Istanbul: Memories and the City

The most enchanting aspect of this book lies in its symmetry.

He commences with the assertion that from a tender age, he suspected that in some corner of the streets of Istanbul, there resided another Orhan who resembled him so closely that he could pass for his twin, or even his double. In the final chapter, it turns out that his father apparently led a double life, precisely as he had imagined.

Pamuk masterfully interweaves the story of Istanbul and himself, with the two reflecting each other throughout. The writing style is predominantly visual, which is his trademark. Of course, when it comes to sensitive or personal details, he is cheeky enough to somewhat hide them from the readers, yet without sacrificing the dramatic impact or the reading pleasure.

This intricate prose has taught me about "huzün" - the collective melancholia of Istanbul and its people, once a great civilization that has now been plunged into poverty and defeat. It has also taught me about the radical westernism that desires Turkey to be uprooted from its traditions and history. Reflectively, these two elements are precisely those that play with his own life. Reading his lamentation, I am relieved that I am not in his position.

I picked up this book after reading his later work "Other Colours" which mentioned that this book had disrupted his relationship with his mother. I found the answer in the final chapter, which I find truly impressive and which has led to his current life choices.

Strangely enough, I don't feel the slightest bit encouraged to visit Istanbul.

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Addition:

http://www.ft.com/cms/s/2/703e6e8a...

"I had written most of Istanbul by then. But I kept finding details that I should have put in my book. What I came to realise – what I had learned, through heartbreak, while I was working on the book – was that to write a memoir is not to review all of one’s memories, preserving each in turn, but to forget almost all of them, creating instead a story from those memories that refuse to go away."

My first book by Orhan Pamuk. Even though it was the German translation, one can sense what a literary talent he has. The words about his memoirs in Istanbul are full of metaphors and depth. The insight into his childhood in Istanbul, which at that time was not yet a mega metropolis.

One gets deep insights into his thought world and follows him through his childhood, youth until adulthood. Decorated with photos of him, his family but also of numerous impressions of Istanbul, one travels back in time to another era.

This book offers a unique perspective on Pamuk's life and the city that shaped him. It allows the reader to experience Istanbul through his eyes, to feel the emotions and memories that are intertwined with the city's history and culture.

The use of metaphors and the vivid descriptions make the book a captivating read, drawing the reader in and making them feel as if they are a part of Pamuk's story.

Overall, this is a remarkable book that not only provides an interesting account of the author's life but also offers a profound exploration of the human experience and the power of memory.

Le spleen d'Istanbul


This is a cross-narrative where the portrait of Orhan Pamuk merges with that of Istanbul, the former Ottoman capital. Even in translation, the author's voice remains highly atypical, and his book combines a testimony about Istanbul from the 1950s to the 1980s, a collection of photographs, a family narrative, an urban and national novel.


What struck me the most is the extreme freedom of tone and the attention paid to the origins of this diffuse sadness that Orhan Pamuk associates with the great city.



Lectures croisées :

The Book of Disquiet

Dubliners

Ougarit

Rayuela

Berlin Alexanderplatz



Son :

Decks Dark - Radiohead

In this expanded version, we can further explore the significance of the cross-narrative in "Le spleen d'Istanbul." The merging of Pamuk's portrait with that of Istanbul creates a unique and immersive reading experience. The various elements that make up the book, such as the testimony, photographs, family narrative, and urban and national novel, all contribute to a rich and multi-faceted portrayal of the city. The freedom of tone and the focus on the origins of the diffuse sadness add depth and complexity to the work. The recommended "Lectures croisées" offer additional perspectives and connections, while the mention of the song "Decks Dark" by Radiohead provides a musical backdrop that may enhance the overall atmosphere of the review.

It was supposed that I should write right away when I finished reading the book. However, my last moments with the book were before I dozed off to sleep. Unfortunately, Istanbul was not in my dreams. In fact, it is quite ironic that I read about it while having some hatred for it deep inside me. My last visit to it was not the kind of visit one would remember. Instead, I was glad to leave when I left.

What I read about Istanbul in Pamuk's eyes seemed very different. For a while, I couldn't distinguish between Istanbul in Pamuk's eyes and the one I knew with its annoying crowd, cold weather, dull markets, unremarkable buildings, almost daily outings with the family, and restaurants with similar food (I should mention that my weight had decreased by a few grams). The living room where I shared the bed with my brother for a night, where he took the bed as his sleeping place and threw a thin cover over me with my feet sticking out, so I always tucked my leg in as if it was a new habit I had acquired there. I never had a long and peaceful sleep, as everyone wakes up to carry out the daily routine activities. Isn't traveling supposed to be non-routine in some way? I never liked Istanbul. Over time, I was able to give up the morning outings and stay in the apartment. I don't exactly remember what I used to do. Anyway, there wasn't much to do in a place that was just a room in our house here. And it wasn't big either.

