احمر هو لون القلم الذي تركته دون اكمال السنة الدراسية مع طلابي ولازلت كذلك مع بداية العام الدراسي؛ لانها الحرب
احمر هو لون الدم الذي لم يفارقنا طيلة هذه الحرب
احمر هو اللون الاكثر استخداما في مهنه النقاش ولون الدم ايضا في الرواية لجريمة القتل، القتل الذي حرمه الله الا بالحق، وللأسف كل طرف شرع القتل بالحق الذي يراه، هو ذاته ما راه القاتل حقاً في قتل النقاشين رُفقاه باسم الله وتجريم كل جميل؛ اجل هو ما حدث منذ زمن ولا زال يحدث حتى اللحظة.....
اسمه اورهان واخوه شوكت امهما شكورة، قرة من احبها دوما؛ استر المراسلة؛ خيرية خادمتها؛ زوج الخالة ابوها؛ ظريف، لقلق، زيتون، فراشة النقاشون، شخصيات الروايه هم وبهم سميت فصول الراوية ال 59
ليسوا هولاء بالتاكيد فقط هم شخوص الرواية؛ هناك ايضا عناصر الرسم الأخير لسلطان '' كلب، حصان، شيطان، نقود، امراءة، شجرة''

كان لي لقاء باروهان باموق في عملين سابقين '' ثلج و الحياة الجديدة '' لكن هنا كان اللقاء مختلف لأسباب منها
الف : طردت فيها هاجس المسلسلات التركية؛ فمع كل قراءتي للعملين السابقين كنت كانني ارى مسلسلا تركيا. ه��ا كان السرد جميلا و مختلفاً خاصة تلك الاصوات الداخلية لشخوص الرواية؛ تلك الحوارات مثلا انا كلب؛ وانا ميت...
لايوحد هنا باء وجيم؛ يوجد هنا فقط انني استمتعت بالرواية؛ مع ان قليلا من الملل كان له نصيب اثناء قراءتي؛ لم تستطع ان ادرك السبب الحقيقي فلربما طول السرد والتفاصيل في تاريخ مهنه النقاش، فمعرفتي بتفاصيل هذه المهنة كانت من هنا من اسمي احمر.

Stunning. An absolute joy to read. It combines 2 of my favourite things, art and multi-character narration. Set in the Istanbul of the 1590s the story is really of the schism that opened up between the East and West, Christianity and Islam in terms of art. Up until the Italian Renaissance art from these two worlds were very similar, flat – no perspective, conventions in how to depict subject matter and subjects, be they human or animal, that all look alike. The cross in the road comes when the Islamic illustrators of manuscripts see the new Italian style and are in equal parts impressed and horrified that the depictions are so lifelike you would spot the subject if you saw him in the street. The fact that the portraits are of average (albeit wealthy) people and the viewpoint is on the level with the subject are in direct opposition to the Islamic tradition of all illustrations being from a god-like elevated position and depicting god’s ideal idea of a horse or whatever rather than one particular example.
This clash of ideas ultimately leads to murder and at its most fundamental one could argue it is a murder mystery but it is so much more than that. It is a tale of piety, of hanging on to traditions, of long simmering love, of dedication to one’s art and most powerfully a mother’s love for her young sons (many of the descriptions of Shekure cuddling or lying with them conjures up images of the Renaissance pietas).
Despite it being a long book it rattles along at a pace, each chapter being given over to a different narrator which is a clever way of using the first person while retaining an omniscient narrative. It’s quirkiness is set out in chapter one which is narrated by a dead man (the murder victim). Succeeding chapters are related by a drawing of a dog and a drawing of a tree among other things.
One of the most original, stimulating and intelligent books I have read in a while, it deserves 5 stars but I should knock one off because I didn’t like what the author did to my favourite character Black Effendi at the end.

