Me llamo rojo

Even if you are away from your lover, if a lover’s face survives emblazoned on your heart, the world is still your home. An Impetuous response In October 2019

If your name is red, my name is blue. You can glide from my hand like sand; I will stick on your soul like glue. This book is dispersed with such a sumptuous redness that after reading it my entire self was tinged with azure… Not with red but with azure… because the color changes color when it evaporates from the pages of a marvelous book and transpires into the imaginary eyes of a curious reader. I am beholden. I have turned resplendent, but not like you… O Redness! I admit that the shine is the virtue of the Sun and one name of the Sun is also red. But on the backdrop on which this redness sparkles, that since time immemorial is only blue!

A rapport was straightway established between your redness and my blueness. It was all at once since the very beginning when that corpse said, "I am nothing but a corpse now, a body at the bottom of a well. Though I drew my last breath long ago and my heart has stopped beating, no one apart from that vile murderer knows what has happened to me." The Validity of that initial upshot is intact in April 2021

I jotted down these two short paragraphs immediately after I finished this novel in the month of October in 2019. This book was sitting bolt upright on the shelf for more than six years. It’s today only when I am getting time to write this review, I am recalling all my personal association with this book.

A memory

I had bought this book years ago at Mumbai airport. I was sitting with my colleague (My senior obvious at my work) with whom I was traveling for the first time. We never had any personal interaction. He was busy messaging someone on his high-end smartphone and I did not want to bring out my phone. So my eyes were attentively examining the disorderly commotion of fellow travelers. While waiting in the waiting lounge for quite some time in absolute quietude I turned to the other man I broke the ice, “Excuse me! I will buy something.” My senior at once replied pointing in a certain direction with his right thumb to me, “The bookstall is there!” I looked into his eyes in surprise, grinned like a Cheshire cat, and moved on. I was thinking to myself how this man knows that I want to buy a book and not a burger. We never discussed books. We were first time together.

When I reached to the book parlor, my eyes fell on this title and this title seemed to me so quirky (How can someone’s name be red?) and when I read those lines stated by the corpse on the first page highlighted above, I bought it in a flash. I had not heard much of Orhan Pamuk then. This was probably the second book of my life which I immediately bought knowing nothing about the book and the author just by getting seduced by the title in a book outlet. The first such book was The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins. I am beaming to declare that in both cases my all of a sudden infatuation with the title of a book ended up in rip-roaring reading experiences.

However, every time I think about this book this question keeps popping up in my head, “How did he know that I want to buy a book and not a burger?”

The book

Set in the Istanbul of the sixteenth century, this is a story of one ‘Black’ who after an absence of 12 years entered Istanbul, like a somnambulist, at the age of 36. He, 12 years ago had fallen helplessly in love with his young cousin. Many of his friends and relatives have died during this 12 years exile. Twelve years ago when he had declared his love for the Shekure, his declaration of love was considered an act of insolence by his uncle. He was exiled. He comes back and found that his love, with her two children, is living alone. Her husband, a soldier, has no clue of his whereabouts. And the brother of her husband, Hasan, has an evil eye on her.

While in the background, the Sultan commissions a great book secretly to celebrate his life and his empire, the work goes to the best miniaturists of the age. Meanwhile, one among them is murdered. As a consequence, in the foreground, it progresses as a story of a murderer, who feels and proclaims to the reader that he would not have believed he could take anyone’s life even if he had been told so a moment before he murdered that fool Elegant, who he feels was like a brother to him. He sometimes feels as if he has not committed any crime at all. He freely walks in the city of Istanbul, from one street to another looking at the faces of people.

As I stare at people’s faces, I realize that many of them believe they are innocent because they haven’t yet had the opportunity to snuff out a life. It’s hard to believe that most men are more moral or better than me simply on account of some minor twist of fate.

In essence, this book is a historical murder mystery. But there are so many themes and sub-contexts present. If you have encountered the term ‘postmodernism’ diving out from an edified tongue of a sagacious literary guy and you get confused what is this. Read this book, it is postmodernist in its approach, if I am not mistaken. Its meta-fictional traits are amazing and worthy of coming back to again and again.

This is a love story. It is exotic and dreamy. It is philosophical. It is very reflective and ruminative in nature. It is suspenseful. I had to read it with bated breath. It is about art and artists. I saw the knack and prowess of the miniaturists. It is about religion too. Those ruminating parts in between are balanced on religion. It plays wonderfully on human emotions. That jealousy, that rivalry that romance, you will see. You will also find real historical references and popular folklores and fables in the narration.

