The Turkish poet Nazim Hikmet (1902-1963) frankly was completely unknown to me. The reason is obvious: for years he was silenced in his own country; hThe Turkish poet Nazim Hikmet (1902-1963) frankly was completely unknown to me. The reason is obvious: for years he was silenced in his own country; he was in prison because of his communist sympathies, and after his release he lived and worked in the Soviet Union. "Human landscapes" is his most important work: it’s kind of a patchwork with material that he wrote in prison in the 1940s, but a selection of it was only published in 1967, giving it an unfinished impression.
In fact, the title says perfectly what this book stands for: human landscapes. Hikmet jumps from one figure to the next, resulting in a kaleidoscope of characters, human stories, conversations and musings. The first chapters are mainly about people in a station buffet, on the trains themselves and even in the farms where the trains pass. After a while the storyline focuses on a group of political prisoners, with the poet Halil as a bridge figure; I suspect that this Halil has strong autobiographical features.
In the conversations the recent Turkish past is regularly evoked: the fall of the sultanate, the first world war and the establishment of the (Kemalistic) republic. And since the book is clearly situated in the period 1941-1942, there are also quite a few discussions about Hitler, about the German advance in the Soviet Union and about which side Turkey should take. Hikmet regularly provides a downright Marxist analysis of events through the figure of Halil. But to be clear: this is not a political book. Hikmet sketches the big and small things of life, with a lot of attention for the tragedy of human existence, which is reinforced by the corruption and the opportunism of both big and small people. Many passages are endearing, some purely poetic-sweet, others downright epic-dramatic.
In short, this very long work of poetry is mainly characterized by its variation: in figures, perspectives, themes. So much so that you sometimes lose your way, because Hikmet requires quite a bit of prior knowledge of the Turkish past and the local geography. And for a non-Turkish reader that sometimes makes this book difficult to understand and appreciate. But the style is very refreshingly modernist: Hikmet introduced the free verse form that was so typical of early 20th-century Western European poetry. I have no doubt that the translators have definitely done their best to convey the poetic expressiveness of the original, but in Turkish itself this work certainly cannot but make even more of an impression. (2.5 stars)...more
We follow a certain Ahmed Zebercet who runs a hotel in western Turkey on behalf of an uncle. Atilgan describes in a very dry style the almost mechanical actions that Zebercet performs: registering guests, showing the rooms, receiving money, following up everything neatly, etc. Quite normal, it seems, although he does observe the behavior of his guests very meticulously, and his sexual fantasies (including rape of women in their sleep) certainly should warn the reader of ominous things to come. Zebercet is particularly intrigued by a woman who "came from Ankara on the slow train", stayed at the hotel for several days and then left without actually checking out. That woman becomes a real obsession and gradually "malfunctions" begin to appear in Zebercet's daily routine. As said, it's derailing, although I won't reveal the punch line.
Stilistically, the bulk of this novel is quite conventional, with an omniscient narrator chronologically describing what Zebercet does and what goes on inside his mind. Only at the beginning and at the end does Atilgan try some stylistic experiments with little punctuation and muddled sentences, not quite successful, I think. In terms of content, however, he fits in well with Camus and what his colleague Atay were aiming at. For some critics the title of the book is a reference to the straitjacket that Turkey imposed on itself in the 1970s (and before): with an artificial nationalism, a compulsive obsession with the secular nature of the Kemalist republic, and a good dash of paternalism. Such a straitjacket leaves no room for individuality and inevitably leads to alienation, is the message that Atilgan seems to give us. In my opinion this certainly is an interesting read, but it didn't completely captivate me, I'm afraid. ...more
The setting of this novel is beautiful: Kars, a city in a remote corner of Turkey, with a glorious past but now rather marginal and gloomy, gets separThe setting of this novel is beautiful: Kars, a city in a remote corner of Turkey, with a glorious past but now rather marginal and gloomy, gets separated from the world by a snow blizzard and becomes the stage of some dramatic events during a couple of days. It reminded me of the city of Oran in Albert Camus' La Peste, and through the snow-parallel also of the Davos of Thomas Mann's Magic Mountain. Add to this that in Kars we see a famous Turkish poet wandering round, rather spineless undergoing events, and not coincidentally called Ka, making the parallel with Das Schloss by Franz Kafka very clear.
