One of Pamuk’s first novels. First a sample of some of the wonderful writing from the very first page:

“Ruya was lying facedown on the bed, lost to the sweet warm darkness beneath the billowing folds of the blue-checked quilt. The first sounds of a winter morning seeped in from outside: the rumble of a passing car, the clatter of an old bus, the rattle of copper kettles that the salep maker shared with the pastry cook, the whistle of the parking attendant at the dolmus stop. A cold leaden light filtered through the dark blue curtains. Languid with sleep, Galip gazed at his wife’s head: Ruya’s chin was nestling in the down pillow. The wondrous sights playing in her mind gave her an unearthly glow that pulled him toward her even as it suffused him with fear. Memory, Celal had once written in a column, is a garden. Ruya’s gardens, Ruya’s gardens… Galip thought. Don’t think, don’t think, it will make you jealous! But as he gazed at his wife’s forehead, he still let himself think.”



The story: There’s not a lot of plot. Galip is a lawyer in Istanbul. His wife Ruya has disappeared leaving him a brief note. He hides her leaving from his family. Did she go back to her first husband whom she was married to for just a few years? Or could she have run off with his uncle, Celal, a nationally famous newspaper columnist? Celal too has disappeared. Very little of the book is about the actual search; instead it’s the mental process Galip goes through of trying to figure out where she is, often using mystical clues he finds in Celal’s old columns. While searching for his wife, her ex-, and the columnist, Galip starts assuming the columnist’s identity, writing his columns, wearing his clothes, living in his secret apartment (he has enemies from the ideas he has expressed), imitating his voice when he answers his phone calls. One persistent called threatens his life.

Instead of a lot of plot, we get essays about life in Turkey and Turkish culture from numerous columns written by Celal and from conversations such as when a group of reporters sit around the table and tell stories.



There ae many themes in the book but I think first it is a love story. Galip grew up with Ruya (they are cousins) and he has loved her since he was a child.

Another theme is identity and people trying to “be themselves.” There’s an extended story about a legendary Turkish prince who was so obsessed with trying to be himself that he would destroy books that had brought the ideas of others into his head. There is some talk about Doubles, “where people were at once themselves and their own imitations.”

Many people in the story want to be someone else. Galip want to be Celal. Celal wants to be Rumi, a famous Persian poet. Galip runs into an old girlfriend from school days and finds out she is still in love with him and fantasizes that she is Ruya. A brothel that Galip visits specializes in women who look, act and speak American movies stars.



There are a lot of references to American films and movie stars from the era of Edgar G. Robinson, Clark Gable, Ava Gardner, Elizabeth Taylor. In Turkey’s wave of Westernization even mannikins had to look European, not Turkish. The columnist writes about how Western films even changed Turkish gestures.

Of course, all this about ‘be yourself” is related to Turkish identity, Turkey being a country that deliberately tried to Westernize starting in the late 1880’s through Mustafa Kemal Atatürk in the 1920’s.

Among the mystical clues Galip uses, another theme is about reading letters in peoples’ faces tied in with the ancient Hurufism sect. Kind of astrology. And maps: Maps of the city and mystical codes inscribed by someone’s journey or by tracing an ant crawling over a map on a page. And faces you discern by superimposing maps over each other, such as maps of Istanbul, Cairo and Damascus. (And what are the odds of this: a novel I reviewed two weeks ago, The Tango Singer by Tomas Eloy Martinez, also talked about the main character looking for secret clues on a map of where a singer spontaneously performed in Buenos Aires.)

And it’s almost always snowing. Is that a theme? Perhaps Pamuk got the idea of writing his novel Snow after writing this book. It's also a love story to the city of Istanbul: it's beauty as well as its seediness.



I really enjoyed this book and the depth of thought on a wide variety of topics. Pamuk won the Nobel Prize in 2006. It’s a long book. The edition I read had a tiny font and hardly any margins and went for almost 500 pages; other editions in English are 700 or even 800 pages long, so it is an extensive read that can be a bit trying in places but generally I never felt it was getting repetitive or losing focus. I give it a 5 and I’m adding it to my favorites.

Photos of Istanbul: top from cloudfront.net; middle from wendyperrin.com; bottom from gettyimages.com. Photo of the author from i.hurimg.comistanbul nobel-prize turkish-authors216 s Vit Babenco1,534 4,239

The Black Book is a story of losing and searching… Searching and never finding…
The Black Book is a book of memory and oblivion…
I thought of the pit which used to be right next to the building, the bottomless pit that had inspired shivers of fear at night, not only in me but in all the pretty children, girls, and adults who lived on all the floors. It seethed with bats, poisonous snakes, rats, and scorpions a well in a tale of fantasy. I had a feeling it was the very pit described in ?eyh Galip’s Beauty and Love and mentioned in Rumi’s Mathnawi. It so happened that sometimes when a pail was lowered into the pit, its rope was cut, and sometimes they said that there was a black ogre down there who was as big as a house.
The past is a bottomless pit – everything disappears there without a sound or trace…179 s1 comment Henry Avila489 3,273

The big issue from Orhan Pamuk 's , a Nobel Prize winning writer, novel is identity...who are we ? The setting Istanbul, Turkey, the largest city in the nation, straddling the bright blue waters of the narrow , and rather shallow , but still even today quite ...
crucial Bosphorus Strait, on both the continents of
Asia and Europe . This is the ultimate problem for its divided people, do we become westernized or remain with traditional, old customs ... They go see ancient Hollywood films, some 20 years old, at the movie theaters, ( no television then ) enamored by the stars, copy what is shown, clothes, manners, language, everything, the values from the past are no more . Galip Bey, mid -thirty, is an uninspired lawyer (not happy in the occupation), in his native, fast growing town, married to the beauty Ruya, a woman of the same age, he has known since childhood. Intelligent with a propensity for reading detective books, one after another, not interested in work, lately him too. His famous older cousin by more than twenty years Celal Bey, a newspaper writer with a column that all the city reads, in fact the whole nation and beyond the borders, he is the most read in the Middle East..No surprise that Galip is a big admirer of his relative's sophisticated writing, has many enemies, though, dabbles in dangerous politics , he is also Ruya's half-brother. Turmoil consumes the people's daily lives there, political violence and killings in the streets, many urge a military coup to cleanse the atmosphere, bring unity and calm back ... circa 1960. Mysteriously Ruya leaves him, later Celal cannot be found either, have they run off together? Then begins the long search by the husband to discover where they are hiding. A "Heart of Darkness" voyage on land , as he walks through ominously deserted streets , lights fade in sunless places, shadows fall on filthy , evil smelling slums... observing apartments that are ready to collapse, citizens struggling to survive the ever expanding, chaotic megalopolis , its rapidly changing environment, the poor begging and stealing, death lurks by, but nobody cares . Galip has a feeling, a strange disturbing belief... he is not alone , someone is following, an evil eye, yet the threat is dismissed ... must go on, what occurs good or bad will happen , the dispirited man has to know the truth. He continues the seemingly fruitless odyssey..A strange trip into Turkish history and the crisis in that magnificent country, what is its destiny? A book that both entertains and causes boredom to the reader, if a person wants to find the real Turkey, this is the book, but be patient, the story will delight and frustrate, the plot is not really important... the philosophy is. The author's love hate relationship with a city he was born in, is apparent.126 s1 comment Sawsan1,000

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this is a rare example of a reread for me. I don't reread books very often, not because I don't want to, blahblahblah....