"Il mio nome è Rosso" potrebbe sembrare un giallo di ambientazione orientaleggiante, nella stupenda Istanbul ottomana al culmine del suo splendore, che funga da pretesto per la penna del nobel Orhan Pamuk per una appassionata, coloratissima e vitale descrizione della sua città.
Lo è senz'altro: ma sarebbe banale ridurlo solo a questo perchè il grande scrittore turco, conformemente con la poetica di tutta una vita, rappresenta sullo sfondo dell'indagine della polizia ottomana quello che secondo lui è il massimo punto d'incontro culturale tra l'ovest cristiano e l'Islam: l'avvento dell'umanesimo in Turchia attraverso la contiguità (anche violenta: Lepanto) tra la serenissima repubblica di Venezia e la Turchia ottomana alla fine del Cinquecento.
Quando si parla di umanesimo e di Rinascimento spesso vengono in mente le indimenticabili opere artistiche, spesso a carattere figurativo: la cupola di santa Maria del Fiore, le stanze Vaticane di Raffaello, il terribile Cristo Pantocrator che domina il Giudizio di Michelangelo. Ma per capire come l'Islam abbia potuto recepire questa rivoluzione bisogna fare insieme con Pamuk un passo indietro e guardare al pensiero che ha reso possibile tutto questo: la prima cosa che gli umanisti di corte hanno fatto è stato ripensare il rapporto tra uomo e sacro, mettendo l'uomo stesso al centro dell' universo.
Questa antropocentricità unita alla capacità immensa che la pittura veneziana ha sviluppato nella pittura con una nuova gestione della prospettiva, della luce e del colore ( Giorgione, Pontormo, Paolo Veronese, Tiziano) consegna nelle mani dei grandi di quel tempo una nuova forma di ambire al ricordo ed all'eternità: la ritrattistica.
In un mondo così fortemente polarizzato dal punto di vista religioso come l'Islam, l'arrivo dell'umanesimo con le sue pretese di vincere la morte in modo laico non poteva che scatenare un terribile terremoto, culturale, artistico ma anche politico. Ed è questo terremoto che sottende la sequenza di omicidi che il cavaliere Nero Effendi deve risolvere, per salvare la propria testa e sposare l'amata Sekure.
Come nel nome della Rosa ambientato all'Ovest quattro secoli prima(che non a caso è richiamato sin dal titolo) anche in questo caso la violenza e l'omicidio vengono scatenati dal tentativo dell'ortodossia religiosa di tenere nascosto l'ennesimo libro forgiato all' Inferno. Il sultano di Istanbul, affascinato dalla potenzialità di gloria imperitura che le tecniche rinascimentali consegnavano all'arte, ha commissionato ai miniatori di corte un libro illustrato segreto ed eretico contenente il ritratto del sultano eseguito secondo le tecniche veneziane: violando sfacciatamente i precetti del Corano. La risposta cui siamo peraltro abituati ancora oggi non può che essere la morte.
Nero Effendi con l'aiuto del leggendario maestro di corte Osman entrerà nel meraviglioso mondo dei tesori artistici prodotti dall'Islam persiano lungo la via della seta, e grazie soprattutto all'analisi dello stile delle opere dei miniaturisti, riconosciuto con amore infinito dal maestro, riuscirà a risolvere il mistero, sconfiggere a duello l'assassino e raggiungere la sua sposa.
Il giallo è abbastanza lineare e semplice quindi, e si capisce molto bene che si sta parlando d'altro. Dell'occasione perduta dall' Islam di liberarsi da un rapporto frustrante e passivo col sacro insieme con il Cristianesimo del Rinascimento. Ma anche della devozione integralista dei miniaturisti ottomani verso l'arte e la bellezza, verso un mondo di meraviglie artistiche grande come un continente e di cui gli occidentali cresciuti all'ombra di Leonardo e di Michelangelo ignorano persino l'esistenza. Una ignoranza simile si avvicina alla bestemmia.
Il libro è scritto davvero con amore, e quindi non poteva essere brutto: per chi è appassionato di arte del Rinascimento diventa un capolavoro. Per chi si interessa del tema quanto mai attuale del rapporto tra Est e Ovest diventa irrinunciabile.

Bir kitabı tekrar tekrar okumanızı sağlayacak temelde iki sebep vardır: Ya o kitabı ilk okuduğunuzda yazarın meramını idrak edecek kabiliyette olmadığınızı yıllar geçtikten sonra fark edersiniz ve oradaki fikirleri kaçırdığınızı anlamanın hayal kırıklığını yaşarsınız, ya da kitabın güzellikleri sizin içinizde dallanıp budaklanmıştır ve oradaki bir cümle, bir şaka, bir an, ufacık bir hikâye sizin bir parçanıza dönüşmüştür ve güzel bir manzarayı tekrar görmek ister gibi tekrar o kitabı okumak istersiniz. Benim Adım Kırmızı ikinci türden bir kitap ve ben tekrar okurken, o güzelliğin daha evvel kaçırdığım ayrıntılarını fark ettim, hayal meyal hatırladığım hikâyelerini hafızamda tazeledim. Orhan Pamuk ile tanışma romanımdı, bütün romanlarını okuduktan sonra tekrar dönüp okumak ilginç bir deneyim oldu.