There's some action in this work (a military coup even, with lots of casualties), but it is primarily a "talking"-novel. Pamuk zooms in on the almost endless Turkish discussions on the own identity (European or not?) and on the place of religion in society (Kemalism versus the rising Islamism). That requires some knowledge of Turkish affairs, certainly, but it is brought very interestingly, especially in the light of the islamophobia in the West after Nine-Eleven. The novel jumps from one discussion to another, each with varying participants, which requires some stamina of the reader, but it pays off. Admiringly Pamuk offers no simplicities, no caricatures, neither from the one nor from the other side. On the contrary, both atheists and islamists regularly express doubts about what they belief or stand for, both struggling with existential loneliness. The common thread throughout these disputations is the ambiguous attitude all protagonists have towards Europe, or the West: both attraction and repulsion; needless to say that the characters in this novel have lots of inferiority complexes, and thus this is very instructive.
With "Snow" Pamuk not only brings a very political novel, there is also a clear postmodernist side to it, with a reflection on what writing is and what meaning art can bring in the real world. After all, we see how Ka in Kars after years of creative drought suddenly pulls 19 poems from his sleeve. That way he can give everything he experiences its place. Moreover, there is the story of Ka himself, his wanderings between Kemalists and Islamists, his relationship with the stunning Ipek and the related hope and suffering. Pretty soon in the novel we get to know that this story is told by a friend of Ka, a fellow writer, but only at the end we become aware that this presumed objective narrator has filled in a large number of elements himself, especially about the inner life of Ka; this explains why the character of Ka makes such a volatile impression and regularly slides from one opinion to another.
So it really is clever how Pamuk succeeds in bringing all these layers together. Yet I am not totally overwhelmed: the verbosity of the novel sometimes is too high, some scenes are absurdly theatrical, the endless wanderings of Ka push the patience of the reader really to the limit and some elements have been worked out downright weak, such as Ka's puppy love for Ipek, the character of Ipek herself, just like the other female figures. Overall, this is definitely a great novel, but with some weak spots. I enjoyed reading this. (3.5 stars)...more
Pamuk has done his best to bring the reader into confusion. This book is composed of 59 relatively short monologues by different characters related toPamuk has done his best to bring the reader into confusion. This book is composed of 59 relatively short monologues by different characters related to one another, but also from non-human characters (a coin, a tree, a dog and the book even opens with a corpse talking, yes!). Think Faulkner, but driven one step further. It takes a while before you can distinguish the storylines.
The place of action is Istanbul, late 16th century, the Ottoman empire at its height. The main storyline is the discussion and (deadly) fight between miniaturists at the court of the sultan about wether the eastern or western style should be followed when airing manuscripts. The oriental style stands for the idealistic representation of the classic stories (from a divine perspective; and mastery expresses itself in perfect imitation), the occidental stands for naturalism with recognizable faces (the individuals perspective; mastery lies in a very own special style). It's a discussion on the cutting edge, because murders happen, what makes the book seem a bit like "the name of the Rose" by Umberto Eco (with its references to Borges). The second storyline revolves around the graceful Sjekure which is coveted by several men after her husband has been missing for four years.
The short pieces, each with varying perspective give the book momentum and you regularly make new discoveries; and the many oriental tales give the work an entertaining, exotic flavor. And, of course, the fundamental debate (realism versus idealism in art) is extremely fascinating. But while reading I more and more got the impression that Pamuk was talking about something else than just a debate amongst artistic schools. The opposition Muslim-Western art is far too simplistic, because in Islamic art too there were more realistic movements, while idealism regularly resurfaces in western art. Pamuk seems to join the Orientalism representation ( "East is East and West is West, and never the twain Shall Meet"), which is a completely outdated vision. Maybe he just wanted to expose fundamentalism (in this book represented by the godfearing illuminators), but then he did not do a convincing job. Moreover, the storyline around Sjekure really disappointed me: her character is very one-dimensional (like the other female figure Esther), so much so that I have serious questions about the female image of Pamuk.
