The Black Book

Plotless in Istanbul,---but Intriguing Nonetheless

Nobody could accurately label THE BLACK BOOK as a traditional thriller, yet it is filled with thrilling writing that captivates the reader. In this story, an Istanbul lawyer's wife mysteriously disappears, and a related columnist vanishes as well. The lawyer then embarks on a search for them. That's the basic premise, but it's the process of the search and the lawyer's deep thinking that truly make the story engaging. Pamuk's writing style masterfully blends the elegance of Proust with the intellectual complexity of Borges. If you find this combination of styles intriguing, then this book is definitely worth reading. Pamuk manages to artfully combine the intimate details of life in the modern city of Istanbul with fascinating tales of Sufi masters, long ago executioners, Ottoman pashas, and underground fantasies. Alongside this, there is a great deal of soul-searching on the nature of human identity. "I want to be somebody else, therefore I am" is his recurring theme, building on the ideas explored in his previous work, "The White Castle". The book delves into dreams, intertwining identities, the connection between writing and life, and even cryptograms. It's all truly fascinating stuff. Although at times the book may seem to lag, it always manages to pick up again with another strange and unexpected twist. There is no doubt that Pamuk is one of the most interesting and talented writers working today.

Catching up…

This is a Turkish novelist, originally translated by Guneli Gun, and again translated by Maureen Freely in this particular version. She shares a note at the back of the book, mostly talking about the turbulent times in Turkey – the time in which the author wrote this book. I wanted to start the review this way, with this information, because sometimes books can be lost in translation.

The protagonist, Galip, is a small-time Istanbul lawyer. He returns from work one day to find that his wife, Ruya, is gone without any explanation. As he begins to search, he discovers that a couple of days earlier her mysterious older half-brother, Jelal (who is also Galip’s first cousin), also vanished.

It turns out that Jelal is a powerful newspaper columnist who has been involved in political intrigues through encrypted messages in his columns. Could this have something to do with his disappearance? But what does this have to do with his wife? Galip becomes convinced that she is probably hiding out with him in one of his many secret hideouts that Jelal has throughout Istanbul. So, he sets out looking for clues, both in Jelal’s columns and through discussions with people Jelal has known through the years.

As Galip goes deeper, so does the reader, and the story seems to get more and more complex. And that is when the book seems to break down and take readers down a rabbit hole. This reader begins to ask: What kind of a world are we being introduced to within these pages? After a while, I wasn’t sure where we were headed, and what kind of mystery I was reading. All I can say is venture very carefully through these pages.

The story weaves a web of mystery and intrigue that keeps the reader on the edge of their seat. However, at times, it can be a bit overwhelming and confusing. The characters are complex and multi-dimensional, but it can be difficult to keep track of all the relationships and plot twists. Despite these flaws, the book does offer a unique perspective on Turkish society and politics during a tumultuous time. It makes the reader think about the role of the media, the power of secrets, and the lengths people will go to in order to protect themselves and those they love. Overall, it is an interesting read, but not without its challenges.

Istanbul, with its landmarks, history, and people, is a land of countless stories.

The idea of the novel is beautiful. It's about the search and the attainment of knowledge regarding different meanings and dimensions.

Ghalib finds a letter from his wife informing him of her departure from home.

He begins to search for her and for her brother, Jalal, the famous journalist and writer.

The chapters in the novel alternate between Ghalib's memories and movements, and Jalal's daily columns.

There is a deep and masterful portrayal of the characters and events in Istanbul, both past and present.

During the search, Ghalib gets to know himself and discovers the secrets of the people and the city.

The narrative is diverse, with its themes and details being charming and varied.

The book, in essence, chronicles the protagonist's pursuit of his wife and later, his cousin. There is a somewhat nebulous plot that bears a resemblance to a detective novel, yet this is hardly the core of the novel. The true essence of the novel lies in Turkey. As Galip searches for Ruya, he traverses Istanbul, meeting various individuals whom he believes might assist him in finding her. Through this process, the novel transforms into an exploration of identity, both individual and national.

On one hand, Pamuk ponders the Turkish conundrum of being caught between Asia and Europe, of how to be modern and secular without simply becoming a poor imitation of the West. On the other hand, he delves into what it means to be oneself, delving into Ottoman culture and Sufi beliefs to contemplate this question.

It's important to note that I haven't claimed that Pamuk provides answers to these questions or offers any solutions. The novel often seems to approach an answer only to have it snatched away from the readers. In the Afterword to this edition, the translator, Maureen Freely, states that the poet Murat Nemet-Nejat has described Turkish as a language that can evoke a thought unfolding. This seems to encapsulate Pamuk's approach as well: the novel is, or becomes, an exploration of Galip's (and Pamuk's) evolving thoughts towards an ever-elusive conclusion, artificially brought to an end by the conclusion of the book.

Another aspect of the novel that captivated and impressed me was its references to Turkish history and literature. Pamuk discusses this in an interview with the Paris Review. He reveals that after going to the US in 1985 and feeling intimidated by the prominence and richness of American culture, he decided to return to his roots. He realized that his generation had to create a modern national literature. He had to distinguish between the religious and literary connotations of Islamic literature to appropriate its wealth of games, gimmicks, and parables. Turkey had a sophisticated tradition of ornamental literature, and he decided to use the allegories from various oral storytelling traditions and set them in contemporary Istanbul. He added a detective plot, and thus, The Black Book was born. It is this state of in-betweeness, of drawing from the richness of Turkish culture while not being overly beholden to tradition and yet not betraying it, all while trying to interpret it in a way that speaks authentically to the contemporary state immersed in an Anglo-Saxon/American culture/technology, that I find most fascinating about this work.