Orhan Pamuk'u en çok kitaplarının zor okunmasıyla eleştiriyorlar. Bu kitap da, aynı eleştiriden nasibini alan Kara Kitap da okuyucunun zevk alabilmesi, kitaba merakını yitirmemesi, her sayfadan eğlenebilmesi için tasarlanmış. Köpeklerin, altınların, renklerin dile geldiği, şakacı bir dille bir bütüne hizmet eden onlarca hikâyenin olduğu bir kitap Benim Adım Kırmızı. Kitabın bir bölümünü sevmeseniz bile sonraki bölümü sevebilirsiniz, bir karakteri sevmeseniz bile, bir başkasını sevebilirsiniz. Örneğin Orhan Pamuk romanları arasında en sevdiği kadın karakterin Şeküre olduğunu söylüyor, fakat ben Şeküre'yi o kadar da sevmedim. Ama Ester'i okurken müthiş keyif aldım. Benim Adım Kırmızı bir okuru hiçbir şekilde yakalayamıyorsa, okuyucu yüksek ihtimalle önyargılı yaklaşıyordur.

Orhan Pamuk'a en sevdiği romanı sorulduğunda cevabının zaman için değiştiğini, ama genelde cevabının Benim Adım Kırmızı olduğunu söylüyor ve annesi Şeküre'nin "Bütün romanlarını bir yere koyabiliyorum, onlar benim tanıdığım Orhan'ın yazdığı romanlar ama Benim Adım Kırmızı'yı benim tanımadığım bir Orhan yazmış," minvalindeki sözlerini aktarıyordu. Bugün Pamuk'un yazılarını neredeyse takıntılı denebilecek bir şekilde takip eden biri olarak ben de bu tespite katılıyorum. Orhan Pamuk romanları içerisinde diğerlerinden tek ayrık duranı bu roman diyebilirim. Belki Kafamda Bir Tuhaflık'ın yazılış biçimini, okuyucu konumlandırdığı yer bakımından ve kısa kısa söz vermesi bakımından Benim Adım Kırmızı'nın formülüne benzetebiliriz. Burada alışık olmadığımız bir biçimde çok fazla karakterin devam eden öyküsü çabucak anlatılıveriyor. Orhan Pamuk roman atmosferini çevreyle değil karakterlerin düşünüş biçimleriyle ve nakkaşların alışkanlıklarını, adetlerini anlatarak sağlıyor.

En eğlenceli, en renkli, en şakacı Orhan Pamuk kitabı Benim Adım Kırmızı.

Kara tipik bir Orhan Pamuk karakteri: Galip gibi, Ka gibi, Kemal gibi. Bu karakterleri bir eleştirmen "dünya şaşkını" diye tanımlamıştı, hoş bir tanımlama.

Kitabın sonu çoğu Orhan Pamuk kitabında olduğu Orhan Pamuk "bu roman en fazla bu kadar kalın olmalı" tespitini yaptığında gelmiş, hikâye o kadar olduğu için değil. Pamuk isteseydi 2000 sayfa yine yazarmış.

Ve son olarak, Pamuk Veba Geceleri'nin İstanbul yangınlarını ve vebayı anlattığını, ama edebiyatla ilgili olduğunu söylüyor ve Benim Adım Kırmızı gibi olacak diyor. Sabırsızlanarak bekliyorum ben de.

اولین کتابی که از اورهان پاموک خوندم (هرچند دیر) و یکی از بهترین کتاب‌هام شد

My Name is Red is an historical fiction and mystery/ thriller by Orhan Pamuk set during the Ottoman Empire, namely the Sunni Muslim empire in 1591 Istanbul and led by Sultan Murat III bringing about an enthusiastic revival of intellectual and creative activity, including miniature painting. Murat being an enthusiastic patron of miniature painting, commissioned several books to be painted by the artists that were part of the Ottoman court. In the words of one of the miniaturists:

"I was responsible for painting and embellishing books. I illuminated the edges of pages, coloring their borders with the most lifelike designs of leaves, branches, roses, flowers and birds. I painted scalloped Chinese-style clouds, clusters of overlapping vines and forests of color that hid gazelles, galleys, sultans, trees, palaces, horses, and hunters."