Oh, I remembered. Despite all this, it was annoying that I was assigned the task of washing everyone's clothes. At first, I tried to refuse, but in fact, it was the least amount of work among the tasks. I didn't want to clean the apartment/the small room that the little members of the family could easily turn upside down. Anyway, I accepted that task - it wasn't easy - and imposed some rules on the family members, which mostly led to arguments among everyone: I wouldn't wash the clothes that no one would see (I mean the underwear we wear). You can imagine the shouting and anger that my decision caused, which everyone finally agreed to.

We lived in a neighborhood that didn't attract my attention much. Although when I remember it, I feel regret because I didn't enjoy it. The building we lived in was tilted at an angle, with a long road going down and then up again, ending at some service shops for the neighborhood. I remember exactly that there was a house next to us whose exterior appearance I couldn't make out, but I'm sure that the garden of that house was full of trees. Right in front of us was another house that rose from the ground with some kind of stones. For some reason I don't remember, except for a small girl that we wanted to talk to on our last day there and give her some small gifts.

Pamuk says in one of the chapters of the book: "I tend towards imagination more than real life. So anyone who reads these pages should consider that I tend towards exaggeration. What matters to the painter is not the truth of the thing but its form, what matters to the novelist is not the sequence of events but their arrangement, and what matters to the biographer is not the accuracy of the factual comment but its coherence."

And I can say that what I wrote above belongs to this frank statement of Pamuk. Because almost two years have passed since my visit to Istanbul, and I never have a strong memory that can recall those exact details. I just wrote it because I wanted to remember it in this way and never deviate from the truth.

Now let's return to the book: Orhan Pamuk. From the beginning of the city's story and his own story until the end, I can assert with a very high degree that he is very similar to me! I felt a sense of familiarity as I read between the lines. If it weren't for the difference in gender which naturally leads to some slight differences, but I was 100% sure of that.

Istanbul here is very different. The Ottoman Istanbul that the city turned into in the European way and the life in it after the fall of the Ottoman Empire, Pamuk has shown both with evidences that are not easy to refute. The sadness that weighs on the inhabitants and on the city itself, the acute poverty and getting rid of the burden of loss in World War I and the gradual fall of the caliphate and the immediate entry into Western life under Ataturk and the deep sense of turmoil in the Eastern identity, the decaying Western buildings, and the Bosphorus, the fires and the ships. Pamuk was very, very clever in depicting all this to support the black and white case that he sees Istanbul in.

You may be surprised to know that Orhan Pamuk tended towards painting more than writing in an earlier stage of his youth. That dividing moment between the two stages is the end with which he finished this book, and I think in another book: (Other Colors) he talks about the other colorful stage of his life, the stage that made us now read the books written by: Orhan Pamuk.

A few thoughts of mine, while reading this book:

İstanbul / Κωνσταντινούπολη, yalı / γιαλός, köfte / κεφτές, Karagöz and Hacivat / Καραγκιόζης και Χατζηαβάτης, puşt/ πούστης. These are just some of the interesting words and concepts that I came across while reading this book. The Greek and Turkish languages have many things in common, which is not surprising considering the close historical and cultural ties between the two countries.

Greeks and Turks have more things in common than differences, but it's always the differences that are visible on the surface. This is a common theme in many cultures and societies, and it's something that we should all be aware of. Anyway, Pamuk's Istanbul is a melancholic city, a grey city, a city caught between the west and the east. It's a city that I wish to visit more than ever now thanks to this book, but I don't know if I will dare to go now with all this instability going on.

This book is a biography of the city during a 100-year span from the 1850s - 1970s, and it's also an autobiography of the author from infancy up to the moment he decided to be an author in the early 1970s. The only drawback is that the black/and white images don't have captions, so I didn't know what I was looking at most of the time. I believe the captions were left out intentionally to create a feeling of mystery.

This book contains anecdotes from travellers and authors from the west who visited Istanbul, such as Gautier and Flaubert, as well as painters, native authors, and photographers. Of course, this is Pamuk, so don't expect a linear progress or a certain city's travelogue / travel writing. It's different, and this is why I really liked it!

Due to birth, I am now parting ways with my book that has been with me for quite a long time. It was a very nice reading that took place in our October program on top of the Orhan Pamuk novels we read for a whole year. While telling the formation of the author's spiritual world, his childhood, youth years, and the journey from his dreams of being a painter to writing, I happily read the lines that open onto the streets of Istanbul. It contains many photos by Ara Güler and photos taken by the successful photographers of Istanbul, as well as personal life photos selected from the family album.

I also read with great curiosity the lives, thoughts, and spiritual states of the authors whose books I read. This one has also occupied a special place within them. Orhan Pamuk is a work that readers must read

This is an extremely rich book. It is rich in emotions, sadness, life, and even references. It takes you deep into the streets of Istanbul, the real Istanbul, not the touristy one. It will make you fall in love with the Bosphorus and feel the great attachment of the people of Istanbul to it, as if it is the main pillar or their very own existence. I truly understood the "dependence" feeling that the author was talking about, similar to what Egyptians feel about the Nile.

