menos me han gustado de cuantos he leído suyos. Por lo tanto, no puedo dejar de recomendaros. Además, creo que no me he equivocado al elegirlo como una de mis lecturas para la spooky season de este año, y creo que si vosotros hacéis lo mismo tampoco erraréis.
Wilkie Collins es uno de mis autores favoritos, desde hace algún tiempo tengo la costumbre de, por lo menos intentar, leerme una novela suya cada año. En 2025 he decidido unificar esta bonita tradición con Halloween y con el victober, la iniciativa que anima a leer autores victorianos durante todo el mes de octubre. Nunca consigo hacerla porque siempre me coincide con la spooky, que la llevo a rajatabla. Pero este año he conseguido hacerla un poquito gracias a una novela de Collins que creo que tenía desde hacía más de 10 años en mis estanterías, que tan solo por su título ya se ve que también es ideal para Halloween.
La sociedad londinense no da crédito cuando el Barón de Montbarry rompe su largo compromiso con una prima suya para casarse con la controvertida condesa de Narona, una oscura figura cuya reputación es la comidilla de media Europa. Pese a todo la boda tiene lugar, y la pareja pone rumbo a Venecia, donde se alojarán en un decadente palacio que se convertirá en el escenario de trágicos y misteriosos sucesos. Cuyos ecos aun perdurarán, cuando el palacio se convierta en un lujoso Hotel en el que, casualidad o destino, terminarán hospedándose una parte de la familia del Barón.
Una mujer misteriosa y astuta que se mueve entre la maldad y los remordimientos, un tétrico palacio a orillas de un canal veneciano, apariciones, deudas por saldar, misteriosas apariciones, nobles empobrecidos y una familia envuelta en lo inexplicable. Muchos de estos son ingredientes típicos de las novelas de Wilkie Collins, y una vez más, el autor británico demuestra que sabe muy bien cómo manejarlos. El que se considera padre de la novela de detectives y de las sensation novels, esas novelas que se publicaban capítulo a capítulo en periódicos semanales o mensuales y que siempre dejaban al lector, con ganas de saber qué es lo que iba a ocurrir en la entrega siguiente (de forma muy parecida a lo que ahora nos ocurre con los culebrones y las series o los mangas) manejo muchos géneros a lo largo de su prolífica, bibliografía. Deshumano salieron, novelas, obras de teatro y relatos varios, que se movían entre el género del misterio, el costumbrismo, la crítica social y también lo gótico. Sinceramente yo me pensaba que “ El Hotel Encantado” iba a virar más hacia el misterio y la investigación policial, todo ello condimentado con un toque sobre natural que luego iba a tener todo el sentido del mundo y ser explicado de una manera racional, a modo de las novelas de Sherlock Holmes. Por eso me ha sorprendido que el libro en realidad sí que tiene bastante de sobrenatural. Para bien, por supuesto. Creo que el toque de historia de terror da a la novela. Un punto único y especial que ayuda a que sea muy entretenida y disfrutable.
De hecho, tengo que decir, que me ha sorprendido llevarme algún que otro susto leyendo este libro. Y la manera en que el elemento fantasmagórico no desentona dentro de la trama que Collins nos propone en esta novela, que al principio tiene visos de Drama costumbrista y novela policial. Porque el libro no es solo que sea muy entretenido, también está muy inteligentemente hilvanada en cuanto a argumento se refiere, que al cerrarla no deja ningún nudo sin atar. En esto ayuda cómo usa diferentes técnicas narrativas dentro de este texto, algo bastante típico en la literatura victoriana y que ayuda a hacer avanzar la trama y a dar información al lector, como el uso de cartas, testimonios indirectos o, al final de la historia, de una obra de teatro, que se dice que es mentira, pero que se desvelará como una auténtica confesión. Y por supuesto, la forma en que Collins maneja diferentes tipos de literatura y géneros dentro de un solo libro, lo que da también mucha gracia al asunto y que tiene su mérito teniendo en cuenta que el volumen no llega a las 250 páginas. Hay una escena que la verdad es que te pone los pelos del punta, tal y como exige que sea el clímax de la historia. Una escena deudora de la más pura tradición gótica y de las novelas de apariciones de fantasmas que solo por ella creo que compensa con creces dedicarle un tiempo a la lectura de esta novela y que hará las delicias de todos los amantes de las historias ambientadas en palacios venidos a menos, edificaciones de arquitectura romántica o antiguo, mansiones embrujadas y casas encantadas.