My experience of reading this one was a good example of a certain kind of reader's disease. The kind where even though you are trying to focus your attention on the story, the language, etc your eyes start to water and you kind of glaze over in your mind, turning pages and sort of dimly registering the story. It's not "reading",per se, but it's not skimming either. It's not bullshitting your way through the book- it's more that when you read a lot your brain (or at least mine) kind of gets blurry when the story or the language doesn't exactly burst out at you.

I think it also makes a difference when the writer's particular style doesn't mesh well with your own individual brain chemistry. His way of seeing is somewhat at odds with yours. It's not a philosophical difference so much as its about...instincts of perception, if you will. The pacing of the story, the level of and type of detail, the way he describes a room or how much of it, the length and construction of sentences....all that kind of stuff. I don't think it's pretentious or posuer-ish to continue reading even if the writer's style means you're going to miss most of what's happening. Sometimes you can uncover a jewel even in the midst of confusion or mistakes. And besides, some people just *have* to finish a book once they start it. I'm one of them.

Also, consider the fact that many of the places where the modern reader reads are not particularly conducive to the intimate, erotic, spiritual practice of reading a book. Consider, just for starters, the din of airports, buses, commuter rails, subways, bars, restaurants, living rooms with the tv on, so on and so forth. There is usually a trickle of white noise coming in from at least one direction- there has got to be some of the magic drained out of the experience. I would venture that long, prolonged investments in concentration could be harder to come by now than ever. More comprehension gets shaved off while, ironically, the abundance and availability of material is richer than ever. And then there's the next hundred and seventy nine pages to go...

So...I kind of shortchanged the book a little bit.

I think it's excusable to sort of pass something this off, as long as you did make a decent effort. Hell, not everything can be easy to understand, right? This is leisure reading, after all. I was not told there would be any math on this exam. I will not put my pencil down.

Anyway, apropos of nothing, I picked this up again recently and it's a whole new experience. The scales have fallen from my eyes. There are still some stumbling blocks here and there- Pamuk is a writer for whom I have great respect, and I absolutely loved "The New Life"- but all in all the tale is beginning to fill in for me and I'm really participating in it in a way I hadn't before. It's funny, since so much of this very provocative, philosophically savvy, eerily clean novel has to do with preoccupations of identity. I deliberately phrased it this because there's very strong self-reflexive aspect to the proceedings. The main character is trying to relocate his vanished wife through the medium of the collected newspaper columns of his cousin, her former husband, who has also vanished, who has written a great deal about the identity of Turkey in the (post) modern world, not to mention his own consciousness and psychic disorientation, and so obviously there's a deeply meta-narrative project in place. You can imagine how sticky and obfuscating this kind of thing gets when, for whatever reason, the co-ordinates of your consciousness aren't really aligned with the text. it's a delicate balancing act anyway, moreso when the author is stepping into some very seductive, Borgesian metaphysical landscapes.

Now I that, about three years later, I can dip back into it with pleasure and profit I am pleased to say that The Black Book, at maybe about 65% done at least, is a very, very worthwhile tome. It has the narrative of a noir: meditative, crisp, somewhat chilly and slightly spare. It has the political significance of Pamuk's status as a player on the Turkish literary scene (if you're actually reading this you should really acquaint yourself with his works and days) and especially when you consider the story's being set in 1980, the significance of this is explained rather neatly in Maureen Freeley's translator's afterward- a little too neatly, if you ask me. And, philosophically, it is very beautifully investigated, well prosed, and that's difficult to do well. Philosophy is an incredible thing. Sometimes its relationship to literature can be a bit awkward and bumbling. Sometimes it adds a moral and existential resonance to a story which is intriguing and enticing on its own merits. Pamuk handles this beautifully-

There's quite a few quotable gems here. Many of them go on at length, necessarily. Here are a few of the shorter ones:

"He felt happy, on the verge of a revelation- the secret of life, the meaning of the world, shimmering just beyond his grasp- but when he tried to put this secret into words, all he could see was the face of the woman who was sitting in the corner watching him."

"He surveyed the dome, the columns, the great stone structures above his head, longing to be moved but feeling stuck. There was the vaguest of premonitions...but this great edifice was as impenetrable as stone itself. It did not welcome a man in, nor did it transport him to a better place. But if nothing signified nothing, than anything could signify anything. For a moment he thought he saw the flash of blue light, and then he heard the flutter of what sounded the wings of a pigeon, but then he returned to his old stagnant silence, waiting for the illumination that never came."

"For what is reading but the animating of a writer's words on the silent film strip in our minds?"

There's some phenomenal set pieces, too. Paumk's Istanbul is there in its 'there-ness' but it still has a universal quality, albeit a somewhat dour, crystalline, noir-ish ambience...

It got three stars for a muddled, uncomprehending first read which was decidedly my fault and now it's getting four stars for coming off the bench and working nicely...fictions-of-the-big-it re-readers worldly-lit70 s Oguz Akturk283 565

YouTube kanal?mda Kara Kitap'? önerip postmodern roman? anlatt?m:
https://youtu.be/5NOJQ_1hmps

"Uykulardas?n ?imdi bensiz uykularda
Hala ?stanbul’das?n ama deniz yok dalgalarda" YYK

Say?s?zca kültür, padi?ah, caz festivali, mimari ve sanat ak?m?, beyaz yaka, Suriyeli, Suriyesiz, kitap temas?, ?ark? ilham?, cami, kilise, Rönesans'a yak???r insani proporsiyon, sonradan yine kendisine tepki olarak getirdi?i barok bir öfke, askeri darbe, manevi arbede, mahalle kavgas?, kavgalardan çok daha ate?li çiftle?me, dert, mutluluk, i?kence, orgazm, kasvet, ütopya görmü? ve hala içinde bar?nd?rd??? ço?u canl?s?na göre kendisinden ba?ka ?ehirlerin tebdil-i k?yafetine bürünmeye çabalayan kolektif bir varolu? salatas?ndan -yani Proust'un kay?p zaman?n izinde kaybedip arad?klar?n?, Paulo Coelho'nun Simyac?'y? yazarken araklad??? Takkeci ?brahim Efendi'nin hikayesi gibi bir aray??taki esrar?n sonucunu insan?n yine kendisinde bulaca??n? bize pitoresk bir imgeyle al?c?y? harekete geçirme i?levinde buldurmaya çal??an- bir haf?za bahçesinden bahsetmeye çal???yorum size : ?STANBUL.

