By PHK
Who in the quest for the melancholic soul of his native city has discovered new symbols for the clash and interlacing of cultures." - The Swedish Academy, The Nobel Prize in Literature 2006 is awarded to Orhan Pamuk.
Last October, Orhan Pamuk received the Nobel Prize for Literature the first such prize awarded to a Turkish writer. His Nobel acceptance speech is found here. The prize was well deserved: Kudos too to Maureen Freely, the translator of Istanbul: Memories of the City and Snow and former Robert College classmate, a writer, journalist and academic in her own right as well as his earlier translator Erdag Goknar who together have made Pamuk's works accessible to the English speaking world.
I had previously read Pamuk's two best known works of fiction published in English: My Name is Red and Snow. My Name is Red takes place in 16th century Istanbul and centers on a group of miniaturists who painstakingly embellish books for the Sultan. Snow, in contrast, occurs in the present. It is a late 20th century tale set mostly in Kars, an all but forgotten town in Eastern Turkey near the Russian border. In both books, Pamuk relentlessly drives the action forward in his centuries apart tales of murder and troubled love as if commandeering a troika of high spirited horses across the wintery Russian steppe. In My Name is Red, Pamuk himself appears most obviously in the character Black, the nickname for the second husband of Shekure, a beautiful woman this miniaturist had loved and craved since childhood, and as Orhan, her youngest son by her first marriage.
This became clear to me only while reading Pamuk's autobiographical Istanbul: Memories and the City (New York: Alfred Knopf) which was translated into English by Maureen Freely and published in English 2006.
Pamuk's plots are compelling and his books are beautifully written. You don't have to be a literature professor or literary critic to figure them out. That's the good news.
Yet his works are so rich in Ottoman and/or Turkish history - as intricate and entangled as any archeological dig in the Mediterranean or as complex as the designs on the ceramic tiles in Topkapi's Seraglio - that at least basic knowledge of Turkish and Ottoman history, culture and society vastly enriches their contents. Maps of Istanbul's neighborhoods are almost equally important to the understanding and pleasure of reading Pamuk.
In Istanbul: Memories and the City, Pamuk, born in 1952, entwines his own life and that of his troubled family's with the city's history. Clearly, he still copes with the demons of his less than idyllic home to which he remains tethered but he also chronicles the multiple demons that plagued this politically dwarfed and economically diminished - albeit spectacularly situated city - which until 1923 had been the capital of two successive great empires, the Byzantine and the Ottoman, beginning in the 4th century AD.
The fact that Pamuk illustrated Istanbul with black and white photos and drawings that portray the city of his early life (and before) in stark, colorless terms, also says much about the tenor of the times in which he grew up as well as how the Ottoman Empire's cavalcade of defeats in the 19th and early 20th centuries turned one of the world's richest, proudest and most vibrant capitals into a dulled, impoverished image of its former self.
Today's Istanbul has come a long way since the city of Pamuk's childhood as Ray Suarez commented about his visit there last week on the "PBS Newshour" on March 23. I agree. But this does not make Pamuk's depiction of the city during his childhood any less wrong.
Even so - and I last spent several days in Istanbul in September 2006 today's shinier and wealthier Istanbul still has a distance to travel before it becomes even as economically vibrant a city as nearby Athens, the capital of modern Greece. Istanbul - for starters - could usefully engage in the same kind of pre-Olympic Game make-over that spruced up Athens before the 2004 Olympics.
To make life truly livable again Istanbul needs to divorce itself from the polluting cheap coal and gasoline residue that still fills the air and coats buildings with dank soot once the temperature drops. Turkey also needs to come to terms with the darker corners of late Ottoman history now chronicled in the writings of today's Turkish intellectuals, writers and journalists including Pamuk, Elif Shafak, and the late Hrant Dink who was murdered in late January on an Istanbul street by a 16 year old religiously provoked Muslim youth from the Black Sea city of Trabzon. He is now under arrest - turned in by a sorrowful father.
Neither task will be easy. Threats from these darker corners also explain why Pamuk currently teaches at Columbia University in New York and Elif Shafak at Arizona State University. Both Pamuk and Shafak are part of the secular, modernizing Turkish intellectual tradition upon which the ultra-nationalist, anti-EU cadres of this country have declared war - first in the courts and now worse, on the street.
Istanbul in black and white . . .
My first visit to Istanbul was a short one in late January 1979 en route back to Moscow after visiting friends in Nairobi. Istanbul was then cold, rainy, and polluted. Turkey was in the thralls of an unstable left-wing government which did not know how to govern. Coffee was non-existent, gasoline rationed, the Turkish lira was depreciating rapidly and besides, the lira was a non-convertible currency so anyone who could, kept money in a hard currency account in Switzerland.
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