The many chapters of the book all have different narrators, the first hooking me immediately as it is in the voice of the murder victim whose smashed body has been thrown into a deep well as he laments that his soul cannot pass over until his body is found. Throughout the book as we hear from different characters with differing points of view or even inanimate objects such as a tree that has been erased from the art project, one's interest is piqued as we are drawn deeper into the mystery of whether or not there is a plot to murder the miniaturists. With snow in Istanbul being a rare happening, the following passage sets the ominous tone:

"Snow had already begun to accumulate on the rooftops facing north and on sections of the dome exposed to the northeasterly breeze. An approaching ship, whose sails were being lowered, greeted me with the flutter of canvas. The color of its sails matched the leaden and foggy hue of the surface of the Golden Horn. The cypress and plane trees, the rooftops, the heartache of dusk, the sounds coming from the neighborhood below, the calls of the hawkers and the cries of children crying in the mosque courtyards mingled in my head and announced emphatically that, hereafter, I wouldn't be able to live anywhere but in their city."

This is a book that kept my attention throughout, not only with the deepening mystery but with the powerful love story as well as the beauty and power of art whether it be in paintings, books or murals. I found the unfolding story riveting throughout and the writing awesome as the many intricate layers unfolded in this beautiful book. I will conclude with a powerful passage from the chapter by the color red, entitled I AM RED:

"I appeared in Ghazni when Book of Kings poet Fidusi completed the final line of a quatrain with the most intricate of rhymes, besting the court poets of Shah Mahmud, who ridiculed him as being nothing but a peasant. I was there on the quiver of Book of Kings hero Rustem when he traveled far and wide in pursuit of his missing steed; I became the blood that spewed forth when he cut the notorious ogre in half with his wondrous sword; and I was in the folds of the quilt upon which he made furious love with the beautiful daughter of the king who'd received him as a guest. Verily and truly, I've been everywhere and am everywhere."

"Color is the touch of the eye, music to the deaf, a word out of the darkness. Because I've listened to souls whispering--like the susurrus of the wind--from book to book and object to object for tens of thousands of years, allow me to say that my touch resembles the touch of angels. Part of me, the serious half, calls out to your vision while the mirthful half soars through the air with your glances."

"I'm so fortunate to be red! I'm fiery. I'm strong. I know men take notice of me and that I cannot be resisted."

Saying I liked it or didn't like it doesn't really capture the complexity of my experience with this book. Part murder mystery, part love story, and part historical novel about the book-art in the ottoman empire....I thought it was right up my alley. Maybe I expected to have more of an emotional connection but it was all very intellectual and somehow that frustrated me...churned up my stomach which was quite contented on the diet of all-fluff, all-the-time. Reading this was like eating roasted beets with rosemary---good for me but i prefer something sweeter, and smoother.

OK, here's my beef:
It often felt like reading a genealogy of islamic stories and historical books which I found tiring; though sitting in the vault of the sultan and perusing these books would be incredible for me, reading about the rich visual imagery was tedious.

I constantly felt like there was something I couldn't access because I don't have the specific background knowledge; but I still can't even form the questions I need for deeper connection. I had the impression that the stories recounted over and over would be mundane (in a comforting way), familiar and meaningful for people from that culture they weren't for me.

The murder mystery kept me reading because I wanted to find out who did it but resentfully, because i kept losing track of the author's clues while trudging through the endless philosophizing.

The conversations about the place of art and artists in relation to their funders, influences, and the contemporary culture; the ways representation can be slippery and dangerous; the questions surrounding seeing, perception, blindness, and divine inspiration vs. a skillful hack job--- all of these are fascinating and relevant to me but such a dry dry dry voice.

And the love story was pffff... like looking through a snow globe at some scenery you couldn't touch.

Arguably the best novel of Orhan Pamuk. Set in Istanbul during the height of Ottoman power, this novel is a tribute to the art of painting as well as a fascinating murder mystery which will keep you hooked till the end. The unusual narrative is felt with full force right from the start - as you read the first chapter, starting with the voice of a corpse at the bottom of the well wondering who was the wretched man that killed him.

Then ensues a beautiful exploration of the 16th century Istanbul's art scene, its many rivalries, and in between breaths a heartfelt love story that keeps the main protagonist on his heels, as he finds his way through the internecine politics at home and at court. This story is a fascinating example of the possibilities of modern global novel. Must read.