Personally, the most compelling things in this book for me were two. The first one is the author’s take on art and artists in the plot. Miniaturists and calligraphers were frustrated by the wars and presence of Ottoman soldiers but hadn't yet left for Kazvin or another Persian City from Istanbul and it was these Masters complaining of poverty and neglect, it was commissioned to inscribe illustrate and bind the pages of the manuscripts. While depicting their learning of art and getting mastery and describing the prowess of these artists, the author has sprinkled pearls of wisdom through his philosophical rumination at many places. I liked the conversations between masters and disciples and their thoughtful talks inside their artistic hovels.

I am delighted now to see that Black has acquired another essential virtue. To avoid disappointment in art, one must not treat it as a career. Despite whatever great artistic sense and talent a man might possess, he ought to seek money and power elsewhere to avoid forsaking his art when he fails to receive proper compensation for his gifts and efforts.

One student asked a question. My great master, my dear sir! what separates the genuine miniaturist from the ordinary? Master responds that there are three traits -Will he have his individual style? -How will he feel when his work and pictures will be used in other’s books? -Third virtue is blindness!

Second is the narration style of the novel with its suspense. Every major character of the novel narrates his or her story. The ultimate aim is to find the murderer. This murderer comes out in between and talks to the reader about how he did it and why he did it. But the reader is not able to guess who this bloody murderer is!

In my opinion, this book is a must-read for every book lover. This is a scintillating blending of romance, suspense, history, art, and philosophy in a passionate and spirituous language of prose.

Bamouk raises an interesting idea in my mind. The idea is that the mistake in artistic work is the human signature called "style", and the artist without style is the closest to the perfect divine depiction of things. The artist who doesn't make mistakes is the artist without style, the hidden artist, which is in line with the idea of the death of the author in literature.

An old acquaintance among critics is known for the fact that it is a defect for a critic to sign his works, for this is evidence of their deficiency, because the true engraving is the one that resembles the works of the ancients and does not need a signature.

This idea implies that God created the world without style, because it is laws that are not violated by mistakes. This idea also requires that we cannot read the attributes of God in the world, or that art does not indicate the artist but only his absence.

Bamouk has developed his idea based on a hypothesis that cannot be verified. Who said that God created the world without style? Who said that these laws are not violated by certain stylistic deviations? In a parallel reality, could they have been otherwise?

**"The Power of Art in 'Ba Mawq' by Auran"**

In the story "Ba Mawq" by Auran, the author delves into the profound world of art and its impact. The Quranic verses at the beginning set a spiritual tone, emphasizing the uniqueness of Allah's creation. Auran's philosophy of art, as expressed through his characters, is thought-provoking. He states that art is the manifestation of life as seen by the intellect for the pleasure of the eye. The more the eye sees the world, the more it serves the intellect, and beauty is the rediscovery of the world by the eye for what the intellect knows of it.

The story begins intriguingly with the question "Why is my name red?" The color red holds multiple meanings, such as love, hate, and blood. The narrative unfolds with a dead person speaking, adding an element of mystery. The conversations between various characters, both with and without souls, are engaging and lead to a 600-page story filled with surprises. The aim is not just the crime and its mystery but to reach the corners of Islamic art, showing how it began, evolved, took on forms from the West, and finally decayed, contrary to the historical context.
The author also explores the power of art. Can a painting influence a person to the extent of making them love, hate, or even kill? It makes one wonder how far the power of art can go. Auran's writing style is unique, as he says, "I tell what my heart feels, and I bring it out with the colors of my memories and my pains, and what I tell looks like a painting." The story ends with a warning and a promise. The warning is that one should be careful not to trust "Auran" too much, as his stories may not be entirely true. The promise is that the author will read more of Ba Mawq because it engages with him as a reader. Overall, this is a story that will appeal to those who love description, meditation, and art.

It makes one reflect on the power of art and its ability to shape our perceptions and emotions.

It also shows how art can be a vehicle for exploring deeper themes such as religion, history, and human nature.

"Ba Mawq" is a thought-provoking and engaging story that will leave a lasting impression on the reader.

This is truly the epitome of foreign books in translation that manage to win international prizes. It ingeniously employs an international genre, specifically the murder mystery, as a lens through which to peer into the fascinating world of the court painters of the Ottoman Empire during the early days of the seventeenth century.