All in all, an entertaining and sometimes fascinating read, but I had expected more. (2.5 stars)...more
This was a real disappointment. Turkey's most famous female writer of the moment has delivered a book here that hardly transcends the romantic pulp fiThis was a real disappointment. Turkey's most famous female writer of the moment has delivered a book here that hardly transcends the romantic pulp fiction-level. Especially the story about the American woman who discovers that her life is stalled and finds a new, exotic love, is woefully weak. The other story, about 13th century soeffi-scholars in Anatolia (Western Turkey) is a bit more interesting, but that also does not really convince; even youth novels today are better written. Fortunately, The other work of Shafak attains a higher level. (Rating 1.5 stars)...more
This is the third book I read by the bestselling Turkish writer Elif Shafak; the previous two, (The Flea Palace and even more The Forty Rules of Love)This is the third book I read by the bestselling Turkish writer Elif Shafak; the previous two, (The Flea Palace and even more The Forty Rules of Love) disappointed me. After the opening chapter of this book, 'The Bastard of Istanbul', I thought I had finally caught a good piece of writing: the way Shafak sets down the 19 year old, quirky Zeliha is very strong and the sketch of her Turkish family environment just hilarious. But after that the book jumps a few times forward in time, and above all there starts an endless stream of characters and meandering stories, making you dizzy. The ironic tone almost always prevails, but suddenly a heavy discussion on the Armenian genocide-issue emerges, we get a lesson on the danger of tattoes and are offered a few recipes of Turkish and Armenian dishes. Then a magic, evil Djinn appears on stage to explain some dramatic twists, and sometimes you think you've landed in a kind of Bollywood soap scene. It is that change in tone that bothers me a lot.
Mind you, Shafak is very strong in the action scenes and even the discussion on how differently Armenians and Turks deal with their past (the first cultivating it, others denying or ignoring it) is quite interesting (on this focus, see my review in my Sense-of-History account on Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ: /review/show...). But the different tones of the scenes often curse with each other. The end of the story (which I can not reveal here without spoiling the story) is problematic, because only now it appears that behind the strong opening scene lies a very traumatic experience, that just appears out of the blue, without building up to it. I rate this book slightly higher than the previous ones by Shafak, but I'm sure I'm not going become a lover of her work....more
The French writer Georges Perec in his La Vie mode d'emploi once described all the inhabitants of a building in Paris. Elif Shafak does the same, but The French writer Georges Perec in his La Vie mode d'emploi once described all the inhabitants of a building in Paris. Elif Shafak does the same, but in a much more superficial way (without the ingenious-mathophobia of Perec) and located in Istanbul. Some pieces are pretty funny (the barbershop scenes for instance), and the relations between the inhabitants are intriguing, but I had the impression to read a kind of film scenario with no real storyline. The relatively theoretical introduction by the supposed author (about the relationship between truth, deception and nonsense), and its more or less surprising sequel at the end, reinforced my feeling of unsatisfaction. What remains is an impression of the bustling life in an Istanbul apartment block, nothing more, nothing less. (rating 2.5 stars)
There was a rather intriguing addendum by Shafak, "Dreaming in English" in which she defends herself against the criticism that from now on she writes her novels in English, not in Turkish. I didn't know she did. She argues that having almost always lived outside of Turkey, she's attracted by 'the flexibility of English anatomy and the versatility and openness of its vocabulary'; but she sees her seperateness from Turkey also as a strength: the distance allows her to write more freely about Turkey and to explore more deeply what it means to be Turkish. I have my doubts about this point of view, but perhaps I ought to explore the literature of other famous exiles. Shafak ends with stating that the real homeland of novelists and poets is none other than 'Storyland', and that really is a bit too simplistic to my taste....more
A man is emotionally devastated by the suicide of his best friend. It's the starting point for a quest to retrieve the motives of this friend. ThroughA man is emotionally devastated by the suicide of his best friend. It's the starting point for a quest to retrieve the motives of this friend. Through the book we are confronted with the world of men "without grip", men that don't succeed in coping with life. If we're honest, it's a struggle we all have to engage in. Above everything this book is an experiment in writing in a modernist way; Atay rightfully is known as the Turkish Joyce. Especially the 60 pages long monologue by the girl friend of the dead person is a fabulous piece of art. This book deserves a better place in world literature. I've read this in the Dutch translation, I hope the English one is at least as good....more
A nice discovery! This a family novel in which Erendiz Atasü, a prominent Turkish female writer (°1947), describes the Turkish history, from the beginA nice discovery! This a family novel in which Erendiz Atasü, a prominent Turkish female writer (°1947), describes the Turkish history, from the beginning of the twentieth century until the 1990s. Vicdan is the central figure; she's struggling to become a modern Turkish wife with a strong belief in kemalist virtues (the Turkish version of Western modernism); but she's also wrestling with her identity as a woman, a wife and a mother, and with life itself. It's a very rich story, with a very ingenious structure: there are 10 perspectives and a very Virginia Woolf-kind of style and sensibility. Sometimes there are difficult metaphilosophical passages, and regularly there are poetical passages that are a bit over the top. But all in all, recommended reading! In general, I have discovered that Turkish literature has a lot more to offer than one should expect (based on a lack of knowledge, of course!)....more
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