I truly desired to love this book. However, it feels rather uncomfortable and unintellectual for me to admit that I have such mixed emotions towards it.

For a significant portion of the time, I had the distinct impression that I was reading through a haze. This had the additional consequence of slowing down all the action, making the story progress at a rather sluggish pace.

The conclusion of the novel initially left me extremely vexed. In fact, for the entire remainder of the day after I finished reading it, I was in a snit. But as time has passed, I have managed to make my peace with it. I believe (or at least I think I do) that I now understand why the author may have chosen to end the story in the way they did.

In the final analysis, I am glad that I read this book. Nevertheless, I cannot say that I entirely relished the experience of reading it. There were aspects that frustrated me and made the reading process less than entirely enjoyable.

Perhaps the fault lies with me as I have read many very good stories and no other book like "The White Castle" has any appeal for me anymore. Perhaps the fault is also with the translation, my lack of understanding, or a thousand other factors, but in short, I read this book and simply could not establish any connection with it.

In fact, I endured the book until the end without any acquaintance. What I saw was just writings to show relationships and identifications that have brilliant examples in the realm of world literature. With a bad external gaze, perhaps it was an attempt to create a "Marx" of Turkey.

3,75☀️

I cannot say that I was impressed to the superlative degree, but some nuances of the narration captivated me. Everything begins when a young Italian is kidnapped by the Turks and taken to the capital of the Ottoman Empire. There he is transformed into the slave of Hogea, an official of the Porte.

The resemblance between the two is an uncommon one, both physically and morally. Both are thirsty for the desire to know, thus their journey in uncovering the mysteries of the West begins. Their story is an ambiguous one, marked by discoveries, previsions, and unanswered questions. The common goal they had was the construction of a diabolical war machine that was supposed to defend the White Fortress.

What attracted me to this book is the description of the connection between the two characters. Their lives are marked by inner wanderings and interpretative destinies. The West and the East intersect and give birth to an idiomatic question "Why are we what we are?". Identity is one of the greatest psychological traps that can make us dependent on the search.

Не е моят писател Орхан Памук, колкото и да опитвах през годините. I have tried to understand his works, but there is always something that eludes me. His writing style is complex and full of deep thoughts and emotions. Maybe it's because I come from a different cultural background, or maybe it's because I lack the necessary literary素养 to fully appreciate his works. However, I still respect him as a great writer and continue to read his books in the hope of one day being able to understand his genius.

It's always fascinating to explore how authors evolve from their initial novel to their final one. I was first introduced to Pamuk's literary world through My Name is Red. After delving into several of his novels, I finally had the opportunity to read his debut work, The White Castle. I must admit that his father's prediction of him winning a Nobel Prize someday was spot-on. Pamuk has an innate talent that makes him one of the most unforgettable writers in the world.

In The White Castle, we can find the seeds that would later blossom in My Name is Red: his remarkable ability to create an eerie, unique, and captivating atmosphere through his words. For me, Pamuk is at his finest when he writes about the Ottoman Empire rather than modern Turkey. He skillfully weaves words together to construct a world that is tragically caught between two cultural forces. However, what makes The White Castle truly great is not just the setting but also the theme of identity. This theme confounds me until the very last page. Who is who? Which one is which?

The White Castle begins with the narration of a young Venetian man who is captured by pirates and then sold in a slave market in the Ottoman Empire. Thanks to his Western knowledge, which astonishes many, he is treated well by the sultan. His life takes a dramatic turn when he meets Hoja, someone who looks exactly like him. Their lives become intertwined in a complex love-hate relationship. Sometimes they can spend hours in a room working on a project and enjoying their intimate moments, but at other times, they can engage in a fierce argument that could potentially lead to each other's death. This is the intriguing aspect of The White Castle: the relationship between two men who resemble each other. It's like The Prince and The Pauper, but with a darker and more intricate twist. What about the ending? Without spoiling it all, I can say that it is a happy one. But for whom? I can't seem to find the answer because I don't know either. And that's the magic of The White Castle.

Pamuk’s talent for storytelling is truly beyond dispute.

Well, perhaps you might hold a different opinion, but that doesn't concern me.

I was deeply enamored with the setting, which was essentially the primary criterion for my choosing the book. (I should probably also mention the reader-friendly length.) I adored the plot, with its concept of the double or the identical twin, and the ability to exchange not only identities but also memories, ideas, and beliefs. The framing device, the (unreliable) first-person narrative, the mind games, and the twisted relationship/brutal conflict/love between Hoja and the slave, as well as the cultural confrontation (West VS East), all added to its allure.

