The Sylvan Hotel: Seattle Nostalgia & the Pain of Growing Up
In 2019, my husband and I stood on the western edge of Pike Place market and watched the big machinery dismantling the viaduct. He was all excitement and hopefulness for the beautiful, clean, new waterfront that would replace those crumbling chunks of concrete. I felt a little sad.
My attempts to explain my sadness fell on deaf ears. He had no nostalgia for loud, polluting cars and trucks that cut downtown off from the sparkling waters of Puget Sound. Yes to pedestrians! Yes to cleaner air! Yes to tourism dollars!
I couldn’t argue with any of that.
Still, something in me - some younger, more wide-eyed version of Marilee - was sad to see the viaduct go. The child who peered out the car window as we rounded the curve out of Belltown and everything stretched out before us: ferries, stadiums, water - maybe even a glimpse of the Olympic Mountains on a clear day.
In the late nineties, as a fresh-faced, timid teenager I ventured into downtown Seattle to procure a pair of Doc Martens from a fabled “discount” spot beneath the viaduct. Ultimately, I chickened out before even finding the store; metered parking, train crossing and the intense grunginess of the area terrified my little, new-driver heart. But even as it scared me, I admired the grittiness of that part of Seattle; imagined that someday I’d be cool enough to explore these dive-y, industrial edges of my city.
Change is inevitable and I’m usually a fan. And I absolutely love the new waterfront. It is all the things my husband believed it would be and more. I have already spent more time there - in the first year or so it’s been open - than I ever did before the viaduct was torn down.
Still, I hold a strong affection for the Seattle of yesteryear. A pride - you might say - in the small, upstart, working-class city Seattle used to be.
And that’s why I absolutely swooned over The Sylvan Hotel by Frannie James.
James’ depiction of Seattle in the 1990s perfectly captures the city for which I have such strong nostalgia. A young city, very much in adolescence, rife with growing pains but overflowing with earnest, gritty beauty.
The Sylvan Hotel follows a chosen-family crew of employees at a fictional (but uncannily “real life”) fancy hotel downtown. From the first pages, the reader is engulfed in the hum, buzz, whir, ring, and thwack of telephone switchboards, intercom systems, and other long-forgotten, old-school equipment the Sylvan staff use to keep the hotel running.
For anyone old enough to have experienced it first hand, this flashback is a delightful return to a time we may recall as simpler, cleaner, slower. Don’t get too comfortable, though. James’ group of “Sylvies” experience the full range of coming-of-age troubles. Some wistful, some precious, some agonizing.
Our protagonist, Joann, and her company of friends, shift and waver and sometimes lurch quite painfully into adulthood. But through it all, the young and hopeful Emerald City cradles them gently as they work through their fear and unpreparedness. Holding them fast until they are finally forced to face their future, ready or not.
The Sylvan Hotel invites us to remember what it’s like on the cusp of being fully grown. To feel again the complicated tensions of young adulthood: grown up - but so much to learn; terrified - but excited; trapped - but trying with all your might to push forward. We tenderly walk with these young adults - and their city - as they grow, change, and struggle; as they stumble toward what’s next.
The Sylvan Hotel is unquestionably a love letter to Seattle. But, even more so, it is a love letter to young adulthood. A compassionate reflection on how hard it is to grow up, a reminder that we desperately need community, and a call to each of us to hold our former selves - those younger, wilder versions of ourselves - with compassion and grace. They didn’t do it perfectly, but they did their best and they got us here.
Not unlike an ugly old concrete highway. It’s not what we need for our future but it sure did its job back in the day. No, I don’t want to be twenty years old again but I’m proud of my twenty-year old self. Yes, I do prefer the new waterfront to what used to be. And I’ll always kind of miss the ugly, loud, polluting viaduct - just a little bit.
Whether or not you miss the viaduct - do not miss The Sylvan Hotel.
Pre-order it now and join us at Elliot Bay Booksellers for the book launch October 22!