Hayat?m?n büyük bir k?sm?nda ?stanbul'un manevi bas?nç auras? alt?nda gerek fiziksel gerekse de spiritüel mesafesinin çemberinde ya?ad?m. Türkiye'nin magmas? olan bu s?cakl???n verdi?i, kendi merkezine çekti?i bir ?stanbulçekime, ayn? Dünya'n?n, çevresindeki Güne?, gezegen ve uydular?n?n çekimine kay?ts?z kalamad??? bir ?ekilde maruz kald?m. "O"ydu bizim haf?za bahçemizdeki en renkli a?ac?m?z, "o"ydu Pessoa'n?n dedi?i, dü?ünmenin y?kmak anlam?na gelip de insan?n dü?ünmeden önce parçalar? -yani semtleri- alg?lay?p sonradan metropolitan bir tümevar?mla ?ehrin bütününü dü?ünebilece?imiz bir bellek. Çünkü Pessoa'ya göre de, dü?ünce süreci, dü?ünülen ?eyi parçalara bölmekle olurdu.

Yüzyüzeyken Konu?uruz, Sandal ?ark?s?nda, bu kitaptaki Galip'in tükenmek bilmeyen bir k?s?r döngüdeki zaman?n süregelen kayb?n?n izinde, ?stanbul'daki dalgalara denizi yak??t?rman?n tela?? içerisinde, uykular?n?, gerçeklik ile dü? aras?ndaki Musil'in ruhun bulan?k sendeleme denklemi gibi yalpalayarak renkli "Rüya"lar oteliyle taçland?rd??? bir ?stanbul hayal etmi?ti. Ayn? Orhan Pamuk'un gayesi gibi.

?u anda bedenimin bulundu?u Batman, akl?m?n çarp?k sokaklar?n?n gezmeye çal??t???, idam mahkumlar?n?n son saniyelerinde çaresizce ve büyük bir arzuyla dü?ünmeye çabalad??? ?ehir alg?s?n? daha geni? bir alg?yla beynimin önüne soyut çözünürlüklü bir görüntü olarak getirmeyi kendime askerlik idi edindi?im bir ?stanbul ve çift haneli say?yla sayabilece?im y?llard?r ait oldu?um ama bir türlü Maslow'un piramidinin en tepesindeki onu gerçekle?tirme seviyesine eri?emedi?im bir ?zmit dü?üncesi ile Orhan Pamuk'un Galip, Celal ve Rüya üçgeni aras?nda spiritügeometrik bir ba??nt? kurmak istedim.

Ba? karakter Galip, doppelgänger etkisiyle bir Tourette sendromlusunun aniden ç?ld?rmaya ba?lay?p, ba??r?p ça??rmas? gibi bir merakla ke?fetmeye çal??t??? ?stanbul'u, sevgilisini, amcas?n?n k?z?n?, kendisini -art?k her ne derseniz- yine kendisinden fiziksel olarak çok uzakta bir Stockholm vatanda??n?n sendromu gibi kendisini rehine olarak ald??? ?stanbul'da a?k? ve yine kendisini bulmak isteyen, Raskolnikov'un Napolyon, Hint Devrimi zaman?nda insanlar?n Mao, Küba Devrimi zaman?nda insanlar?n Castro olma idinde yan?p tutu?an gençlerinin akson ve dendrit uzakl?klar? aras?nda mekik dokuttu?u esrarl? bir gerçeklik aray???nda, imgelerini, Bo?az'?n sular?n?n Anadolu ve Avrupa yakas?ndaki en güzel yal?lara, en uç insan yap?m? an?lara, köprülerin eteklerinin alt?ndan geçen hidrojen ve oksijenlerin sadece hamd???, pi?ti?i, yand??? de?il de, kelimelerin sevgi, nefret, hüzün, a?k, ?a?k?nl?k, ?ehvet, öfke gibi duygular?n sinestezik lunaparklar?nda ?stanbul'un en esrarl? kö?elerinde Kara Kitap'?n beklenen konserinde yerini alabilmek için bilet s?ras? kovalad???, kimilerine göre bir Dünya klasi?i niteli?i ta??yan kimilerine göreyse Alaaddin'in Dükkan?'na gelip de Alaaddin'in elinde olmayan salt nesnel gerçekleri de?i?tirmesini bekleyen bir kalabal?k ordusu önderli?inde kurgulam??t?. ??te böyle bir cümle gibiydi ?stanbul.

Mimar Sinan, Yavuz Çetin, Bedri Rahmi Eyübo?lu, Gaye Su Akyol, Münir Özkul, Vedat Türkali, Fatih Sultan Mehmet, Ete Kurttekin, Flört, Atatürk, YYK, Vedat Milör, Nusret, Peyk, Ara Güler, Sabahattin Ali, Birsen Tezer, Orhan Veli Kan?k, Sezen Aksu gibi sanatkarlar?m?z bu ?ehirdeki yürüyü?lerini ayn? Galip'in ?stanbul sokaklar?nda yüzlerin, tarihin, kitaplar?n, semtlerin esrar?n? çözmek ister gibi gerçekle?tirmi?lerdi.

Kad?köy Yelde?irmeni mahallesinin her soka??ndan uzakta denizin göründü?ünü bilmek, Kuledibi'nde dola??rken dümdüz bir sokakla kar??la?amayaca??n? tahmin edip de pitoresk ve bir o kadar da grotesk foto?raflar yakalamay? ?ehvet edinen bir turistin varl???n? Galip'e yak??t?rmak, Kartal'dan Silivri'ye metrobüsle gidilemeyece?inin bilincinde 500T hayalleri kuran bir ?stanbulluyla, ecnebilerin Old Town diyerek turistik rant edindi?i bir evrensel gezgin terminolojisiyle tefsirini 400 küsür sayfaya s??d?rmak Orhan Pamuk'un harc? olmu? ise, sirkülasyon koridorlar? Bo?az'?n sular?, giri? kap?lar? stratejik ve jeopolitik önemin diktatörlü?ünde sabitle?tirilmi? co?rafya dersi kitaplar?ndaki hudut bak?m?ndan kom?ular?, oturma odas?, salonu Be?ikta?, Kuzguncuk, Sar?yer, Üsküdar, Eminönü, Kad?köy, mutfa?? Karaköy, Beyo?lu, bir türlü sevilemeyen ev sahipleri Ba?c?lar, Esenler, Ba?ak?ehir, figürü Ruslara s?cak denizlere inme mastürbasyonunu mumyalatan, temeli e?siz bir tarih, duvarlar? Darwin'in hiç de k?skanmayaca?? bir ?ekilde, zamanla tarih kavram?ndan Medusa'n?n gözlerinin içinde kendilerine soruldu?unda büyüyünce ta? olmak isteyen bak??lar?n k?skanaca?? bir brütlükte rant betonuna evrilen, milyarlarca y?l geçtikten sonra belki de en ?anss?z ev sahiplerini üzerinde a??rlamak zorunda b?rak?lan bir edebi-tarihi-mimari hafriyat kamyonunu, beynimizin nizamiye kap?lar?ndan d??ar?da bir yerde dü?ünmemiz pek tabii ki de olanaks?z olurdu say?n Pamuk, sen de hakl?s?n.

