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Orhan Pamuk

The Turkish novelist whose won a Nobel prize for Literature a few years back, Orhan Pamuk. I’m quite in love with the man, you would be too if you manage to finish reading any of his books, even one is enough to get the man to work his magic. He is that, a magician! With words he spins them and pours them out as if water out of a spring, he’s a natural.

His stories are stories enmeshed with reality, you can’t really grasp as to when one ends and the other begins, and anyways what is the difference between the two. Who is this I that we keep referring to when talking about what’s going on inside of us and how is that I is different from you or them or him or her? Pamuk explores “identity” what is it to be human, to be a man in a Turkish society, what it is to be a citizen of a country that is marginalized in Europe that has a history as ancient as the world itself. What do you become when the burden of the past is there to meet you at every corner, because every single building, every street, every nook and corner, and every place has been there for centuries and has hundreds of stories entwined in it.

white+castle

In his novel “The White Castle” Pamuk weaves a story (tragic) of a erudite young nobleman sold into slavery in the bazaars of Istanbul. He is bought by a well known man who is thirsty for knowledge and a strange relationship develops between the two where the boundaries of who is the master and who is the slave are blurred completely and makes us question our own sense of self. How much control do we exert over our own thoughts and actions and how much is the result of what others do to us? Do we stay the same over the years and how people, places, experiences change us?

istanbul

In his book “Istanbul” (memoir) he talks about his beloved city, Istanbul, which at once mesmerizes him and repulses him. It is a place that has a special smell, a vague mist that hangs over it and the snow which covers it. Its coffee shops its people it’s tragic ambiance all tell of an era gone by, of glories rubbed out in the sands of time. Pamuk searches nostalgically for the past days, for the houses by the Bosphorus, for the trams and the walks, for Turkish food and nosey relatives. His boyhood, he yearns for a turkey that was and in a way still is but changed irrevocably with time. His love for his city is a primal bond, he is nothing if he isn’t in Istanbul, the city defines him and he defines the city.

black+book

In his novel “The Black Book” he writes of a man searching for his beloved wife who has run away with her ex-husband also her half brother. Again we see the protagonist assuming the identity of his opponent, who is he searching for? Himself in some other guise? The book is fluid, melancholy and speaks to the heart that is only if you have one in your bosom.

In his novel “The Black Book” he writes of a man searching for his beloved wife who has run away with her ex-husband also her half brother. Again we see the protagonist assuming the identity of his opponent, who is he searching for? Himself in some other guise? The book is fluid, melancholy and speaks to the heart that is only if you have one in your bosom.

I want to live in the translucent world of Pamuks book where there are no harsh lights, where things are all mixed up and nothing ever is clear. Feelings are muddled and the line between hate and love is demure, where running away and staying means almost the same thing and where death does not always mean the end of things. In his books dogs tell stories but very believable ones, the harlots tell of themselves and people are artistic. There is bravery and courage and there is remembrance of things past and a faint gleam almost non-existent of future. In Pamuk, we find characters who truly love and characters who don’t, we find betrayal and perusal, we find childhood and youth and we find age setting in.

Will you understand him, NO, will you enjoy him, YES.

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