By: Talia Carner
Released June 2, 2015
William Morrow
From the author of Jerusalem Maiden comes a mesmerizing, thought-provoking novel that tells the riveting story of an American woman—the daughter of Holocaust survivors—who travels to Russia shortly after the fall of communism, and finds herself embroiled in a perilous mafia conspiracy that could irrevocably destroy her life.
Brooke Fielding, a thirty-eight year old New York investment manager and daughter of Jewish Holocaust survivors, finds her life suddenly upended in late September 1993 when her job is unexpectedly put in jeopardy. Brooke accepts an invitation to join a friend on a mission to Moscow to teach entrepreneurial skills to Russian business women, which will also give her a chance to gain expertise in the new, vast emerging Russian market. Though excited by the opportunity to save her job and be one of the first Americans to visit Russia after the fall of communism, she also wonders what awaits her in the country that persecuted her mother just a generation ago.
Inspired by the women she meets, Brooke becomes committed to helping them investigate the crime that threatens their businesses. But as the uprising of the Russian parliament against President Boris Yeltsin turns Moscow into a volatile war zone, Brooke will find that her involvement comes at a high cost. For in a city where “capitalism” is still a dirty word, where neighbors spy on neighbors and the new economy is in the hands of a few dangerous men, nothing Brooke does goes unnoticed—and a mistake in her past may now compromise her future.
A moving, poignant, and rich novel, Hotel Moscow is an eye-opening portrait of post-communist Russia and a profound exploration of faith, family, and heritage.
PART
1: Thursday, September 30, 1993
CHAPTER ONE
The
plane had emptied by the time Brooke Fielding strode down the ramp
tube of the Moscow airport, her Burberry raincoat and overnight case
strapped with an elastic cord to a wheeled carrier. In the narrow,
windowless Jetway, the two last passengers followed right behind her,
men lugging clear plastic bags that sported the Duty Free Shop logo
and were stuffed with cigarettes, whiskey, perfumes, and a variety of
cheese and sausages.
The
significance of the moment billowed in Brooke’s chest: she, an
American, was arriving in Russia a mere twenty-one months after the
collapse of Communism. Like a pioneer, she’d get a taste of the
sights, sounds and flavors of a country few Americans had visited
since the days of the Czars. Even though she’d had a sense of
“there” through her parents’ Eastern European upbringing, she
expected the experience awaiting her in Moscow would be unlike
anything she’d ever had before. On Monday, when her company’s new
management had ordered her to take her unused vacation days, she’d
called her friend Amanda Cheng to let her know that she had become
available to join Amanda’s women’s mission. She would use her
business skills to help Russian women vault over decades of
stagnation.
At
the sound of swooshing behind her, Brooke glanced back to see that
the far end of the skyway had detached from the airplane and was
closing with a soft whine. Brooke hurried along, pushed to a faster
pace by the two men at her heels, when a small, triumphant voice
inside her burst out. Russia,
I’m returning on behalf of all my millions of nameless fellow Jews
lost on your soil. You didn’t destroy us, after all. She
lifted her head.
I’m here.
This
was a new Russia, Brooke reminded herself, different from the Russia
that had experimented with its people’s lives and minds. This new
Russia was fighting for liberty, placing the individual’s right for
happiness over the collective’s good, and as it struggled to free
itself from bigotry, so should she. The negative, judgmental
attitudes merely reflected her mother’s prejudices.
Brooke
was nearing the door separating the Jetway from the main terminal
when a guard approached it from inside. His eyes hooded with boredom,
a machine gun dangling from the strap across his chest, he unfastened
a door stopper and swung the door shut, locking it, then turned to
leave.
“Hey!”
Brooke waved, rushing forward. “Wait!”
But
the guard just tossed her a blank look through the glass, and walked
away.
“I’m
still here!” she called to his retreating back. She banged on the
door.
“They
have orders.” The younger of the two men at her heels spoke in
heavily accented English. He wore a rumpled blue suit with a wrinkled
open-collar shirt. The older man shook his head of dandelion-fuzz
hair and rested his shopping bags on the floor.
From
outside rose the hum of a forklift and the thuds of luggage falling
onto a conveyor belt. “Welcome to Russia,” Brooke muttered. She
adjusted her watch for the time zone. Seven o’clock in the morning
was midnight yesterday in New York. She banged again on the glass
door, but could see the empty corridor beyond. Amanda and the other
ten women executives recruited for this “Citizen Diplomats”
mission must have reached passport control. They would be worried.