The tale is narrated from the perspectives of numerous characters and even non-characters. Intriguingly, it includes the colour red from the title, which leads us on a journey through the coffee shops and vibrant street life of Istanbul. As we follow the story, we are also introduced to the distinct regional styles of painting a horse's nostrils, all while the characters are in hot pursuit of the murderer.

One can't help but wonder what more could be hoped for from a paperback that was simply picked up at Heathrow airport. It offers a captivating blend of history, mystery, and art, transporting readers to a different time and place with its vivid descriptions and engaging narrative.

I truly made a great effort to develop a genuine liking for this book. However, I guess it's just not possible to succeed in every aspect.

"My Name Is Red" is a captivating blend of historical fiction and a murder mystery. Set in 1591 (as per the timeline at the conclusion of the book), the overarching plot revolves around the death of a master miniaturist in the Sultan's court. The death is disclosed in the very first chapter, yet the reasons surrounding it are gradually revealed. What is known almost from the start is that his demise is linked to a book commissioned by the Sultan, which is to be illustrated in the European style, with an emphasis on perspective and a view of the world as an actual person perceives it (as opposed to how Allah would view it). Enishte Effendi, the person responsible for the manuscript, summons his childhood apprentice, Black Effendi, back from Persia to Istanbul to assist in investigating the murder and helping him complete the Sultan's book. Amidst this main plot is the plight of Enishte's daughter, Shekure, whose husband went to war four years ago and never returned. Black has been longing for her during his twelve-year absence from Istanbul, although he is not the only man interested in becoming her new husband. Among the plot and subplot, there are numerous discussions on style, individualism, and what it means to be a father or a father-figure, among other topics.

The story is narrated in a manner reminiscent of Faulkner, with each chapter presented from the perspective of different characters in the story. These characters are sometimes alive and sometimes dead (as seen in the first chapter titled "I am a corpse"). Additionally, sometimes the chapters are told from the sort-of perspective of the drawings in Enishte's book - I say sort of because they are actually told from the perspective of a coffee house storyteller who is pretending to be what is depicted in Enishte's book. Are you confused yet?

This was my first issue with the book: at the beginning, it is extremely confusing. Not being well-versed in the Muslim faith, it took several chapters for me to understand precisely what was amiss with the way Enishte intended to illustrate his manuscript. My second concern was the excessive exposition. There is an overabundance of time dedicated to expounding on topics such as love and style that are only tangentially related to the plot. While these expositions do add greater depth to the various characters, after a while, it began to feel a bit tiresome. Thirdly, Pamuk does not inhabit his different narrators in the same way that David Mitchell does in works like "Ghostwritten" and "Cloud Atlas". As a result, the book feels somewhat flat. Fourthly, the subplot involving Shekure contributes very little to the book. I found her to be an extremely unappealing character and often wished that the murderer would target her next.

Despite all that has been said, the book does possess a certain charm in its writing. Some of the exposition is truly thought-provoking. I also found the stories told from the perspectives of drawings, corpses, and even colors to be interesting additions to the plot. In conclusion, I don't regret reading it, but I had higher expectations.

La motivazione per la quale Orhan Pamuk ha vinto nel 2006 il premio nobel per la letteratura dice "che nel ricercare l'anima malinconica della sua città natale, ha scoperto nuovi simboli per rappresentare scontri e legami fra diverse culture".

Il mio nome è rosso narra proprio di uno scontro tra due diverse culture, due diverse visioni del mondo. La storia si svolge a Istanbul nel 1591 intorno a un misterioso libro che il Sultano sta facendo illustrare con tecniche europee.

Tutti i personaggi ruotano attorno a questo libro. Raffinato Effendi, Zio Effendi, maestro Osman, i maestri miniaturisti, Șeküre, Nero, l'ebrea Esther e anche i personaggi del libro stesso hanno il loro ruolo nella vicenda.

Questa storia è affascinante ma anche "densa". Ogni parola e frase devono essere compresa per seguire il percorso dell'autore. Il mio nome è rosso è un libro da assaporare lentamente, come un vino pregiato, per cogliere le sue sfumature e i suoi riferimenti alla cultura e storia turca, alla concezione dell'uomo nella religione islamica.

La questione dibattuta dai miniaturisti è il ruolo dell'uomo nel mondo e il suo rapporto con il creato. Gli europei mettono l'uomo al centro dell'universo, mentre i miniaturisti islamici sanno che al centro c'è la volontà di Allah.

