I have finished it, but it's not the best cotton.

It seems cold to me, too literary, rather Borgesian.

Not even ironic in the style of Pynchon.

Dense, stylistically perfect.

However, I can't help but feel that there is something lacking.

Perhaps it's the emotional connection that I was hoping for.

The story is well-crafted, but it fails to touch my heart.

Maybe I was expecting too much.

Nonetheless, I appreciate the author's skill and the effort that went into creating this work.

It's a testament to their talent and dedication.

Despite my reservations, I will continue to read their work in the future, hoping to find that special something that will make me fall in love with their writing.

This is one of the stories that really cannot be summarized, because its value lies not in what happened but in all that the narrator thought before, during, and after it happened. In the reflections, thoughts, and both obvious and hidden hints in that journey towards a new life.

It is the story of a person who read a book one day, and the book changed his life. We don't know him completely from the beginning, but we get to know him little by little as we follow him on that crazy (or seemingly crazy) journey in buses one after another in search of another world, that different place that the book talked about.

The narrator's reflections as he moves from one bus to another, his thoughts on people, the country, life, and death, and that harsh experience of approaching death and avoiding it, touched me deeply. And love too, in those moments when he was very close to a woman he loved but couldn't have. We see to what extent a man in love and jealousy will go.

The novel goes in what resembles a circle. In his youth, the narrator read a book that changed his life and went on a journey in search of that world in the book. He went on a journey towards a new world, contrary to those who hold on to their existing world, who, for example, reject replacing their local products with foreign ones, and reject opening up to a Western lifestyle and values. After years of that journey, we see him in the middle of his life, after losing the adventure and the beloved, and taking himself to a settled life with a job and a family. It turns out that he has moved to nostalgia for an old life with its style, traditions, and symbols, a life that has been replaced by Westernization in terms of people, values, products, and cities.

I think the novel depicts this conflict between the youth who are eager to open up to a new world and the elders who insist on closing off to a world they know, to the extent that they censor books that are capable of changing people's lives with Western experiments, and exaggerate in their insistence on 'protecting' society to the point of blocking thought and killing the writer.

(What do they want? To insult our pure country with its religion, prophet, and scholars, and like Ataturk, to insult everything that has been considered sacred for hundreds of years.. No..)

And the novel also mourns the nostalgia for a bygone era, for the country and life, despite all the changes, even after we got off the bus and stopped trying to reach that place that the book that changed our lives talked about.

The novel is a celebration of the greatness of writing and books and their power to influence. And in many clear passages, it talks deeply about the peace that writing brings, about the value of a good book, and about what reading does to us. (If I take out my lighter now and set fire to it in the middle of the distance between his eyes, I will not have done anything to this man who has achieved eternal peace through writing. He will continue his path within the same frozen time, even if something is in a different way. While my restless soul, which does not know peace, constantly strives to reach a place like my bus drivers who have forgotten where they are going or where they came from.)

And in his journey in search of other readers of this book that changed his life, he discovers that they did not all act in the same way. Some of them had a greater ability to perceive the inner music of the book. (Sometimes I feel guilty about a group of books that I have read.. and that my head has turned into an orchestra in which a musical instrument plays in every corner, so I discovered that I only tolerate life thanks to this music inside my head.)

The deep, overlapping, and intertwined worlds of Orhan Pamuk's novels are evident here. We see hints of the journalist Celal Saraçoglu whom we got to know closely in "The Black Book" and where he deeply raised the most important issue in life, which is to be oneself, but the narrator in the new life realizes that no one is able to be oneself. (We all try to live a meaningful life. But we stop at a certain point. Who is able to be oneself?)

The novel progresses to directly or indirectly raise the question about the meaning of life. Is life a child's game? Is it a precisely drawn plan or just a coincidence? Is life an event? Or is the event the path to a new life?

Then there is the theme of time that he wrote more about in (The Museum of Innocence) and we see in the new life he describes this invention. (It was a watch that, in addition to telling the time, could sense the time when you would be happy and stop automatically, thus extending your happiness to infinity.)

It is a very beautiful novel, (despite the slow pace of the story), flavored with the same strange charm of Pamuk, despite the obscurity of some of its ideas, and when you finish it, the first thought is to go back to the first page and start again.

(You will find those like me, give them a book to read, and then distort their lives, I said this but to myself.)

**"The Impact of Reading and Globalization"**

Have you ever read a book and your life changed? I have. Perhaps I don't need to mention its title anymore because anyone who knows me well knows that book. And fortunately, I don't have to suffer like Osman, the architecture student in this book, who searches for a 'New Life' around his country after accidentally reading a book.

