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576 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 2013
In every street through which they passed, people moved aside in fright and delight. Women drew their babies close; mendicants hid their begging bowls; old men grabbed their canes as though in defence. Christians made the cross; Muslims recited surahs to chase Sheitan away; Jews prayed benedictions; Europeans looked half amused, half awed. A big brawny Kazakh went pale, as though he had just seen a spectre. There was something so infantile in the man鈥檚 fright that Jahan could not help but chuckle. Children, only they, stared up with sparkling eyes, pointing at the white beast.
Grief was an indulgence only a few could afford. Death had to stop harassing the living for the dead to be properly mourned. When the plague was gone, only then would kin and kith beat their breasts and shed their tears to their heart's content. For now grief was pickled and preserved, kept next to the salted meats and dried peppers in the cellars, to be partaken of in better times.On another occasion Jahan and another apprentice are sent to Rome by their Master to study the architecture there and communicate with Michelangelo. Jahan must take Chota to war, works on some of the great Ottoman Mosques, and becomes familiar with the royal princess, , to name but a few of the events of his long life.
The Muslims wore turbans; Jews had red hats; and Christians, black hats. Arabs, Kurds, Nestorians, Circassians, Kazakhs, Tatars, Albanians, Bulgarians, Greeks, Abkhazs, Pomaks... They walked separate paths while their shadows met and mingled.She infuses the story with gorgeous imagery, well developed characters, and elegant prose. Each character had their own unique voice and outlook that flowed naturally from their circumstances and background; every character felt real and alive. It was fascinating to see how characters changed over the course of the story and how their past actions changed when viewed from the perspectives gained at the end of the book.
When you do things from your soul, you feel a river moving in you, a joy -RumiThis subtle narrative sensibility transforms events into gestures behind my eyes like a dance. Poetry is a retreat for me, a consolation, and so I found this book, reassuringly long, consoling, passing-sweet like the cherry blossoms that opened and fell around London while I was reading it. The retreat to the past, to love and life as a poem, a series of word-gestures coalescing into a dance, soothed me, and gave me an image of Istanbul to hold through the turbulent present.
Pray for the soul of one whose name was not discoveredWhile most of the central characters are men, the plot still revolves around women in some ways, and there are some excellent female characters, whose lives reflect local partriarchy and their own suppressed brilliance. For them, I round up my stars.
Loved by the Almighty, He hath known her always.