Termush, by Sven Holm

 

A luxury hotel becomes a place of menace and fear.

A group of rich guests have booked places at the Termush hotel, a comfortable resort. The only difference is that they are not hoping to enjoy a relaxing holiday. They have reserved places in the hope of surviving a nuclear Armageddon. The story opens after the “disaster” has happened, with a brief description of what atmospheric changes a nuclear explosion can wreak. The hotel guests try to believe that life can return to some sort of normalcy – but everyone knows they are lying to themselves. The hotel's management endeavours to create a veneer of polite civilisation, but tough decisions are being made, primarily, whether survivors of the explosion that try to enter the hotel should be allowed in. Should there be a cap on how many survivors can be accommodated? Who gets to make these decisions? What are the ethical implications? Can there even be ethical questions in such an environment?

A mounting tension builds as it becomes obvious that there are forces outside the hotel that want to break in. No matter how much the management tries to pretend that everything is under control, it's clear that the hotel provides a flimsy bulwark against the reality of the outside world. The guests' safe haven is crumbling before their eyes.
Danish author Sven Holm published Termush in 1967, and it was translated into English in 1969 by Sylvia Clayton. It's a short, terse novel with clipped, pared back prose. Every character in the story remains unnamed, except for Maria, whose emotional outbursts are deemed the only rational response to the unfolding horror of the guests' situation. Termush brilliantly examines the psychology of survival at any cost, creating a novel of unremitting despair.

Termush, by Sven Holm. Published by Faber $22.99. 

JULY23