Have you ever felt like jumping into the passing buses in front of you, not knowing their destinations, and then starting an adventure by getting on and off the buses at will, until something leads you to a certain destination, like Osman and Janan? I never have. It seems difficult to start something without long-term planning. Maybe because I think more about the feelings of the people I will leave behind if I run away like that. But it doesn't mean I don't want to. I really want to. Sometimes, when I have no thoughts at all, the desire to walk anywhere my feet want to step comes to mind. But not that brave yet.

Have you ever been tired of something that is too easy to find in this world? Like Coca-Cola, burgers, news on TV, something that spreads so quickly to every corner of the world? I have. Often, in fact. I often miss the local and unique way of enjoying something. Like eating nasi liwet with its pincuk, drinking legen from a bamboo stem, or many other foods that cannot be preserved and must be enjoyed directly in place. Or listening to local news instead of foreign politics that has nothing to do with us. Maybe that's what's on Doctor Fine's mind. If we don't have those multi-global things, our country will be fine. A country will not be destroyed because it doesn't drink Coca-Cola. Look at America, which destroyed the Indian tribe by giving them alcohol so that they gradually died on their own.

Have you ever thought that the train, as told by Uncle Rifki, is the carrier of ordinary things to become common throughout the country, and the regions no longer become unique, like when he wrote about the adventures of Peter and Pertev in America, when the railway was built to connect the East and West of America, and the cities it passed through changed? Yes, I have. The train, or other means of transportation, always has two sides. The better the transportation access to a region, the easier it is for the economy to improve, the more common the region becomes, and the more its local values disappear. This happens all over the world. Good access has a positive impact on the destination region, but not always on the regions it passes through.

This is a story about someone who lost himself after reading a book. This book is not exclusive, some people have it. He sees in this global world that when his feet can step anywhere, he becomes a citizen of the world. He loses his locality. He can be anyone. Not only Osman the architecture student, but also anyone who immerses himself in the global world. To save himself, there is only one way. Always remember who you are, your identity, your origin, and your locality.

*****

Orhan Pamuk, the novelist who won the Nobel Prize in Literature on Thursday, 12 October 2006, has become the most popular writer in Turkey and is also known in other countries. This handsome writer, born in Istanbul on 7 June 1952, has never been far from controversy in Turkey, which he criticizes from both religious and secular sides. It is also reported that Pamuk has a relationship with Kiran Desai, a beautiful Indian novelist.

His other popular books include Snow, My Name is Red, Istanbul: Memories and the City, The Museum of Innocence, The White Castle. Half travel novel, half thriller fairy tale, The New Life is the fastest-selling book in the history of Turkey. Showcasing all of Pamuk's characteristic wisdom and charm, this beautiful novel reminds us of a nation that is swaying between the East and the West.

#PostingBareng #NobelSastra @BBI_2011

I once read a passage that truly amazed me. It said, 'I read a book one day and my whole life was changed. Even on the first page I was so affected by the book's intensity I felt my body sever itself and pull away from the chair where I sat reading the book that lay before me on the table.' The light surging from its pages illumines his face, and its incandescence dazzles his intellect while also endowing it with brilliant lucidity. The book seems to be about him, transforming his point of view and being transformed by it in return.

Pamuk is a writer who helps me understand my love for reading. It's for the discovery of ideas, cultures, language, worlds, and most importantly, the self. When I read his novels, the space and things around me seem to disappear. His plot lines can be tenuous at times, like something seen peripherally, weaving in and out of focus. I don't read Pamuk just for the pleasure of a well-crafted story-line, although I do find them so. I read him for his style, which continuously pulls me into his writing. Once I start his books, I can't leave them alone, and when I finish, I can't easily forget them.

In 'The New Life', Osman (maybe that's his name) reads a book also called 'The New Life' that completely changes his life and sends him on a quest to find the meaning of the book and life. Along the way, he falls in love, travels aimlessly on buses, visits bus crashes to walk among the dead and dying, hunts down spies code-named after watch brands, and speaks to the 'Angel' for guidance and absolution. Some people go into solitude with the book, but at the brink of a serious breakdown, they are able to open up to the world and shake off their affliction. There are also those who have crises and tantrums upon reading the book, accusing their friends and lovers of being oblivious to the world in the book, of not knowing or desiring the book, and thereby criticizing them mercilessly for not being like the persons in the book's universe.