Neyse ki, Galip gibi Hey Douglas da do?mu?tu. El mi yaman, Beyo?lu mu yaman demi?ti. Bo?una de?ildi Light in Babylon'un ç???rmalar?, camilerden gelen dinsel sesle, evlerden yükselen -insel kelimesinin önüne c ya da t harfi koymam?n karars?zl???nda insan?n a?z?ndan ç?kan titre?imlerin kar??la?t?r?lmas?. Bo?una de?ildi "Mimaride hiçbir detay bo?una de?ildir, çocuklar." diyen hocam? hat?rlad???m bir yaz gününde ?stanbul'un sosyolojik mimari altyap?s?n? bu tarihi zaman denen kavram? ezel mertebesine ula?abilme iste?inde elinde oynatabilen bir detayla anlatma becerisine sahip olan ve ?TÜ mimarl??? 3. s?n?fta yar?m b?rakan Orhan Pamuk'un bunca çabas?.69 s1 comment downinthevalley113 98

Biraz konu?al?m.
Orhan Pamuk serüvenim yedi y?l önce, do?du?um evin balkonunda ailemin kütüphanesinden çekip ald???m Yeni Hayat ile ba?lad?. Eski bordo kapakl? bir kitapt?, ilk cümlesini bizzat ya?ayaca??m? dü?ünmemi?tim hiç, ya?ad?m.

Daha derinlere inmeden belirtmek istiyorum ki, bu platformu ve buradaki insanlar? seviyorum. Yorumlara, inceleme yaz?lar?na önem veriyorum. Buran?n edebiyat ile dolu olmas?n? istiyorum. Yazarlar? kendi hayatlar?ndan, edebi ki?ilikleri d???nda yapt?klar? yorumlardan ayr? tutman?n zor oldu?unu da biliyorum. Ne kadar zor olsa da -ki ?u durumumda zor görünmüyor bana- yapaca??m bunu. Yazar?n edebi ki?ili?i, kitaplar? ve Kara Kitap d???nda bir ?ey ise okumak istedikleriniz; bunu, bu sat?rlarda bulamayacaks?n?z.

Pamuk’un Kara Kitap yolculu?u 1985 sonbahar?nda ba?l?yor. Masumiyet Müzesi’ni gezenlerin inceleme f?rsat? bulduklar? üzere (ah lütfen ?stanbul’daysan?z gidin, gidin, gidin!); yazar kitaplar?n? el yaz?s? ile defterlere yazmay? tercih ediyor. Sonras?nda zor okunan bu yaz? dizgiye gidiyor ve sayfalan?yor. Pamuk, kitaplar?n? yazarken bu defterleri genellikle Ay/Y?l olarak s?n?fland?r?yor ve kendi deyimiyle ‘dü?ünceleri ilerleyemedi?i, t?kand???’ zamanlarda çizimler de yap?yor. Bu çizimlere Kara Kitap’?n S?rlar? adl? kitap ile ula?abilirsiniz.
Kara Kitap 1990 ?ubat?nda tamamlan?yor.

Columbia Üniversitesi’nde üzerine dersler verilen, büyük yank? uyand?ran, olumlu-olumsuz birçok ele?tiriye konu olmu?, Nobel jürisini en çok etkileyen O. Pamuk eseri olan Kara Kitap nedir, ne yapar, ne dü?ündürür?

Roman, bir aile tasviri ile ba?lar. Pamuk’un kendi aç?klamalar?ndan da takip edilebilece?i üzere en büyük ilham kayna??, içinde büyüdü?ü kalabal?k ailesidir. Zira Melih Amca karakterini kendi day?s?ndan esinlenerek yazm??t?r. Kara Kitap’a sadece bir a?k roman? demek yanl?? olur. Kara Kitap sadece Galip-Rüya-Celal karakterlerini ya da Rüya’n?n terk edi?i üzerine Galip’in aray???n?, Celal’in kö?e yaz?lar?n? konu almaz. Kara Kitap, ?stanbul’u anlat?r, bir kahraman olarak hikayeye davet eder ?ehri. Bunun için ‘James Joyce’un Dublin’e yapt???n?; Orhan Pamuk da ?stanbul için yapm??t?r’ derler.

‘Ni?anta?? dolmu?una yürürken dünyan?n hiçbir belle?e s??mayacak geni? oldu?unu dü?ündü, bir saat sonra Ni?anta??’nda apartmana do?ru yürürken de, insan?n anlam? rastlant?lardan ç?kard???n?..’

Sonlara yakla?t?kça dikkatimi çeken noktalardan biri, roman?n ilk bölümlerinin hikayenin tamam? için anahtar niteli?inde oldu?uydu. ‘Bo?az’?n Sular? Çekildi?i Zaman’, ‘Alaaddin’in Dükkan?’ bölümleri ilk elli sayfa içinde yer al?yor. Siz daha ‘nolduk ?imdi Orhan Pamuk okuyorum de?il mi, hani Nobel falan??’ derken asl?nda önemli kö?e yaz?lar? ba?lam?? oluyor.

Bu bölümler üzerine Rüya ‘on dokuz’ kelimelik terk mektubunu b?rak?r, Galip’in aray??? Celal’in kö?e yaz?lar?, ?stanbul sokaklar?, telefondaki sesler ile ba?lar. Bu aray???n sadece Rüya için olmad???n? k?sa sürede anlars?n?z. Tahsin Yücel, Kara Kitap’? ele?tiren yaz?s?nda ‘Galip’in kar?s?n? arad???, hatta özledi?i söylenirse de ço?u kez kad?nca??zla hiç mi hiç ilgisi bulunmayan ?eylerle u?ra?t???n?’ söyler.

Galip’in aray??? Rüya ile k?s?tlanamaz, ‘kendini aramak’ ise asla son bulmaz. Bunu belki de ?öyle ifade etmi?tir kahraman : ‘So?uk k?? gecelerinde, ‘Sonunda ayakta kalabildim!’ derken kendime, içimin bo?alm?? oldu?unu da bilirdim.’
Galip’in kendi kimlik aray???, her insan?n bir ba?kas? olma çabas?n?n oldu?u, ‘bir ba?kas? olduktan sonra, bir daha bir ba?kas?, bir daha bir daha ba?kas? ola ola, ilk kimli?imizin mutlulu?una dönebilece?imizi sanman?n bo? bir iyimserlik’ oldu?u sona kadar takip eder sizi ve dü?üncelerinizi.
?stanbul’u özletir -e?er bir süredir uzaktaysan?z-.
Dünya Edebiyatlar?na ba?ka bir pencereden bakman?z? sa?lar (bkz. 140sf), hikayelerinizi dü?ündürür, ‘a?ktan çok yaln?zl???n, hikayenin kendisinden çok hikaye anlatman?n üzerinde durdu?unuzu’ hissettirir, berberin iki sorusunun cevaplar?n? arars?n?z en sonunda : ‘Kendiniz olmakta güçlük çekiyor musunuz?’, ‘?nsan?n yaln?zca kendisi olabilmesinin bir yolu var m?d?r?’