I absolutely loved Luminita Munteanu’s translation. She is the exclusive translator of Pamuk’s books in Romanian and has done an outstanding job. Not only has she translated the text, but she has also provided a wealth of Ottoman background, at least for My Name Is Red, along with explanatory footnotes. It is rare for me to truly appreciate translations, but when I read a book that sounds so naturally Romanian to me, I know it is a good one. Don't you think? All those words of Turkish origin in Romanian also helped a great deal. In fact, I'm grateful for all the influences Romanian has received over the years. I would never, ever read a Russian (or other Slavic language), Hungarian, or Turkish book in English if the Romanian version was available.

So, it seems I liked the book. A comparison to My Name Is Red seems inevitable, which is why I gave it 3 stars. I'm not sure if it was the slow pace or something else, but around the middle, I felt Pamuk had lost me. The book seemed to be going nowhere, and I was tempted to abandon it. The reader is actually advised to do so, but I think it's just a trick Pamuk uses to keep the reader curious, only to leave them with a dilemma at the end.

To satisfy my recent interest in Turkish culture, I think my next Pamuk book will be something quite different. Something that focuses on modern Turkey, the conflict between traditional and modern, old and new, and so on. And I also need some films. I feel Fatih Akin’s films are not enough.

Definitely, I want to give five stars to this enjoyable exaggeration that deliberately and excitingly engages the reader.

It is truly remarkable how this form of expression can draw the reader in and hold their attention. The use of exaggeration adds a touch of drama and excitement, making the content more engaging and memorable.

Whether it's through vivid descriptions, over-the-top claims, or humorous anecdotes, exaggeration has the power to create a unique and captivating reading experience.

It allows the writer to emphasize certain points, evoke emotions, and leave a lasting impression on the reader.

In conclusion, this enjoyable exaggeration is well-deserving of five stars for its ability to engage and entertain the reader in a deliberate and exciting way.

In the period of Mehmed the Fourth, our hero who came from Italy and was captured by the Ottomans, and his curiosity about astrology and science, which lasted until the gates of the palace, is where our story begins. Then, the book, which continues with the master-slave relationship, continues with various games in the palace. The idea that they taught each other, talked for a long time, and being alone in a room in a dark city and resembling each other was incredibly beautiful, but in the end, I couldn't come to a definite conclusion. Were they really two different people or a single person with a dual character?

Their relationship was complex and mysterious. The master, with his knowledge and power, and the slave, with his curiosity and charm, created a unique dynamic. They spent countless hours together, sharing their thoughts and dreams. Sometimes they would argue, but always they would come back together. It was as if they were drawn to each other, unable to resist the pull.

As the story progresses, we see the two characters grow and change. The master begins to question his own beliefs and values, while the slave discovers a strength within himself that he never knew he had. Their relationship becomes a journey of self-discovery for both of them, and we are left wondering what the future holds for them.

Rereading in August 2020: This book is the first one by Orhan Pamuk that I have read. I remember at that time, I wasn't very impressed. Who would have thought that later, after reading "Snow", "My Name is Red" and other subsequent books by Pamuk, he has become one of my favorite writers. Returning to this book and rereading it after nearly 10 years, I still feel that this book is not as outstanding as his other books. Although the issues raised in the book are fundamental: "Who am I?" But it must be said that Orhan is quite skillful in the way of storytelling, so it doesn't turn the book into a collection of old and rich philosophy.

This charming novella, in terms of its style, size, and subject matter, unfortunately, became a rather dreary read far too soon.

The relationship between the poor Italian slave and his neurotic look-alike Turkish master seemed to quickly devolve into tedium and repetition. Despite my attempts to rush towards the end, it appeared to remain frustratingly distant.

However, the last few chapters managed to be quite moving.

The poor Turk's unwavering determination to prove that his enemies were thoroughly evil, much like the recent Coalition of the Willing and the belief in the Devil held by many American leaders and combatants, ultimately led to the debasement of his own humanity as he failed to extract confessions that aligned with his projections of evil.

The final unravelling of the relationship between the slave and the master was both gently sad and filled with a sense of emptiness in the reconciliation of the two identities.

I suppose I finally came to really like it after all.

Actually, I think what I truly liked was the sense of having completed what was an incredibly tortuous puzzle that the writer likely couldn't have untangled himself and perhaps never even intended to. It seems to be a fake, a mere symbol.