كانت هذه الرواية هي المدخل إلى عالم باموق ... لم تكن الجريمة هي ما جذبني إلى هذه الرواية إنما أسلوب الكاتب والأحاديث الداخلية .. حتى الكلاب تحكي في هذه الرواية .. هذا إلى جانب أنه من المدهش أن تقرأ رواية فتجد نفسك في معرضٍ للوحات تراه بأم العين تتخيل كل التفاصيل الذي استطاع هذا الكاتب الفذ أن يوصلها إليك بحرفية عالية ودقة تضاهي دقة رسامين ذلك العصر

باموق من الكتاب المفضلين لدي وسأظل دائما متحيزة لهذا الكاتب

"Books which we mistake for consolation, only add depth to our sorrow"

n  
"Books, which we mistake for consolation, only add depth to our sorrow."

"For the sake of a delightful and convincing story, there isn't a lie Orhan wouldn't deign to tell."
n

This is a lot like 'The Name of the Rose' a very, very, very well researched historical crime fiction where some people, who aren't exactly detective, are searching for a criminal. There are other similarities too, both books have a very big library the access to which is restricted. Both make commentary on position of women in society of time and, in both books, people are troubled by control of religious clerks on lives of people. The mystery itself isn't at all interesting, but it is the clash of values forming the background which makes the two books interesting.

'My Name is Red' fairs much better in differences. The love story is more interesting, women character(s) (there was only one in TNOR) get better space and developments, and the art talk is so far more amazing when compared to discussions like what Jesus meant when he did whatever he did in John 11:24.

Now painting is forbidden in Quran, because of dislike in Islam for anything even remotely associated with idol worship. Some sections even advocate blurring faces of dolls used as toys for little girls.

n  
"after a while, we begin to worship a picture we have hung on a wall, regardless of the original intentions"
n

And thus painters were looked down upon for centuries in Islamic countries. By the time of our story though the things had changed. Painters painted but under several restrictions. Any innovation that hadn't happened decades ago was looked down upon. And making portraits of real people was a sin. Painters and miniaturists were expected to draw from memories rather than by looking at things:

n  
"To paint is to remember"
n

And thus none of painted (say) horses was anything like real horses but its very essence, the image that comes on to one's mind when one thinks of a horse. And that is what those artists want, the essence, not the thing itself.

n  
“I don't want to be a tree; I want to be its meaning.”
n

This essence is very much like what Plato called 'forms' in his 'Theory of farms'. n  "Forms are the essences of various objects: they are that without which a thing would not be the kind of thing it is. For example, there are countless tables in the world but the Form of tableness is at the core; it is the essence of all of them. Plato's Socrates held that the world of Forms is transcendent to our own world (the world of substances) and also is the essential basis of reality. Super-ordinate to matter, Forms are the most pure of all things. Furthermore, he believed that true knowledge/intelligence is the ability to grasp the world of Forms with one's mind." -Wikipedian To be honest, these 'forms' are nothing but images mind come to associate with images, our mind seems to be better equipped to store images than mere abstract words IMO.

But of course, not all artists agree with tradition:

n  
"genuine artists have an instinctive desire to draw what's forbidden"
n

and hence the clash.

All those quotes, stories such as ones where artists are putting needles in their eyes to turn blind and parables about art are something I really adore. But for space issues, I would have quoted all of them.

n  
"Allah created this worldly realm the way an intelligent seven-year-old boy would want to see it"

"while everyone depicted Mejnun in a wretched state in the desert, crazed with love for his Leyla, the great master Bihzad was better able to convey Mejnun's loneliness by portraying him walking among groups of women cooking, attempting to ignite logs by blowing on them or walking between tents."
n

And although you must love reading about art, find the idea of artists going blind for sake of their art romantic to love the book; there is more to the story than merely art talk. There is that whole element of fantasy with creatures like devil, corpse, tree, ghost, dog, red (the color) etc serving as narrators of the story. Then there are some narrators who are people but have red-herring of names - Black, Butterfly, Strock. Olive etc.

n  
“Dogs do speak, but only to those who know how to listen.”
n

There are also all the characters who have got their names from real life people - there is in book a young boy named Orhan, whose mother is Shekure, related to English 'sugar' refers to Shirin, meaning 'sweet' (and it is a very, very sweet sounding word I think) - the name of Pamuk's mother, and Shevket is Orhan's brother both in book and real life.