Baz? kitaplar bende ‘eve dönmü?lük’ hissi yarat?yor, t?pk? baz? insanlar?n yapt??? gibi, unutmak istedikleri için haf?zalar?nda sayfalar? birbirine kar??an kitaplar gibi. Fakat ‘bir süre sonra aramak bulmaktan daha önemli bir i? olup ç?k?yor’.

Kara Kitap yaz?l?rken, üç eserden fazlaca etkilendi?ini belirtmi? Pamuk : Mant?ku’t-Tayr, Mesnevi ve Hüsn ü A?k. Bu yönüyle Do?u ve Bat? aras?nda köprüler kuruyor yine. Fakat ?u sözü de kaz?mak laz?m zihinlere : ‘Bir elde öztürkçe sözlük, di?er elde gramer kitab?, benim kitaplar?m, hele Kara Kitap, hiç anla??lamaz!’

Update’lerimden birinde o gece hiç uyumad???m?, sadece Kara Kitap ile ilgilendi?imi yazm??t?m. Okumalar?mda beni en çok içine alan k?s?mlar da o gece okudu?um bölümlerdi. ‘Günahlar?n?n vicdan azab?ndan uyku uyuyamayan bir hayalet…’ gibi.
Kitab? belli aral?klarla kapat?p dü?ündü?ümde, kalk?p aynaya bakt?m. ‘Tuhaf olan ?ey, yüzümdeki harfleri okuduktan sonra art?k büsbütün kendim olaca??ma iyimserlikle inanabilmem.’

‘Aynaya Girdi Hikaye’ bölümü, anlat?lmas? zor. Omzumdan hostesin uzatt??? peçete ile fark ettim gözya?lar?m?. Fakat ald?rmad?m, izin verdim onlara.

K?sa hayatlar?m?zda kaç ?ans yakal?yoruz ki böyle bütün geceyi Galip gibi bir karakter ile geçirecek, birlikte okuyacak, birlikte a?layacak, ertesi sabah da yine onunla uyan?p kitaplar? konu?acak…

Sonlarda art?k ?ehzade’nin hikayesini de ö?renmi? oluyorsunuz. Akl?n?zda uzun ve derin bir sessizlik oluyor. Tekrar, tekrar, tekrar okuyorsunuz son cümleyi : ‘Hiçbir ?ey hayat kadar ?a??rt?c? olamaz. Yaz? hariç. Yaz? hariç. Evet, tabii, tek teselli yaz? hariç.’

Bu yorum Kara Kitap’? elime almam için beni cesaretlendiren sevgili Biron Pa?a ve -benim gibi- bütün hastal?kl? zihinlere ithafen yaz?lm??t?r.




favorites made-me-cry read-in-2017 ...more64 s Ümit MutluAuthor 50 books319

Dile kolay, tam sekiz ayda bitirmi?im Kara Kitap'?. Anormal olabilir, ama normal de olabilir. Normal bir kitap da de?il bu zaten.

Evet, baz? kitaplar? aylarla ölçülen sürelerde okuyorum bazen; fakat hakikaten, o kitaplar zihnimde apayr? bir yer ediniyor kendilerine. (Ço?u ki?i için de geçerli bir durum bu bence.) Ve bu kitap da o kitaplar?n kategorisine girince, içimde, içinden ç?k?lamayacak bir durum olu?tu. ?çinde tamamen kaybolup Galip'in, Celâl'in, Rüya'n?n ve ?stanbul'un karl? sokaklar?n?n içinde ben de yitip gittim.

?lk sayfas?na, "Galip bir Rüya görüyor, içinde Celâl de var" diye bir not dü?mü?üm, san?r?m yakla??k be? ay önce falan, henüz 100. sayfa civar?ndayken: Bak?? aç?n?z? bir derece bile de?i?tirseniz bamba?ka bir renk, his ve alg? görece?iniz bu kitaba dair söylenebilecek binlerce do?ru cümleden yaln?zca biri, bu bence. Zaten Galip'in Rüya's?n?n -ve tüm di?er bilindik ve s?radan rüyalar?n- ayn? zamanda bir ayna oldu?unu da dü?ününce, Celâl'in tüm çal??malar?, çat??malar? ve kendisiyle at??malar? büyük anlam kazan?yor:

"Hiçbirimiz kendimiz olamay?z. Herkesin seni bir ba?kas? olarak görebilece?inden hiç ku?kun yok mu senin? Kendin oldu?undan o kadar emin misin sen? Eminsen, kendin oldu?una emin oldu?un o ki?inin kim oldu?undan emin misin?"

Ve bütün mutsuzlar ve yaln?zlar için geçerli olan ?ey de onca kö?e yaz?s?, kitap, polisiye roman, anekdot, efsane vesair içinde, yine kendini gösteriyor:

"[...]bir ba?kas? olmak için yan?p tutu?an bütün mutsuzlar için hikâye anlatmak, kendi s?k?c? gövdeleri ve ruhlar?ndan kurtulabilmeleri için ke?fedilen bir hileydi."

Fakat mesela, ayn? hikâyenin içinde ikinci bir ba?rol, ikinci anlamlar ya da insanlar?n yüzündeki harfler ile kelimelerin içindeki ki?ilikler ortaya ç?k?nca, i? de?i?iyor. Herkes kendi hayat?nda yapayaln?z bir ba?kahramana bürünmü?ken, olas? ikincil ki?ilikler -ya da tamamen gerçek ikincil hayatlar- her ?eyi mahvediyor.

"Beyo?lu'nda bir muhallebiciye oturmu?tum; s?rf kalabal?k içersinde olmak için; ama cumartesi ak?am?n?n o sonsuzluk saatini doldurmaya çal??an benim gibi biriyle göz göze gelirim diye kimseye de bakm?yordum: Benim gibi olanlar, birbirlerini hemen tan?r ve küçümserler çünkü."

Her ne ise. Uzatmadan, saçma sapan laflar? ve gereksiz ç?kar?mlar? bir kenara koyarsam, Türkçede yaz?lm?? en muhte?em ?eylerden birini -fazlas?yla geç de olsa- okumu? olmaktan büyük mutluluk duyuyorum.

?nsan?n edebiyat alg?s?n? de?i?tiren kitaplardan, Kara Kitap.favorites fiction turkish54 s Karen1,810 412

Catching up…

This is a Turkish novelist, originally translated by Guneli Gun, and again translated by Maureen Freely in this particular version. She shares a note at the back of the book, mostly talking about the turbulent times in Turkey – the time in which the author wrote this book. I wanted to start the review this way, with this information, because sometimes books can be lost in translation.