In retrospect, the ten repetitive chapters are truly unforgivable.

Often, incomprehensible and tedious books are mistakenly regarded as profound, much like the Emperor's New Clothes. It's only when some naive and unlearned innocent points out the obvious that people realize the important person is, in fact, naked. Pseudo-experts are appalled when exposed in this way.

Strangely, royal families seem even more exposed today, as Michel de Montaigne said over 400 years ago: "Even on the highest throne in the world, we are still sitting on our backsides."

Anyway, I sense something amiss.

Perhaps this novella would have been more effective if it had been reduced to the length of a short story or at least a much shorter novella. Its current length is excessive.

One of "My Favourite Authors", the perceptive Marcel Proust, is someone who could benefit from some editing. He drives a point home, but often does so to an excessive degree because he can't bear to sacrifice the profusion of wonderful examples created by his brilliant creative mind.

As with Shakespeare, who also has some flawed plots (not to detract from his superb poetry), editing and rewriting are terms that some publishers rarely direct at their great writers, as a recent Literary Review pointed out. Why? They defer to fame and status, and those who possess it have come to believe in it themselves and will not, or cannot, tolerate legitimate criticism.

I leave you to think about all this!

The White Castle and the heroes who cannot tolerate being themselves, so both of them want the life of the other, and fictional stories and a stupid sultan or a smarter wife and a devil that cannot be controlled if it gets out, and "they" and "we" and he becomes the other and the other becomes him..!!

Three of my precious days were cut short by reading The White Castle. I read it before going to sleep and immediately upon waking up in the light of my small bedside lamp. I like to add my personal rituals to every story I read. The White Castle is a story that is worth reading more than once. Maybe I will read it again after several weeks.

Before its end or specifically in the last third, I felt a bit of boredom and my perception of it changed and things from the real author and where the boundaries of fiction and reality are became blurred for me. I don't know if I liked the original author Orhan more or the wife Hanife or that Turkish youth who found the book in a neglected archive of the city of Gebze and a pure theft where Hanife is the discoverer of the story in essence or that Italian youth who knows everything..or it was a vision that "life should be enjoyed, not endured", then "where should we look for stories" and is our search for them within us and the spending of long thinking is what brought them only sadness and astonishment..!؟ And were any of them really similar to the other to the fullest extent..؟ And those evil games that accompanied the story until its end.

My paper copy is the other one with its story "a used copy, 2006 edition". The original owner did not care to write his name on it or any other details except for several random lines in strange parts of the story where an irregular circle was drawn around the words "feeling him" in the nineteenth line of page "122" and the word "awareness" was written above it in a trembling gray line..!!

And on page "132", an irregular square was marked with a pencil around four lines from the words "the loneliness of Hanife that reaches me" until the word "stupidity"..!!

And on page "152", a line was drawn with a pencil under the words "a winning lottery ticket"..!!

And on the white page that followed the end of the eighth chapter "166", a perfect sketch of a child was drawn with a pencil on the page "this is how I imagined" and this is something I have to get rid of as it is a previous ruling because for some unknown reason when I started reading the ninth chapter, I turned the book over to find that that child's sketch is a crooked drawing of a room with a window and three tables in it, and on the first one, especially next to the window, a person is sitting in front of empty plates and cups whose lines intersect but with some concentration you can distinguish them from each other as if it were a cinematic frame.

I made up a story about the original owner of that story of mine whom I know nothing about except this. Maybe I was afflicted with the curse of Hanife and a friend in creating the story to the extent of blurring the line between reality and fiction and fiction and reality.

A final note: This is the third book I have read by Orhan Pamuk. The first was "The New Life" and the second was "Other Colors" and it will not be the last "The White Castle".

I read the review that I had given for this book 2 years ago....

Oh my God.... It was so fast.... From the publishers to the warmth of the air and to the fields of children's and youth literature, science, and family!!! Wow

Nothing else.... Even I could not like a story about Pamuk!

This review seems to express a sense of surprise and perhaps some disappointment. The person is reflecting on a review they wrote two years ago and is amazed at how quickly time has passed. They mention various aspects related to the book, such as the publishers, the atmosphere, and different literary fields. However, they end by saying that they couldn't even like a story by Pamuk. Maybe they had high expectations that weren't met, or perhaps their taste in literature has changed over the years. It would be interesting to know more about their initial thoughts on the book and what led to this change in opinion.