Julia is a simple yet intense woman. She knows how to be present imperceptibly, molding her desires to those of others. Ariel is a helpless man, someone who needs others to solve problems. Amidst rooms that blend and repeat themselves, family logic presents itself as an inescapable consequence of what they most fear to articulate. Julia demands a child, Ariel imposes a mother, and at this intersection of affections, madness crosses paths. A stone that lurks in Deo's hands, in her invented stories, in her real accounts: a childhood among mean-spirited nuns, the specter of a death that keeps recurring, and the agoraphobia of characters who withdraw from the world or persist in it as a way of narrating it, of making writing recount, only partially, the disharmony of emotions. All of them, more than real presences in a hotel where the option of the outside world is, in a way, closed off. How does one leave a place like that? The narrator asks himself this question while writing his own story on a long-cart Remington typewriter, fragments of texts that are added to reality in order to understand it and survive.
In this new novel, José Henrique presents a Hotel that is the world, in all its complexity and lack of sanity.