The protagonist, Galip, is a small-time Istabul lawyer, who returns from work to find that his wife, Ruya is gone without any explanation. As he begins to search, he discovers that a couple of days earlier her mysterious older half-brother, Jelal (who is Galip’s first cousin), also vanished.

As it turns out, Jelal is a powerful newspaper columnist who has been involved in political intrigues through encrypted messages in his columns.

Could this have something to do with his disappearance?

But…

What does this have to do with his wife?

Still…

Galip becomes convinced that she is probably hiding out with him in one of his many secret hideouts that Jelal has throughout Istanbul.

So…

He sets out looking for clues. In Jelal’s columns.

And…

Through discussions with people Jelal has known through the years.

As Galip goes deeper, so does the reader, and the story seems to get more and more complex.

And…

That is when the book seems to breakdown and take readers down a rabbit hole.

And…

This reader begins to ask…

What kind of a world are we being introduced to within these pages?

After a while, I wasn’t sure where we were headed, and what kind of mystery I was reading.

All I can say is venture very carefully through these pages.classic compelling complex ...more55 s10 comments Jibran225 677

Read many years ago, this is one of the top three books by Pamuk which I love the most. The other two being My Name Is Red and Snow - obvious choices.

No one makes old and modern Turkey come alive on page Pamuk.

A re-read is on the horizon. nobel turkish47 s Ian "Marvin" Graye897 2,376

CRITIQUE:

An Album, a Gallery, a Museum, an Encylopaedia, or the Book of Life?

For much of Orhan Pamuk's novel, he writes about the neighbourhood and community in which one of his protagonists, Galip, lives.

Galip's grandfather built a multi-storey (multi-story?) apartment building called the City-of-Hearts Apartments.

Initially, the apartments were all occupied by his extended family. Only later were they "colonised by small clothing manufacturers, insurance offices, and gynaecologists who did abortions on the sly." The family shopped not far away at Alaadin's shop in Nisantasi. "The family owned two concerns at the time: the White Pharmacy in Karakoy and a candy shop in Sirkeci that later became a patisserie and then a restaurant."

The family is a collective, much the broader community in which they live.

Pamuk paints a picture of this collective community, which represents Istanbul (and modern Turkey (1)) itself. Each of the objects and places occupies a position in the novel's fictional album, gallery, or museum. Their descriptions, in turn, are assembled in the novel, almost entries in an encyclopaedia, so while the novel isn't particularly big or maximalist, it is encyclopaedic:

"The world was a brand new encyclopaedia, waiting to be read from start to finish..." (128)

"The more he saw, the more he realised that everything he ever dreamed about 'our city' was actually real; this fact alone told him that the world was a book. Entranced by the book of life, he spent ever longer hours wandering around its streets, delighting in the new faces, new signs, and new stories he found before him with every turn of the page..." (165)


The Golden Horn at sunset [Source: https://idsb.tmgrup.com.tr/2019/02/06...]

Lists of Phenomenal Observations

In a way, an encyclopaedia is a list of observations about phenomena or things that have been arranged in alphabetical order. Each entry is a synopsis or sketch of the phenomenon or thing's essence or being. (2)

"The Black Book" is just such an encyclopaedia with respect to the city and inhabitants of Istanbul, as experienced by the two narrators, although it's not set out in alphabetical order.

Here are some of the lists of people, places and things in "The Black Book" that stood out for me. They capture the diversity of life in Istanbul:

The Apartment

"For a long time he listened to the apartment's long-forgotten inner workings: the rattling of the radiators, the silence of the walls, the crackling of the parquet floor, the hissing faucets and waterpipes, the ticking of an unknown clock, and a strange moan wafting in from the air shaft."

"...all these tables, curtains, lamps, ashtrays, chairs, and even that pair of scissors on the radiator had been drained of the meaning and goodwill that had once bound them together."

Alaadin's Shop

"In the distance was Alaadin's shop amid the toys, magazines, balls, yo-yos, coloured bottles, and tanks glimmered a light that was just the same shade as Rüya's complexion, and he could just see it reflected on the white pavement outside."

"After a lifetime telling stories, I wanted to sit back and listen to Alaadin tell me tales about the cologne bottles, revenue stamps, illustrated matchboxes, nylon stockings, postcards, artists' drawings, sexology annuals, hairpins, and prayer books that I had seen in his shop once upon a time, only to have my memories of them vanish without a trace."

The Street Vendor

"At his feet, spread out on a large cloth on an empty stretch of pavement, was a selection of objects that soon had Galip transfixed: two elbow-shaped pipes, assorted records, a pair of black shoes, a broken pair of pliers, a lamp base, a black phone, two bedsprings, a mother-of-pearl cigarette holder, a broken wall clock, a stack of White Russian banknotes, a brass faucet, a figurine of a Roman huntress - the goddess Diana? - an empty picture frame, an old radio, a pair of doorknobs, a sugar bowl."

"...the things he then pulled out of the box did not surprise him either: a melon hat, assorted sultan's turbans, caftans, canes, boots, stained silk shirts, fake beards in various colours and sizes, wigs, pocket watches, glassless glasses, caps, fezzes, silk cummerbunds, daggers, Janissary medals, wristbands, and any number of odds and ends from Erol Bey, owner of the famous Beyoglu shop that supplied costumes and equipment for all domestically produced historic films."

Sounds of the Night

"As you wait, you listen to the familiar sounds of night: a car passing through the neighbourhood, swishing through the puddles at the side of the street and over the cobblestones you know so well; a street door closing, somewhere nearby; the hum of the old refrigerator; dogs barking in the distance; a foghorn wafting in from the sea; the sudden clatter of the pudding shop's metal shutters."

Signs and Whispers

"...whispering about pyramids, minarets, Cyclopes, mysterious compasses, Freemason's symbols, pictures of lizards, Selcuk domes, and White Russian banknotes with special marks on them..."

Memories and Mysteries

"...Beyoglu bandits, poets who lose their memories, magicians, songstresses with double identities, and lovers whose hearts never mend..."

"Seeking out shady deals, strange mysteries, phantoms, people who've been dead for a hundred and twenty years, combing through mosques with broken minarets, ruins, condemned houses, abandoned dervish lodges, consorting with swindlers and heroin dealers, decking yourselves out in gruesome disguises, masks, these glasses..."

Arcades and Neighbourhoods

"...together we explored handsome stone office buildings, old shops, glass-covered arcades, and filthy theatres and wandered all over the Covered Bazaar; we crossed bridges, venturing into dark streets and neighbourhoods no one in Istanbul has ever heard of and other neighbourhoods so poor they have no pavements, stepping through the dust, the mud, the filth."

The Turkish Flaneur

"...he walked back the same way, passing trucks, orange sellers, horse carts, old refrigerators, moving vans, rubbish dumps, and the graffiti-covered walls of the university..."

