Istanbul

Orhan Pamuk, Turkey's most famous novelist, shares with us an intimate view of his childhood and of Istanbul in the 1950's, 60's and 70's. Pamuk certainly doesn't shy away from the detail of either topic. This is an in-depth book, broken (sensibly) into short chapters, and interspersed with loads of old (black and white) photographs. It is obvious that as well as his own recollections and knowledge, there has been much research into building the detailed history. It is a somewhat eclectic collection of topics, zig-zagging all the way, but largely in chronological order.

Pamuk has a clear affection for his city of birth, but he doesn't shy from sharing the parts of Istanbul that show it as city in decline. From burning mansions on the Bosphorus to the old cobblestone alleys with neglected buildings, Pamuk describes them in rich detail, following up with photographs of almost every aspect he writes about.

His family and family history lies exposed for all to see, and the intimate details are not spared. He shares his childhood thoughts and beliefs, his father having and affair and its effect on his mother, and his first love - and while the largest part of this memoir is melancholy and about the troubles of his life, there are some genuinely funny parts. Politics and religion were also open topics, nothing was off the table, modernisation, Westernisation, ethnic immigrants who were arriving in Istanbul.

Interwoven through this history are artists and literary figures - those from Turkey and those who visited, and their thought and opinions are also explored. While we know Pamuk as a writer, his first involvement with the arts was painting, which he persisted with throughout the novel. I made no real connection with the artists or literary figures (especially the Turkish ones!), but one great aspect of this book are the short chapters - no topic is persisted with for too long (although some are revisited).

P268
Even if I didn't believe in God as much as I might have wished, part of me still hoped that if God was omniscient as people said, She must be clever enough to understand why it was that I was incapable of faith - and so forgive me. [...] What I feared most was not God but those who believed in Her to excess. The stupidity of the pious - whose judgement could never be compared with those of the God - God forbid - they adored with all their heart - that was the second thing that scared me.

P289
One day, too, sex would cease to be a solitary pursuit; I would have a beautiful lover with whom I would share my forbidden pleasures.

The publication of this book in 2005, aligns with my visit to Istanbul. For me it still had the old-world feel, the history in the cobbled streets, the buildings, the Bosphorus. I enjoyed the backfill this book provided, mixed with the childhood memories offered up by Pamuk. I haven't read any of the authors fiction, but own one, and will read it in due course!

4 stars.

I really wish I had enjoyed this more. It's a series of essays, some autobiographical, about the city of Istanbul, its culture, and the author's life there. The autobiographical essays were my favorite part. They were mostly well-written and interesting, and I enjoyed the perspective on the city. These chapters made me want to go visit Istanbul, rent a yali on the Bosphorus and count the boats.

There were also quite a few essays on the author's favorite Istanbul writers. Some of these were interesting, and some of them I ended up skimming or skipping altogether, because I don't know these writers, haven't read their work, and I wasn't personally getting anything out of an analysis of their work. I found myself getting bored. Same with some of the chapters about various Turkish artists.

So let's go back to the “Memories” part of the title. Even though I enjoyed them overall, they alone would not have made this a five-star book for me. The last chapter, in which the author has an extended (repetitive, dull) argument with his mother about why it would be a terrible idea for him to become an artist is what finally drove this three-star review into two-star territory. What drove it from a four-star to a three-star book for me was the frequent references to the author's teenage masturbatory practices. (Why do so many men think this is important information to include in their autobiographical work? It's not unique, it's not interesting, and it was completely unnecessary to mention it in like, six different chapters. WE GET IT.)

I enjoyed the descriptions of the melancholy of the city and the pictures scattered throughout. Ultimately, I think you could probably read the first half the book and put it down and not miss anything, and that's very disappointing considering how many good ratings this book got on the first page of Goodreads.

Going to read this again when/If i ever go to istanbul. Cultural History, West/Orient, Memoirs etc.

পুরো বইটা একরকমের ছোট গল্প। অতৃপ্তি রেখে গেলো। উপভোগ্য অতৃপ্তি। একধরনের ঘোর তৈরী করে বইটা। একধরনের ভালোবাসা, যা আমি এবং পামুক দুজনেই শেয়ার করি নিজের নিজের শহরের তার স্বাদ পেলাম। বস্তুতঃ কাব্যের কাজই হলো নিজের কথা সার্বজনীন করে দেওয়া। পামুক সেই কাজটা চমৎকারভাবে করেন।

A book that makes me want to visit Istanbul just to walk around and see the sights that Pamuk describes and develops in this book. Reading his prose is an experience of “painterly” writing, where you cannot help but have a vivid image in your head of the surroundings and atmosphere conjured up with the words. But it is also a portrait of a sensitive young boy coming of age in a place and time where the borders between worlds are unpredictable. Not only are the Western and Eastern worlds in conflict, but also the world of family secrets and respectability.

This was my introduction to the author's writing and he's jumped onto my favorite author list as a result. I'm anticipating reading his other books, especially his fiction.

boring

I am fascinated by Istanbul and harbor a desire to visit some day. In the meantime I content myself with reading accounts of the place. This one is particularly poignant and melancholy. While the author cites many interesting works, a bibliography at the end is missing. Many black and white photographs of the eras described (1950s to 1960s) illustrate the city as it was then.