Pamuk descrive migliaia di miniature per illustrare la sua tesi, rendendo la lettura più lenta ma interessante. È chiaro che da queste due visioni dell'uomo discendono conseguenze ancora presenti oggi.

Pamuk sembra suggerire che esiste una terza via, la contaminazione e l'accoglienza dei fermenti dalle altre culture. Tuttavia, è importante governare questa contaminazione per non perdere il proprio patrimonio culturale.

Se siete arrivati sino a qui, siete persone curiose e pazienti, pronti a sfidare Orhan Pamuk e conoscere il Rosso.

The book begins with the narration of a body that has fallen into a well and ends with the discovery of the murderer.

Each part of the story is narrated by one of the characters, until the dog, the horse, the dervish, the devil, and even the red composite are narrators and tell something.

At the beginning of the book, I noticed a great similarity between the different spaces of the story and "Bookless" by Mohammad Reza Sharafi Khaboushan - the historical space and the court of the king at that time - the plot and fate of the books that are presented to the courts of the kings - and even the scene of the murder!

Before reading the book, I had no expectation at all that my name would be among the books that I would recommend to my friends from now on. I am very glad that I listened to such a good book with the voice of Mr. Sultan Zadeh.

The music at the beginning and end of the chapters was very attractive and had a lot of harmony with the mood and atmosphere of the story.

The interesting point is that during listening to the book, I did not feel at all that this book is foreign. So much was said about the Shahnameh of Ferdowsi and Khosrow and Shirin of Nezami, and so much was pointed out to the morning, noon, and evening prayers and the sound of the call to prayer that is heard in the street that it gave a great sense of closeness to the story to the Iranian listener (reader). The Iranian books that I have read so far have not described Iranian poets and artists as well, and perhaps none of them have even written anything about the sound of the call to prayer, going to the mosque, and saying prayers in a normal state and daily life!

Listening to this book was a very touching experience.

https://taaghche.com/audiobook/30538

Historical murder mystery and reflection on religion, love and death:

Mr. Pamuk is indeed quite ambitious. He tells us the story of a man who returns to Istanbul after twelve years away. This man is asked to undertake a very dangerous work, reconnect with a lost love, and solve the mystery of a man's death. However, this is not simply an ordinary "whodunit." It is a complex portrait of a great city at a moment of intense upheaval at the end of the 16th century. The East and the West were becoming reacquainted with each other culturally and commercially, challenging their mutual worldviews and values.

In the Ottoman Empire, representative art was forbidden for religious reasons. The Quran condemned the reproduction of a living being's image as idol worship, and glorifying the subject of the painting or the individuality of the artist was considered a grievous sin. But since the very nature of an artist is to see the world differently, not all of the painters and miniaturists in Istanbul agreed with the idea of purely abstract representation. Some had traveled to Italy, seen the work of foreign masters, and begun to think differently about their work and their world. However, some deeply religious people would continue to view representative art as sacrilege, regardless of who commissioned the work.

"My Name is Red" is constructed like one of the mosaics described in the story. Each chapter is narrated by a different character, some of whom we encounter repeatedly, while others we only see once. This provides a kaleidoscopic view of the story. Although the execution is not perfect (and it's not clear how much of that can be attributed to translation), it is still an impressive literary device. The little meta-wink at the end is a nice touch.

The constantly changing point of view can be a bit confusing. Perhaps the original Turkish text was clearer, but in the French translation I read, some characters' voices were difficult to distinguish from each other. When those characters rambled on about specific cultural details that were not quite relevant to the plot, it was frustratingly tempting to just skim.

This book is really for art and history enthusiasts. If you are not interested in the restrictions imposed by religion on artists to prevent their work from being turned into idol worship, you might find this book tedious. However, if you think philosophical debates about the purpose of art are cool and you enjoy long conversations about stylistic differences, then you might find this book fascinating. I've heard it compared to "The Name of the Rose" in terms of complexity, depth of research, and social commentary. I've also heard the same warning applied to both books: they are long, intricately detailed, and can get very heavy and tedious. I don't think such criticism is too far off in the case of "My Name is Red," but I don't think it should discourage serious readers from delving in. I rated it 3 and a half stars because I won't be inclined to re-read it later (I usually re-read books I have enjoyed), but there's no doubt in my mind that it's an important book that merits the effort.