"...he walked past old wooden houses squeezed in between ramshackle apartment houses with rusting balconies, long-nosed fifties trucks, tires that now served as children's toys, bent electricity posts, pavements that had been torn up and abandoned, cats crawling through rubbish bins, old women in head scarves smoking cigarettes at their windows, travelling yogurt sellers, sewage diggers, and quilt makers."

Courtyards and Playgrounds

"The din of the market, the beeping horns, the shouts and cries coming from the playground of a distant school, the knocking of hammers, the hum of engines, the screeches of sparrows and crows in the courtyard trees, the passing minibuses, the growling motorcycles, the opening and shutting of nearby windows and doors, the rattling of office buildings, houses, trees, and parks, and the ships moving through the sea, entire neighbourhoods, the entire city."

Associations and Names

"So many associations: midnight blue, darkness, beatings, identity cards, the woes of being a citizen, rusting waterpipes, black shoes, starless nights, scowling faces, metaphysical inertia, misfortune, being a Turk, leaking faucets, and, of course, death."

"Tell them we know the names of the queers, priests, bankers, and whores who organised the international conspiracy that sent us reeling into poverty..."

Telling Stories

"That night at the nightclub, I looked around the table at all those whores, waiters, photographers, and cuckolded husbands telling stories, and I wanted to shout out, Oh, you wretched and defeated creatures! You little, lost, forgotten souls! Do not fear. No one is ever himself, no one! Not even the kings, sultans, celebrities, film stars, and happy creatures with whom you long to change places! So walk away from them. Set yourselves free! It's only when they're gone that you'll discover the story they pretend is secret. Kill them all off? Invent your own secrets, solve your own mysteries on your own!"


Apartment buildings on cobbled street in Istanbul [Copyright: Orhan Pamuk]

Self and Other

Pamuk's observations reveal much about Turkish culture and Turkish identity.

However, many other aspects of the novel focus specifically on the Turkish self, especially to the extent that it models itself on foreign or Western cultural influences.

Buenos Aires in Manuel Puig's "Betrayed by Rita Hayworth", Turkish society was increasingly influenced by Western culture, particularly the values and mannerisms communicated by the Hollywood film industry, Cadillacs and detective fiction during and after "the great westernising wave":

"The way we Turks laughed, wiped our noses, walked, looked askance, washed our hands, opened bottles - over time, [we] began to lose our innocence..."

"Their stock of little everyday gestures was 'life's great treasure,' but slowly and inexorably, as if in obedience to a secret and invisible master, they were changing, disappearing, and a whole new set of gestures was taking their place...It's because of those damn films..."

"...They were discarding their old ways - each and every thing they did was an imitation...the way they opened windows, kicked doors, held tea glasses, and put on their coats; these anonymous learned gestures, these new nods, winks, polite coughs, angry fits, and fistfights, the way we rolled our eyes now, the extraordinary things we did with our eyebrows, these new affectations might make us seem tougher or more elegant but they were also robbing us of our rough-hewn childishness."

To the extent that Turks consumed these cultural products, they would assume new, untold identities. Secretly deprived of their true identity, they would become empty mannequins.

Galip's wife, Rüya, is an obsessive fan of American detective novels, has lost her Turkish identity, has paid "no heed to our history and the traditions that bind us to our past," and has abandoned Galip, leaving only a nineteen word farewell letter.

Parted from Rüya, Galip searches for her and his lost identity on the streets and in the apartments of Istanbul.

"That's Cinnamon, That's Hollywood"

Loss of identity is facilitated by the tendency to believe that our "real" identity is incomplete, and that we must supplement it with something or somebody else, we must remake ourselves in somebody else's image, we must become a looka:

"I don't look enough the person I want to resemble. Or, I do look something that person, but I need to try harder..."

This type of identity is completed by imitation, rather than enhanced self-consciousness or self-awareness. We want to imitate and become somebody else, somebody other than ourselves.

Paint It Black

Invariably, in modern times, this other person is Western European or American. The West saw the red door of Turkey and wanted to paint it black ("no colors anymore"). The East was turned into the slave of the West. Turkey had to enter the garden of its memory, and restore its identity:

"[It is the story of] an old and unhappy Istanbullu who falls in love with a hero in a Western novel, eventually convincing himself that he is that hero, and his author too..." (177)

"...You become someone else when you read a story..." (275)

"...What did it mean to read a text if it did not mean entering into the garden of its author's memory?" (321)

"If you want to turn your world upside down, all you have to do is somehow convince yourself you might be someone else." (327)

"To live in an oppressed, defeated country is to be someone else." (390)

In contrast, authenticity is being true to yourself, being true to the person you really are, and refusing to become someone else:

"I must be myself."

"Once upon a time, there lived in our city a Prince who discovered that the most important question in life was whether to be, or not to be, oneself." (416)

" the Prince, I tell stories to become myself." (417)

FOOTNOTES:

(1) In December, 2021, Turkiye's President Recep Tayyip Erdogan issued a communique, tweaking the country's internationally recognised name from "Turkey" to "Turkiye".

(2) Turkish doesn't have a verb to be in the same way that English does. Instead, Turkish uses suffixes to convey states of being. These suffixes can be used with nouns (I am a teacher, Sila is a student) or adjectives (I am sick, Sila is here).

Source: https://turkishteatime.com/turkish-gr...


Galata Tower [Source: A.Savin (WikiCommons) - Own work, FAL, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index...]

SOUNDTRACK:


Ajda Pekkan - "Yakar Geçerim"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xpp_y...

R.E.M. - "Imitation Of Life"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0vqgd...

"That's cinnamon, that's Hollywood"

R.E.M. - "Imitation Of Life" [Live from Austin, TX]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=udn8N...

Özgür Baba - "Dertli Dolap"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cIMKJ...

Erkin Koray - "Cemalim"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U0gjw...

Erkin Koray - "Bir Eylül Ak?am? (A September Evening)" (1962)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jctky...

The Rolling Stones - "Paint It Black" (1966)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EBUFt...

"I see a red door
And I want it painted black
No colors anymore
I want them to turn black"

Mick Jagger described "Paint It Black" as "this kind of Turkish song".

The Rolling Stones - "Paint It Black" (Live in 1965, with Brian Jones on sitar)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2yClt...

Muhlis Berbero?lu - "Bahçalarda Mor Meni"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sFQkv...

Cengiz Özkan - "Bahçalarda Mor Meni"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5aafP...

Müslüm Gürses düet Sezen Aksu - "Sebahat Abla"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e_gNU...

Lyrics

Cafer Nazl?ba?- "Sebahat Abla"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c0LrK...

Cafer Nazl?ba? & Yusufali Önal - "Sev Yeter"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TwPE6...

Cafer Nazl?ba? - "Akl? Yok"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LR5N1...

Neil Young - " a Hurricane"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LDyTc...

pamuk read-2022 ...more49 s2 comments Inderjit Sanghera450 102

A post-modern masterpiece in the vein of the best of Calvino or Borges, ‘The Black Book’ is the novel in which Pamuk was able to force his literary star and create a work of art luminosity blazed forth and heralded a new star of Turkish literature; Kemal had poetry, but Pamuk has something even more important-originality.

