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90 of 97 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
Truly Enchanting!, 28 May 2005
Ekren Koçu devoked most of his life, between the 50's and the 70's, to compiling an encyclopedia of Istanbul. For Orphan Pamuk, Koçcu failed in this life-long task because it was impossible "to explain Istanbul using western 'Scientific' methods of classification. He failed in part because Istanbul is so unmanageably varied, so anarchic, so very much stranger than western Cities: its disorder resists clasification". Intrigued? Then this is a book for you.This book is very a personal reflection on the author's notion of Istanbul - as much an idea or concept as much as a place - developed during his childhood and adolescence from the 50's through to the 70's. We start with the author's first memories: the tall house entirely occupied by one (fascinating) extended family; his father and brother, inheritors of his grandfather's fortune, determined to fritter it away in one business disaster of the next; his long suffering mother; his father possessed of an almost fatal attraction for other women; and his grand mother, the true matriarchal anchor of the family. We end, in the 70's, with a row between Orphan and his mother and the book concludes with Orphan's declaration that he is going to be a writer. And in between we are treated to a wonderful exercise in writing and remembrance. We begin to understand Istanbul as Orphan did himself. An important feature of his childhood were the black and white films that he was taken to as a young child. As an adult Orphan sees Istanbul, exclusively, in black and white. And the text is accompanied by a whole series of atmospherics black and white photographs. As the text unfolds we begin to understand that this is a great time of change for the turks, when political leaders looked to the west for progress, but where - for most people - notions of east and west was pretty meaningless. Istanbul was Istanbul, a world within itself, indeed, we learn that the author has never lived anywhere else and has never felt the desire to do so. As the story progresses the story of his life is interspersed with chapters that talk about history and tradition. We learn about great Turkish thinkers, writers, poets and philosophers. We see Istanbul through the eyes of successive generations of western visitors, Flaubert and Ruskin amongst them. And we learn of a new nation beginning to build a new identity in the wake of the collapse of the Ottoman empire. This is a fascinating story rendered even more impressive by the wonderful style of the writer. We live with him through family disasters, through his teenage love of painting (only Istanbul of course) and through the trauma of his first love, a story which superbly illustrates the real limits of life that faced talented - or wealthy - Istanbulus in the post war years. Pamuk's Istanbul is a fascinating place and this book is a fascinating book, not least becasue he avoids so many of the western clichés which seem to have defined how even Turks think and write about their home. What we do appreciate here is the uniqueness of Istanbul. For Parmuk the most defining notion of Istanbul is, Hüzün, a kind of turkish melancholia, but a melancholia that is distinctive to this place, a collective condition rather than the individualstic notion of, say, French tristesse. Hüzün dominates this book but not in a sad or overpowering way. It just makes Istanbul seem very different and a very individual place. This is great reading and - as I said above - very stylish writing. In many ways it reminded me of W.G.Sebald although I can't quite understand why, although it is clearly as honest and individual as his best work. This book is one hell of a treat; indulge yourself!
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