The Lonely Hearts Hotel, by Heather O’Neill

Several critics have written blurbs comparing The Lonely Hearts Hotel, by Heather O’Neill, to Erin Morgenstern’s The Night Circus. I can see (a bit) what they mean, but The Lonely Hearts Hotel is much, much more depressing. The two books share a pair of lovers as protagonists and a very quirky show that becomes beloved of audiences. That is about as far as the similarities go. Instead of focusing on the delights of a unique, magical show, this novel centers on the lives of the orphans, Pierrot and Rose, and every misery they endured from their births in 1914 to the end of their show just before World War II. This book is definitely not for the faint of heart.

The novel opens with brief introductions of Pierrot and Rose’s mothers, to explain how the two foundlings ended up at a Catholic-run orphanage in Montreal. Their stories are appropriately miserable, considering what happens to their children at the orphanage and after. At the orphanage, the children are subjected to physical and, in Peirrot’s case, sexual abuse. They are also constantly told how sinful they are and that they will never amount to much. In spite of all of this, Rose and Pierrot retain their curious ability to entertain. Pierrot is talented at improvising music, while Rose is a gifted mime. When they’re not entertaining the rich of Montreal (to help pay for repairs at the orphanage), the pair develop very Absurdist world views that drive the nuns bonkers.

After their relentlessly depressing childhood, Peirrot and Rose find themselves as young adults who can barely support themselves. It’s clear that they are shadows without each other. Rose is the brains and ambition of the pair. Without her, Pierrot drifts. Pierrot is Rose’s light and whimsy. Without him, she becomes hardened and violent. The chapters that describe their years apart, before they finally reconnect, are almost harder to read than the chapters about their time at the orphanage.

I haven’t really made up my mind about The Lonely Hearts Hotel. It was a difficult read because it seems like nothing in Rose and Pierrot’s life goes right. They suffer and suffer and suffer. The glimpses we see of them entertaining—their happiest moments—don’t go far enough in balancing the depressing parts of then novel. Perhaps it’s because their act is musical and kinetic, but I didn’t understand the way they mesmerized people when they were performing. On the other hand, I found the ending perfectly bittersweet and satisfying. A good ending can make up for a lot, but there is an awful lot to make up for in The Lonely Hearts Hotel. It would take a very specific kind of reader to love this book.