*Available from KOBOBOOKS

Remember those Magic Eye pictures that were so popular back in the 90’s?

If you stared at what seemed like random dots or patterns in just the right way, by forcing your eyes apart from their usual angled focus, a hidden 3-D image would suddenly materialize.

Some of them were really quite cool.

However, if you were like me, it took a considerable amount of time to get it right.

I remember moving the picture back and forth, commanding my eyes not to cross as it got closer to my nose and attempting to maintain that same angle as I moved it back out.

Finally, it worked.

The hidden fish (or whatever it was) came into sharp focus, as if it was floating off the page.

I continuously thought that The Black Book might be similar.

If I could just train my view in a certain manner, the hidden meaning would emerge.

I tried even harder because the protagonist, Galip, appeared to be doing the same thing.

Only he was looking into a mirror.

You see, Galip was experiencing an identity crisis.

It was easy to understand why.

His wife, Ruya, vanished one day with only a brief note to explain herself.

At the same time, her half-brother, Celal, a renowned columnist in Istanbul, also went missing, presumably with her.

Celal was Galip’s older cousin, a man he highly admired.

Galip’s own life as a lawyer was dull compared to Celal’s.

As a writer, Celal was lauded by his numerous readers for his allegories and mystical tales about Turkey’s cultural identity.

But why would the two of them leave without him?

How does the view Galip has of himself change in light of this?

He spends most of the remainder of the book trying to find them, but also attempting to discover his true self.

If anything, he begins to see himself through Celal’s eyes.

The book is educational.

It is also structured in an interesting way, alternating chapters that are first an omniscient narrator’s account centered on Galip and then columns written by Celal.

Then there was a convergence of sorts near the end that I won’t discuss for fear of spoiling things.

Even a poor student of history (like me) can appreciate the parallels between personal and national identity that played out in this book.

It was set in the early 80’s and was, in a way, a debate about East vs. West, old ways vs. new, and perhaps Islam vs. Hollywood.

Istanbul, I’m guessing, was as conflicted a place as any when it came to these opposites.

They were still sorting out Ataturk’s march towards modernity.

Unfortunately, my search for the magic focus became tiresome.

The book was filled with descriptions that might appeal to anyone who has visited Istanbul, but probably not to those who haven’t.

The main points seemed overly laborious as well.

I’m not saying it should have been Twitterized, but a good editor might have found 100 pages to cut.

Plus, once I did see the picture (if I truly did), its impact disappointed me.

Assuming I understood the premise, to know or become your true self requires isolation from any outside influences.

But then what could you draw on to form your eclectic self?

Do closed societies with closed minds achieve a compensating inner purity?

As my dysphemistic way of phrasing the question already implies, I’m skeptical.

Pamuk can write whatever he wants, but for me, it will always be and above all with 'Kara Kitap'. It is a wonderful description of Istanbul. A more recent period, more mysterious and cold, more of an intersection set. I have slept on the blanket with the book and spoiled some of its pages, and then I went and bought again the edition with my favorite İletişim cover from Nadir. Whereas in fact, I should have read it in a proper position. Of course, I have learned my lesson.

This novel has a unique charm that keeps pulling me back. The way Pamuk描绘 Istanbul is so vivid that it feels like I am actually walking through its streets. The story is filled with mystery and intrigue, making it impossible to put down. Every time I pick up 'Kara Kitap', I am transported to a different world, a world full of secrets and hidden emotions.

Although I have had some unfortunate experiences with the book, like spoiling its pages, it has only made me更加珍惜 it. It is not just a book, but a companion that has accompanied me through many different moments in my life. I am sure that it will continue to be a part of my life for a long time to come.

The first Orhan Pamuk book that I read was "The Black Book."

A friend whose opinion I care about had recommended "My Name Is Red" for my first reading, but since "My Name Is Red" was the only Pamuk book not available at home, I started with "The Black Book."

Frankly, its layer-by-layer progression or its fragmentation didn't bother me at all. However, those feelings that almost all the characters had, those fixations related to the second person, those obsessive states really narrowed me down a lot.

As a result, when I see Pamuk's name on the lists of the best living novelists, I won't even think "really?" anymore because his craftsmanship is so obvious.

Orhan Pamuk is a renowned author, and whenever I read his works, certain thoughts cross my mind. While reading "Kara Kitap", here are the things that I thought about:

I consider myself very lucky to be able to read an author like Pamuk in my own language. His writing is truly remarkable, and he is indeed a very good writer. However, at times, I wonder why the author feels the need to describe certain sections in such great length and detail. There comes a point where I feel like I have to speed up and find out the ending as soon as possible.

"Kara Kitap" can be considered as one of the difficult books that I have read, despite being a beautiful Pamuk classic. The writing technique is well-crafted, and the setting, which is similar to that of "Cevdet Bey ve Oğulları", is familiar to us. The main themes of "self-other" and "east-west" that were present in "Beyaz Kale" also continue in this book.

Overall, I would definitely recommend this book to others. It offers a unique reading experience and allows us to explore the depths of Pamuk's literary genius.