Por lo que he podido encontrar en otra reseña, “ El Hotel Encantado” también fue publicado por entregas en el año 1878 en la revista Belgravia Magazine, apareciendo como libro completo un año más tarde. Como os menciono más arriba, Collins fue una de las figuras más destacadas en un género literario que tiene sus ecos en la actualidad y al que tanto sigue debiendo la literatura actual. Y del que se nota que esta intrigante novela corta bebe mucho. Hay misterio, intrigas, dramas familiares, conspiraciones y un toque de maldad y oscura astucia que me ha recordado mucho a las novelas puramente góticas. Collins demuestra una gran inteligencia narrativa al dar a cada uno de los elementos que aparecen en la novela su espacio y su tiempo, a saber sacar un mínimo de provecho de todos y cada uno de ellos. Y digo mínimo porque el gran pero que puedo ponerle al libro es que siento que en algunos momentos Collins mete el turbo y y no se para lo que debería en ciertos sucesos que acontecen a lo largo del texto, lo que da a todo el conjunto, una sensación de ligereza, que hace que se me quede en muy poca cosa, algo que creo que no habría sido así si el libro hubiera tenido unas poquitas páginas más para desarrollarse adecuadamente. de hecho, me ha decepcionado un poco el escaso jugo que le ha sacado a la ambientación en una ciudad tan hermosa y adecuada para la intriga gótica y lo terrorífico como Venecia. En realidad ll que de verdad importa es el palacio reconvertido en hotel en el que tienen lugar los hechos más importantes de la historia. El cual podría haberse ubicado perfectamente en Inglaterra, en España o en la Patagonia. Pero a lo que es la ambientación en Venecia tan solo se le saca todo el jugo que merece en una única escena que tiene lugar en la preciosa piazza de San Marcos y en el famoso Caffè Florian. Eso, la verdad es que me ha decepcionado, me hubiera gustado que la ciudad de los canales hubiera tenido más protagonismo.
Pero, pese a todo, “El Hotel Encantado” es una novela de lo más entretenida, que se le en un suspiro y que sabe mantener al lector con la intriga en cada uno de sus capítulos. Es cierto que a lo largo de la lectura encontramos varios elementos característicos de otros trabajos del autor y perfectamente reconocibles para los que ya nos hemos encontrado cada cara con Collins en otras lecturas. En esta historia, como en tantas otras salidas de su pluma hay mucho melodrama que a veces puede resultar un tanto pesado, y cosas que se dan por casualidades de lo más oportunas. Pero la gracia está en cómo sabe mantener su sello personal y aún así resultar un autor ligero y entretenido que gusta mucho y sabe componer unas historias en las que no faltan los golpes de efecto y el misterio. El libro se articula en tres cuadros o actos, los dos primeros tienen lugar en diferentes puntos de Inglaterra e Irlanda y es el último el que sucede en Venecia, en el Hotel que da título al libro. Y a lo largo de sus páginas nos encontraremos con fieles enamorados, dramas familiares, desapariciones, nobles Canallas y con dos mujeres que se contraponen como la noche y el día. Frente a una Agnes Lockwood, rubia y puramente inglesa, educada, sacrificada y bondadosa, la figura de la condesa de Narona o lady Montbarry resplandece como un sol oscuro. La condesa es pecaminosa, misteriosa, y puede llegar a hacer cosas que hielan la sangre y que, obviamente, solo podría hacerlo una continental europea, cosas que jamás se le pasarían por la cabeza a una buena inglesa de pura cepa. Y es que la verdad no se puede negar que Collins es hijo de los tiempos en los que vivió en muchos aspectos, y uno de los más destacados es en la manera de retratar a las figuras femeninas y en los prejuicios que exhibe hacia el resto de nacionalidades europeas, algo típico de la literatura victoriana. Por lo menos en esta novela. Porque tengo que deciros que si algo me gusta de este autor es que ha sabido crear figuras femeninas muy interesantes en otras de sus novelas. De hecho, la tétrica condesa me ha recordado a una de mis creaciones preferidas del autor, la fascinante y byroniana Lydia Gwilt de la muy recomendable “Armadale”. Las dos son mujeres que bailan entre el bien y el mal, sus debilidades y sus remordimientos, las pasiones que las mueven y su capacidad de hacer el mal sin que le tiemble el pulso. En el caso de la condesa, llámala atención por esa combinación tan interesante que resulta de que sea un cruce entre Lady Macbeth y María Magdalena, por no hablar de que la relación que de forma dramática establece con la bienintencionada y pura Agnes es uno de los motores más interesantes de la novela . Porque sí, muchas veces con Collins, como en tantas novelas y películas, el malo siempre es más interesante que los que se suponen los buenos.