And, last, Orhan's prose. I must quote my favorite passage (this passage might as well have been in Ovid's Metamorphosis):

n  
"It happens all the time to you fortunate literate people: A maiden who can't read begs you to read a love letter she has received. The letter is so surprising, exciting and disturbing that its owner, though embarrassed at your becoming privy to her most intimate affairs, ashamed and distraught, asks you all the same to read it once more. You read it again. In the end, you've read the letter so many times that both of you have memorized it. Before long, she'll take the letter in her hands and ask, "Did he make that statement there?" and "Did he say that here?" As you point to the appropriate places, she'll pore over those passages, still unable to make sense of the words there. As she stares at the curvy letters of the words, sometimes I am so moved I forget that I myself can't read or write and feel the urge to embrace those illiterate maidens whose tears fall to the page."
n

More quotes:

"A letter doesn't communicate by words alone. A letter, just like a book, can be read by smelling it, touching it and fondling it. Thereby, intelligent folk will say, "Go on then, read what the letter tells you!" whereas the dull-witted will say, "Go on then, read what is written!"

"And if I happen to tell a lie or two from time to time, it's so you don't come to any false conclusions about me."

"the Sultan was seized by a kind of panic, suspecting that this volume he was reading recounted not a story or a legend, but what was most unbefitting a book: reality itself. "

"imperfection gives rise to what we call style"

"After the victorous Fahir Shah captured Selahattin Khan and tortured him to death, his first task in asserting his sovereignty, according to custom, was to visit the library and the harem of the vanquished khan."

"no matter how talented a miniaturist might be, it is time that makes a picture perfect."

"Every idiot assumes there is a pressing circumstance about his love that necessitates particular haste, and thereby lays bare the intensity of his love, unwittingly putting a weapon into the hands of his beloved. If his lover is smart, she'll postpone the answer. The moral: Haste delays the fruits of love"

"It's because I don't understand what my heart is saying that I'm dispirited."

"Ibn Arabiâ's notion that love is the ability to make the invisible visible and the desire always to feel the invisible in one's midst"

"In reaction to being overly logical we'll feed fantasies for weeks and years on end, and one day we'll see something, a face, an outfit, a happy person, and suddenly realize that our dreams will never come true"

“Tell me then, does love make one a fool or do only fools fall in love?”

“Painting is the silence of thought and the music of sight.”

"beauty is the eye discovering in our world what the mind already knows."

" قلْ هَلْ يَسْتَوِي الأَعْمَى وَالْبَصِيرُ أَمْ هَلْ تَسْتَوِي الظُّلُمَاتُ وَالنُّورُ أَمْ جَعَلُواْ لِلّهِ شُرَكَاء خَلَقُواْ كَخَلْقِهِ فَتَشَابَهَ الْخَلْقُ عَلَيْهِمْ قُلِ اللّهُ خَالِقُ كُلِّ شَيْءٍ وَهُوَ الْوَاحِدُ الْقَهَّارُ " سورة الرعد 16

" وَلِلّهِ الْمَشْرِقُ وَالْمَغْرِبُ
فَأَيْنَمَا تُوَلُّواْ فَثَمَّ وَجْهُ الله " سورة البقرة 115

ويقول أورهان على لسان بهزاد في فلسفته للرسم ..

الف : الرسم هو بعث الحياة فيما يراه العقل من أجل متعة العين
لام : بقدر ما ترى العين العالم بقدر ما تخدم العقل
ميم : هذا يعني أن الجمال هو إعادة اكتشاف العين للعالم لما يعرفه العقل بذاته

إن جمعتها تصبح آلمـ وهي بداية السورتين المذكورتين أعلاه ..فهل يمكن أن تكون هذه محض مصادفة ...

لا تسألوني كيف أتيت بهذه البداية ،، ولا كيف لاحظت هذه الملاحظة !
تحيرت كثيراً في كتابة بداية لهذه المراجعة ،، بل لأكن أكثر صدقاً في كتابة المراجعة بأكملها ،،!

لنبدأ من حيث " اسمي أحمر " لماذا أحمر ؟؟
الرواية تتحدث عن النقش الاسلامي في الزمن العثماني وقد كان اللون الأحمر سائدا أنذاك .. ولكن لا أظن أن ذلك هو السبب الوحيد .. فالحب أحمر ،، الكره أحمر والدم أحمر ..
لذا سيكون من المنطق أن يفتتح روايته حيث الدم .. حيث " أنا ميت " ليتحدث بلسان جثة ..