I wrote the above with 50 pages left to go. Well, I unknowingly had lunch while poring through the final pages, eating a chicken pie. When I closed the book, I found myself fighting back tears, not for the characters in the book, but for myself. It's more than puzzling. These were magical words. Although I immersed myself in the first 250 pages, enjoying every single word, I wasn't fully aware of what the'story' was about. I had a hint, I imagined, I guessed. And then the last 50 pages, and then the last 2 pages. Nothing is black and white. I still can't tell you the secret to the mystery of 'The New Life'. I only know that this book hit a nerve with me, and I can now appreciate Osman's (if that's his name) opening line, 'I read a book one day and my whole life was changed', and understand what it feels like to have'my body sever itself and pull away from the chair where I sat reading the book that lay before me on the table'. I'm still shaking.

The book is a labyrinth, filled with hidden traps. The words deceive and tease. Pamuk plays games with text from other books by Jules Verne, Dante, Rilke, Ib'n Arabi... Comparing Pamuk to Borges? I can understand. This is not a book that many would appreciate or enjoy. It is filled with thoughts on Westernization, Islamic fundamentalism, Turkish nationalism... Ultimately, 'what is important [of a book:] is your own perception, what you read into it...'

Philosophical blah, linguistic meh. Perhaps such a rewritten first chapter could be a really good story, to which I probably would never have come. Otherwise, it is a dragging boredom, almost nothing happens, and the love story is pathetic.

The text seems to express a rather critical view of something. It starts by dismissing the philosophical and linguistic aspects as uninteresting or mediocre. The rewritten first chapter is seen as having potential to be a good story, but the overall work is criticized for being slow-paced and lacking in action. The love story within it is also described as being rather pitiful or unconvincing.

It would be interesting to know more about what exactly the author is referring to and what their expectations were. Maybe they were hoping for a more engaging and thought-provoking piece. Or perhaps they had a different idea of what a good story should be like. In any case, this short passage gives us a glimpse into the author's thoughts and feelings about the work in question.

Yeni Hayat is truly a special case.

It stands out from the rest in many ways.

Perhaps it is its unique features, or maybe it is the way it has managed to capture the attention of so many.

Whatever the reason, Yeni Hayat has become a topic of great interest and discussion.

People are curious to know more about it, to understand what makes it so special.

Some may even be inspired by it to create something similar.

In any case, Yeni Hayat has left a lasting impression and will continue to be a source of inspiration and wonder for years to come.

I give this book 2.5 Stars. 0.5 of a star is for how desperate the main character wants to find the Angel, the sense of life!

One day I read a book and my whole life changed.

When you're tired of your daily routine, you start looking for some sacred sense in everything you touch. You read a book - it gives you light and calm, you meet a girl - she seems to be an angel. You read comics and eat caramel, travel by bus in search of car crashes and accidents - you do everything to enter the world of that book.

This journey was made by Osman (the main character) when he was lonely, young and seeking something new. The chain of childhood memories, the books he had read before made him adore that book, be sure that it was real and that he understood all the ideas it conveyed. Later he would realize that every book could impact people as strongly as "Yeni Hayat" did when you were prepared for it.

But when he made an investigation in the world of his childhood (books, caramels and angels) and found the truth, his path in the real world came to an end. He saw the Angel but by the time he saw Him, he didn't want any new life, any changes. He just wanted to go home...

Maybe this is the story of many of us. We search for something extraordinary in the ordinary, only to find that sometimes, what we really need is right in front of us, in the simplicity of our daily lives.

Before this book, I had read the book by Jafarid from the same author. It was a good book, not excellent, but it was a learning example of Umberto Eco's writing style. Of course, it was of a more common and marketable type. But this book was a disaster. Before reading this book, I thought the reason for the failure of Iranian writers in borderless literature was due to centenary mentalism and the use of any tricks in the portrayal of the world. But after this book, I realized what unpretentious writers we have. When this author can win the Nobel Prize with such books (I shuddered with such feelings) and this feminine prose, then Doulat Abadi, Reza Qasemi, Gholshiri, Katib, and Mo'ini, who are even easier than Abolqasem Ferdowsi (in my opinion, there is a great similarity between these two writers in terms of form and content), and also Zoya Pirzad, are all worthy of the Nobel Prize and perhaps even much more than that. Of course, I haven't read "My Name is Red", but it seems that this emotional style of writing belongs to the author.

It is a pity that such excellent writers in Iran are not given the recognition they deserve. Their works are filled with deep emotions, unique perspectives, and精湛的 writing skills. We should pay more attention to their works and promote them to the international stage. Only in this way can we let the world know the rich and diverse literature of Iran.

Bana göre, Orhan Pamuk'un bu kitabında anlatılan hikaye son derece ilginçtir. Bana asıl kurtuluşunun, yeni hayata doğru ilk çıkışının trafik kazasıyla gerçekleştiğini söylemişti. Doğru: kazalar çıkıştır; çıkıştır kazalar. Melek o çıkış zamanındaki sihrin içinde görülür ve o zaman hayat dediğimiz kargaşanın asıl anlamı gözlerimizin önünde belirir. O zaman döneriz evimize...