Hay que reconocer que “El Hotel Encantado” no deja de ser una de sus composiciones menores de Wilkie Collins, que no llega al nivel de algunas de sus novelas más famosas como “La Dama de Blanco” o “La Piedra Lunar” ( que, por otra parte, siguen siendo mis dos favoritas del autor). Pero aún así, yo he disfrutado bastante de su lectura. Me ha durado un suspiro, se me ha hecho muy corto y en todo momento me ha tenido enganchada. Collins, como yo os he dicho antes, es un autor que me gusta, pero no todos sus trabajos lo hacen de la misma forma, y me temía que este que nos ocupa ahora no fuera a terminar de ser de mi agrado. No pasará por ser uno de mis preferidos del escritor Británico, pero tampoco será de los que menos me han gustado de cuantos he leído suyos. Por lo tanto, no puedo dejar de recomendaros. Además, creo que no me he equivocado al elegirlo como una de mis lecturas para la spooky season de este año, y creo que si vosotros hacéis lo mismo tampoco erraréis.
December 12, 2015
Not as good as The Moonstone or Woman in White, but still worth the read. I enjoy the glimpse of 19th century life, the language nuances, and the slower pacing of that era.
Club read.
Club read.
September 30, 2020
Reviewed for Books and livres and for a Goodreads readalong in the Victorians group.
It's called The haunted hotel, but the haunting doesn't appear until the second half of the book. Just saying.
In the first part, we meet Contess Narona, a rather agitated and melodramatic woman who seeks advice from a renown doctor. She feels something is going to happen but it seems to be fate, she won't be able to prevent the worse from happening. Nothing medical here. The doctor seems condescending toward women in general and her in particular.
Later, we meet Agnes, the Victorian angel de service : she's faithful, she's pure, she's true, she's "everything a woman should be" according to Victorian principles. She has a stalker - oh, forgive me : a man is in love with her but she doesn't return the love. He persists. She says no. He finally wins her. Of course, because he's in love with her the he deserves to win her !
I didn't like the way women were presented in this novel. I didn't care much about the story, way too melodramatic. It truly deserves the name of sensation novel. It felt really dated, a story where people faint and gasp and throw themselves on their knees begging for forgiveness or mercy. Not for me.
It's called The haunted hotel, but the haunting doesn't appear until the second half of the book. Just saying.
In the first part, we meet Contess Narona, a rather agitated and melodramatic woman who seeks advice from a renown doctor. She feels something is going to happen but it seems to be fate, she won't be able to prevent the worse from happening. Nothing medical here. The doctor seems condescending toward women in general and her in particular.
Later, we meet Agnes, the Victorian angel de service : she's faithful, she's pure, she's true, she's "everything a woman should be" according to Victorian principles. She has a stalker - oh, forgive me : a man is in love with her but she doesn't return the love. He persists. She says no. He finally wins her. Of course, because he's in love with her the he deserves to win her !
I didn't like the way women were presented in this novel. I didn't care much about the story, way too melodramatic. It truly deserves the name of sensation novel. It felt really dated, a story where people faint and gasp and throw themselves on their knees begging for forgiveness or mercy. Not for me.
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