ليست فقط البداية هي المدهشة .. بل كل ما تلى ذلك من حديث بين الشخصيات ذات روح أو ليست ذات روح ...وكيف ترابط الحديث بين كل هذه الشخصيات لينتج لنا رواية من 600 صفحة وبحبكة مدهشة .. وليسس الهدف هو تلك الجريمة ولغزها بل الوصول بنا من حيث تلك الجريمة إلى زوايا النقش حيث اقتبس قوله " إذا كنا داخل رسم أفرنجي فسنخرج من الإطار والرسم واذا كنا في رسم على طريقة اساتذة هرات كما نرسم نحن فسنصل إلى مكان يراه الله ، واذا كنا في رسم صيني فلا نخرج منه أبدا لأن رسوم الصينين تمتد إلى ما لا نهاية"
يأخذنا بين زوايا النقش الاسلامي وكيف بدأ ،، تطور ،، ثم اتخذ اشكالا من التقليد للغرب ،، وأخيرا اندثر
وكيف كان ذلك كله عكساً للحقبة التاريخية .


" الآن أفهم أن آلاف النقاشين على مدى العصور رسمو الرسوم نفسها بسرية وهدوء ، كانو في الحقيقة يرسمون تحول العالم إلى عالم آخر بسرية وهدوء "

تخيل أن تدخل متحف وتحدثك لوحاته ،،هكذا كان باموق وهو ينثر الكلمات معبرا بلسان اللوحة تلو الأخرى ساحرا إيانا من زمن إلى زمن ومن أسلوب إلى أسلوب ... يعكس هذا قدرة خلاقة على الوصف إضافة إلى خلفياته الواسعة عن تلك اللوحات وتلك الأزمنة .


"‏ إذا نظرت طويلا فسيدخل عقلك إلى زمن الرسم "

إلى أي مدى يمكن أن تصل قوة الرسم في التأثير على عقل الانسان ،، هل بإمكان رسم ما أن يؤثر فيك لدرجة تجعلك تعشق انساناً أو تكرهه أو ربما يصل بك الأمر إلى قتله ،،!

وربما اذا نظرت طويلا سترغب في أن تفقأ عينيك ليكون ذلك الزمن الذي دخلت إليه هو آخر ما ترى ..

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** ما زال هناك فكرة او فكرتين وانطباع سأضيفهما في وقت لاحق ... فالحديث عن باموق لا ينتهي ..

** أما عن النجمات فقد حيرتني ولكني تحيزت لباموق
+ لا أظن أن مثل هكذا رواية تنسى ..
.....

إكمالا لهذه المراجعة التي كنت قد بدأتها ..

أحد المحاور الأساسية في الرواية هو الموضوع الشائك والذي يمكن تلخيصه بالسؤالين

" لماذا يظن الجميع أن الرسم سيغلق أمامهم أبواب الجنة ؟" ‏!‏"

" هل يمكن للانسان أن يرسم رسما يخرجه عن دينه دون أن ينتبه ؟" ‏!‏‏"‏"

لم أكن ألقي بالاً لهكذا أسئلة .. ولكن باموق فتح بوابة في ذهني للنظر مرة أخرى في هكذا موضوع ومن وجهة نظره هو ،، ووجهات نظر مرت عليه وطرحها بشكل فريد ..

أما عن أسلوب أورهان فأفضل الاقتباس لوصفه من روايته ..

" ولأنني أحكي ما يشعر به قلبي ، وأخرجه بألوان ذكرياتي وآلامي ، يبدو ما أحكيه مثل نقش "

ومع النهاية :
"احذروا كل الحذر من الوثوق في "أورهان" لأنه ليس ثمة كذبة لا يقدم عليها لتكون حكايته جميلة وصادقة "
هذه الجملة أضحكتني جدا ولمن قرأ الرواية سيعرف السبب .. أورهان لا يتسلى بالكتابة فحسب بل يتسلى بنا نحن القراء ويتجاوز ذلك إلى أن يوجههنا في متاهته حيث يشاء ..


وختاما :
“ المهارة ليست بقراءة المكتوب فقط ! ”

** تحذير هذه الرواية +18
** هذه الرواية ستستهوي أكثر من يحبون السرد والوصف والتأمل والرسومات ..
** حتماً سأقرأ المزيد لباموق فهو يتفاعل معي كقارئة ..