The dominant themes in the novel are ones which often recur in Pamuk’s novels; identity, Westernisation and Istanbul, combined with a sense of playfulness and erudition. Let’s start with Istanbul. Few other novelists have imbued the cities in which the stories are set with such importance; in ‘The Black Book’, Pamuk paints Istanbul is a dull, dolorous monochrome, a city of constant snowfalls, of darkness and deceit, a city in which a web of conspiracies and conflagrations. This stands in stark contrast to the bright incandescence with which Istanbul is normally depicted, but is important it establishing the mental state of the narrator, Galip. Galip labours through a series of identity crises throughout the novel; he spends most his time searching for his cousin, the newspaper journalist Celal, who feels may (or may not have) run away with his wife, Rüya. Pamuk references Proust-specifically Marcel’s obsession with Albertine-on several occasions throughout the novel and Galip’s search for Rüya, his fixation with her perceived unfaithfulness and the unreliable depiction of her character all parody Marcel’s search for Albertine following her death. Another source of parody for Pamuk is the genre of detective fiction-as the narrator states

“Galip had once told Rüya that the only detective book he’d ever want to read would be the one in which not even the author knew the murderer’s identity. Instead of decorating the story with clues and red herrings, the author would be forced to come to grips with his characters and his subject, and his characters would have a chance to become people in a book instead of just figments of their author’s imagination.”

Clues constantly serve as red herrings and inconsequential events or people suddenly become vitally important-or not important at all-instead the conventions of detective fiction; the femme fatale and the cuckolded husband are turned on their heads-the reader is unsure as to whether it is Galip searching for Celal or Celal searching for Galip, or how much of the novel is a figment of Galip’s imagination or, more to the point, how aware Galip is that he is just a figment of another’s imagination, the author, who makes a late appearance (or does he?) in the novel. Is it the realisation of this which is at the core of Galip’s struggle with his identity, or is it the gradual coalescene of Galip with Celal, until Galip begins writing Celal’s stories and have conversations with malevolent mad-men as Celal? This uncertainty creates a sense of unreliability throughout the narration, as reality and fantasy merge to become virtually indistinguishable, in fact, given that the whole thing is a work of fiction, is what is real even relevant?

Pamuk further explores post-modern concepts and techniques via Celal’s newspaper articles which are interspersed throughout the novel. At times it feels the articles are long drawn at clues which will allow Galip to find Celal, however this may be more a product of Galip’s warped mindset and self-obsession-the articles themselves are the high-points of the novel. Celal rails against plagiarism, yet many of his articles are plagiarised from other novels-for example, the pastiche of the ‘Grand Inquisitor’ chapter from ‘The Brothers Karamazov’. He is critical of imperialism, yet his articles perpetuate negative Western attitudes to the orient- the narrator Galip, Celal’s articles are unreliable and duplicitous , yet are off-set with a lyrical verve which draws the reader in, as they are gradually ensconced within the wonderful web of deceit and uncertainty which Pamuk weaves across the novel.42 s ???? ??????Author 1 book444

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???? ?? ?????? ??????? ??? ??? ???? ???? ???? ?? ??? ???????! ?? ???? ??? ?????? ??? ?????? ????? ?? ??? ??????? ?????? ??????.41 s Miltos S.119 52

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His wife has left him and he is roaming the streets of his big elusive city trying to decipher the mystery of her departure, to read the answers on the streets and in the faces of the strangers. And he suspects from the start that solving the mystery would not bring him any relief. However, it might just get him closer to understanding who he is.



This novel is a city it is devoted to. It cannot be easily put into a box of any categorisation. It is a love story or maybe more the story of longing for love. It is a search but it is not easy to decide for what. It is comprised of a myriad of illusively connected tales. In this respect, it is clearly inspired by 1001 nights and that delicious tradition of the eastern story telling when the overall thread of a plot is not as relevant as the vibe keeping these stories alive. On the other hand, it treats the city as a metaphor of human thoughts, it is meandering. And this reminded me of Modiano Patrick. What he has done for Paris, Pamuk is doing here for Istanbul. And those who love the city would not regret escaping into its streets through this book.



How is that possible to preserve one’s self? That is the preoccupation of the novel. How to stick to it under pressure of external influences and internal changes? Is it even possible? Is it a good thing? And it is not the question only about a person, it is the question about a city while it tackles the constant change. It is a question of a nation (as much as I hate this word). Is it the only way to be yourself is to shut yourself in the empty palace and burn all the books so no thoughts, that are not yours would influence your inner selfhood? There is a tale about doing just that. Or on the other hand, does one need to totally merge with another personality, replace your own selfhood with someone”s else? And where are those famous boundaries?

“The only way for a person to become herself is to become the other, get lost in the story of this other.”

The shadow of a Sufi poet Farid ud-Din Attar, of the 12th century is always on the background. Famously, he wrote a story about 30 birds that were looking for a magic Simorgh, the god and the king who would solve all their problems. After the long quest, they reached the mountain Qaf where he was supposed to be and the birds learned that they themselves were the Simorgh.

“If Simorgh unveils its face to you, you will find
that all the birds, be they thirty or forty or more,
are but the shadows cast by that unveiling.
What shadow is ever separated from its maker?
Do you see?
The shadow and its maker are one and the same,
so get over surfaces and delve into mysteries”
(quoted based upon the translation by Sholeh Wolpé)

Reflections as shadows and the mirrors that reveal something deeper than the appearances, the symbolism of this poem spills into the novel.



Pamuk has managed to bridge the Western and Eastern storytelling tradition. Moreover, he manages to challenge the existence of this artificial separation. Rumi, Hurufism, Dostoyevsky and Proust share the pages in these stories. And the writing is very special, detached but moving and very lyrical, a poetry in prose by parts.

There is this an anxiety in the novel about something irreversibly disappearing, melting away. I think we all feel it sometimes. It is often being replaced with something new, but it is not how it feels. “It is appeared to be that to see how the world has changed it is sufficient to comprehend that you yourself have become a different person”.



There are places on this globe where I feel this transience more acutely. And Istanbul is the one of them. This novel is drenched in the memories and in nostalgia for something which has not happened yet, but is in the process. It was so sad to find out that they are again converting some museums that used to be churches centuries ago into mosques. It has started another circle of time. Anyway I think I know how these places survive for so many centuries. They keep changing, but stubbornly they keep preserving something that other cities have long lost.




37 s ????? ???????295 634


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3. ???? ????????? ???? ???? ???? ????? "???????" ?? ??????? ?? ?????? ??????? ?????? ??? ??????? ???????? ???? (???? ??? ????)? ????? ???????? ??? ????? ??? ????? ????? "?????? ???????????" ??? ?????? ???????... ????? "?????? ??????" (????? ????? ??? ???? ???? ???????) ???? ??? ???? ??????-?????????? ???? ???? ????? ???????????
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