The
hair falling on Brooke’s cheeks smelled of microwaved airplane food
and re-circulated air. She tucked a strand behind her ear and took a
deep breath. Eventually, someone would let her out; no one got stuck
at an airport terminal forever. She glanced at her companions. The
two Russian men stood motionless, as if forbidden to even lean
against the wall for support.
Brooke
hated losing control, which had been happening all week. Last Friday
afternoon she was called to an unscheduled staff meeting at which her
investment firm’s CEO cheerfully reported that they had been taken
over. His faux optimism only made Brooke wonder how big a golden
parachute the new owners must have opened for him. He was no doubt
making a soft landing into a pile of several million dollars. She
left the meeting in a daze and ran off to the synagogue for the start
of Yom Kippur. In observance of the day her parents had never
honored, she absented herself from her colleagues’ frantic phone
calls until Sunday night.
The
uncertainties she and her colleagues pondered on Sunday were sealed
Monday when The
Wall Street Journal
speculated that the takeover would probably result in a bloodbath for
the current employees. That afternoon, Brooke and other executives
were told to take off two full weeks, a gambit to flush out fraud by
keeping the staff away from their accounts so they could be examined
unhampered.
Not
even allowed to visit the office, Brooke would be absent when she
most needed to impress the new management, when her clients would be
introduced to new teams she had never met, leaving her out of the
loop. Never before had she experienced the insecurity of a job
suddenly in jeopardy. Her CEO, her mentor, had betrayed her.
But
adding expertise on Russia’s new economy would help her keep her
hard-won executive position. Not only did Brooke have the opportunity
to help Russian women on this trip, but she could poke her nose into
business ventures of this nation untangling itself from a
seventy-year time warp. She would return to New York brimming with
new ideas and investment opportunities. She might even refresh the
Russian language that must be lying dormant in her grey cells; she
had heard it often enough in her childhood when her mother and her
mother’s friends still spoke it among themselves.
This
trip would be a win-win situation, she had decided that Monday night.
On
Tuesday, the mission’s Russian host had arranged for Brooke’s
visa while she splurged for gifts the group could provide the women
they would be counseling. On Wednesday she had boarded the flight,
and now, Thursday morning, here she was, stuck in Moscow airport.
The
foregoing is excerpted from HOTEL
MOSCOW by Talia Carner.
All rights reserved. No
part of this book may be used or reproduced without written
permission from HarperCollins Publishers, 195
Broadway New York, NY 10007
Having
studying 20th century Russian history in high school, this
title piqued my interest because this book is based after the
collapse of communism in the Soviet Union; some years after I
finished my education. The fact the plot is built around some of the
author's own experiences at this time added to my curiosity.
Bertha
Feldman or Brooke Fielding as she's now called is the daughter of two
Russian Jewish holocaust survivors who escaped to America. Growing
up was difficult as she was burdened by her older parents experiences
whilst wanting to embrace her cultural background. She escaped and
move to the west coast to study at Berkeley but a change of
circumstances meant she had to do all she can to survive; to achieve
her goals.
Years
later, she jumps at the chance to go to the very place her parents
escaped to help the women of Moscow re-build their lives and
livelihood after the fall of communism, not realising
that the experience would have a profound affect on her own life.
What
shocked me was how quickly post-communist Russia turned even more
sinister. I naively thought that the corruption came later,
although common sense should have told me otherwise.
I
loved Brooke Fielding's go-getting attitude even when the challenges
became just too big and how easily she developed such empathy with
the women she met. She's naïve to believe
she can change things for the better for Svetlana and the women at
the factory. It is also interesting to understand how these women of
Moscow perceived Brooke too.
“Thank-you
for not judging me,” she whispered.
“But
I do. And I find you an amazingly accomplished woman who's gone
through a lot but never allowed it to defeat you.”
The romantic aspect of Brooke's story
is subtle, but there all the same; Judd Kornblum...what's his secret?
The
ending is thought provoking. Will Brooke meeting Sage? A
relationship with Judd?
Svetlana
& Natalia's new life in Germany? The fact I have so many
unanswered questions is down to the author engaging me sufficiently
to think about what happened after Brooke arrived back in the U.S. I
wonder too if Irina exploited the market successfully using stolen
goods? What became of Sidarov?
Hotel
Moscow is well written, intelligent and interesting read that kept my
attention. A very welcome and enjoyable diversion from the fiction I
usually read.
4½
stars
***arc
generously received courtesy of the publisher William Morrow***
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