I really liked the "honesty" of the writer. The way he exposes everything he witnessed in his society and himself without trying to "beautify" anything. Many people talk about the "identity crisis" that Turks must have. Are they Westerners, or Easterners, or simply Turkish? This confusion can be felt in the city, the buildings, and the sadness. And it's not just an identity crisis; it's a kind of "longing for the best while feeling nostalgic about the past." I don't know; I don't think I can express it better than the author himself, who took over 400 pages to try to describe this very special "thing" about his city and then beautifully reflect it on himself.

Each of the chapters gave me something to think about. A part of the story, before it all comes together at the end to lead to a certain ending. So let me tell you what I picked up along the way as the story goes.

I loved the chapter "Black and White." It's so poetic and full of nostalgia. I love it when the city imprints a certain vision in your mind, especially one that is so dramatic. The author dedicated two chapters to talk about the Bosphorus. They are fantastic! With all the paintings about the city that Pamuk describes. It's great. I'm trying to keep track of all of the paintings and painters he mentioned. I'll try hard.

The tenth chapter "Sadness" is like he's describing the state of my city, "Cairo." I think all cities with ancient glory that faded away have the same state. The 19th chapter, "Conquest or decline? The Turkification of Constantinople," is a very interesting chapter and reminds me of the old saying that history is always biased. If you say "conquest," it means you're pro-Ottoman, but if you say "decline," then you're pro-Greek/Western civilization. There is no "objective term" to describe such a major historic event.

The 20th chapter, "Religion," was very funny to see the author's version of "God" :D And it was very interesting to see how religion falls in the hierarchy of priorities in republican Turkey. It's very interesting for me in particular as a Muslim in a Muslim society to see what other courses other societies chose. And last but not least, the 21st chapter, "The rich." And as much as this chapter was funny in some parts, it was also painful in other parts. To see all these once part of powerful ruling families in an empire that dominated almost half the globe, now poor, fighting each other, and struggling just to survive. They are the perfect incarnation of the real fall of the Ottoman Empire.

Another chapter that touched me deeply was the 25th, where he talks about the "western" view of the city. This is another common thing with my city, in a way. We too care about how others see us. I find it so sad! But what struck me the most was his talk about the poor neighborhoods in Istanbul (chapter 27). And how those who don't live in it see them beautiful despite all the poverty. I don't know why, but misery and filthy buildings can be appealing to those who don't actually live in such places.

Then, came "First Love," which is a heart-breaking chapter. You can feel the author's sadness as he writes about it even now. It's the only chapter that has no photographers of Istanbul and almost no photos at all except for one painting that is essential for this chapter.

The last chapter was kind of a psychological epic! The struggle of the writer with himself and the social ordinary views, or even clichés (embodied in the mother, the broken mother), the views about life, future, love, even career. Views that are the result of the "melancholia" and tough life of the people, or should I say, of Istanbul itself. And the simplicity of the decision the author took, in one sentence, that was in fact not simple at all, but the result of a really hard struggle.

By the end of the book, things start to fall into their places. All events of the life of the young Orhan (the book ends at the time Orhan was 19 years old) and his memories; the stories of Istanbul and its streets that in time the reader starts to feel so familiar with it and feels like he is living in this place; the first love, the first heart-break; all of this, at last, starts to come together into one last epic chapter that leads to the end. Or should I say, the beginning?

As I said, it's a very "rich" book. It's not just a man talking about his memories. It's a life story beautifully entangled with the story of a city. And cities can tell the most beautiful stories.

Orhan Pamuk, Turkey's most renowned novelist, offers us an intimate perspective on his childhood and Istanbul during the 1950s, 60s, and 70s. Pamuk spares no detail when it comes to either subject. This in-depth book is sensibly divided into short chapters and interspersed with numerous old black and white photographs. It's evident that, in addition to his own memories and knowledge, extensive research has gone into constructing the detailed history.

It's a somewhat eclectic collection of topics, meandering along but largely in chronological order. Pamuk clearly has a deep affection for his birth city, yet he doesn't shy away from sharing the aspects that show Istanbul in decline. From burning mansions on the Bosphorus to the old cobblestone alleys with neglected buildings, he describes them in vivid detail, accompanied by photographs of almost every aspect he writes about.

His family and family history are laid bare for all to see, and no intimate details are withheld. He shares his childhood thoughts and beliefs, his father's affair and its impact on his mother, and his first love. While the majority of this memoir is melancholy and focuses on the troubles in his life, there are also some truly funny parts. Politics, religion, modernization, Westernization, and ethnic immigrants arriving in Istanbul are all open topics.

Interwoven throughout this history are artists and literary figures, both from Turkey and those who visited, and their thoughts and opinions are explored. Although we know Pamuk as a writer, his first foray into the arts was painting, which he continued throughout the novel. I didn't really connect with the artists or literary figures (especially the Turkish ones!), but one great aspect of this book is the short chapters - no topic is dwelled on for too long (although some are revisited).

The publication of this book in 2005 coincided with my visit to Istanbul. For me, it still had that old-world charm, with history in the cobbled streets, the buildings, and the Bosphorus. I enjoyed the background information this book provided, combined with the childhood memories shared by Pamuk. I haven't read any of the author's fiction, but I own one and will read it in due course! Overall, I give this book 4 stars.