Orta sayfalarda kitabın akış sürecinde zorlansam da son sayfayı çevirdiğimde tatmin olma hissini yaşadım. Bu kitaptan nefret de etseydim yıllar sonra dönüp baktığımda içeriği hakkında hiçbir şeyi unutmayacağımı da biliyordum. Orhan Pamuk okumakta en memnun olduğum şey kesinlikle budur. Karakterler hiçbir zaman bana kendini unutturmuyor. Her karakterin hikayesi ayrı ayrı çok detaylı anlatılmış ve okuyucuyu kitaba daha da sıkı sıkıya bağlamaktadır.

The feeling that Pamuk cheats you - albeit while reading the novel you were aware of this impending cunning all the time - takes some time to forgive after you have closed the book on its inescapable ending.

The book is shoddy at most times; and absolutely beautiful and sublime in a few parts. It's a strange concoction that keeps you on the edge of your seat, wondering what's real and what's not.

Marks have been given here for the sheer gall to have imagined such a book, where the irreal is presented, not obviously and here-it-is, like Marquez, but a bit stupefyingly, unbelievingly, in a unique voice in quest to find something more complex than existence.

It's a journey that challenges your perception and makes you question the very nature of reality. You may find yourself frustrated at times, but in the end, you can't help but be in awe of Pamuk's creativity and audacity.

This is a book that will stay with you long after you've turned the last page, making you think and feel in ways you never thought possible.

I used to love reading books, just as I loved going to the movies, flipping through newspapers and magazines. I didn't do these things expecting a certain benefit or result. Nor did I do them to feel superior, more knowledgeable, or deeper than others.

This section in the book became one of my favorite parts. It's a travel book. It may not appeal to everyone, but I really liked it.

Reading books has always been a source of joy and inspiration for me. It allows me to explore different worlds, meet diverse characters, and gain new perspectives. Whether it's a fictional novel, a non-fiction account, or a travelogue, each book has its own unique charm.

In this particular travel book, I was able to embark on a virtual journey with the author, experiencing the sights, sounds, and cultures of different places. It awakened my sense of adventure and made me long to explore the world myself.

Even though not everyone may share my love for this particular book, I believe that there is a book out there for everyone. Whether it's a book that makes you laugh, cry, think, or dream, it has the power to touch your heart and change your life.

I had high expectations for this book, mainly due to "My Name is Red" that I read some time ago. At that time, I was completely fascinated by the world that Pamuk revealed in "My Name is Red". It was presented with painstaking detail, as if it was meticulously sketched in with a 00 paint brush. "My Name is Red" demanded full attention and was not a book that could be casually browsed through. So, I was well-prepared to invest some effort when delving into "New Life".

However, this book has an entirely different style, which in a sense is a triumph. After all, what's the point of writing something with a similar style to what has already been written? But unfortunately, I didn't enjoy this book nearly as much as "My Name is Red". It required the same amount of effort and attention, yet the payoff was not nearly as great, with its breathless style and contrived soul-searching.

The premise of the book is centered around a book. Once read, it changes the lives of those who peruse it. They start to question life, love, and themselves. But what this book really seems to focus on is the clash between tradition and plastic modernity. This will likely appeal to the bratty college student within you who enjoys reading works like "The Giants" or perhaps Rand's "The Fountainhead" or even the sadness depicted in Achebe's "Things Fall Apart". There are moments of genius when describing towns that have become carbon copies of each other, adorned with shiny plastic billboards and signboards for dentists.

Yet, it was all disguised in tiresome allegory. Buses speed along wide roads towards tiny towns, outposts that are putting up a last-ditch battle against the onslaught of plastic living.

I must admit that another reason I didn't enjoy this book was because I could relate to the protagonist. His search for meaning and struggle with melancholy and monotony seemed entirely self-indulgent. No one likes to be faced with the idea that their struggles are just like everyone else's. However, there is also something clever in how Pamuk refuses to equate the protagonist's struggle with something greater or more grandiose than it actually is.

I think perhaps that was the problem. It was too clever for its own good, getting hopelessly tangled up in its own allegories, metaphors, and "clues" leading up to the big reveal at the end, which ultimately felt anticlimactic.

If you have a penchant for reading about the clash of tradition and modernity, enjoy plenty of allegory, like self-help books (I'm not sure, but it does have a slightly dubious resemblance to Paulo Coelho's works), and have time to spare, then I'd say this book is worth your time. But if this description alarms and mildly nauseates you, then it's best to skip it and read "My Name is Red" instead.