Hello Gentle Reader
What an odd and interesting week it has been. Well an odd day it has been. When I had awoken up this morning at roughly Nine ‘O’ Clock, at which point I had gone and sat down at the computer, brought up the book “The Black Book,” by Orhan Pamuk who is The Nobel Laureate of Literature of two thousand and six (2006) and sat down at the computer, placed my fingertips at the keyboard, and was ready to begin writing. Then as if still dreaming or not entirely awaked, I was unable to write. From Nine ‘O’ Clock this morning until One ‘O’ Clock, this afternoon I had sat the computer mindlessly thinking about the first sentence that I would write on this particular blog or review for the novel that I had just finished last night.
Then comes the second paragraph. The introduction is done, but the second paragraph continues on. Maybe now is the time to tell a quick sketch or story about a personal event, an epiphany a thought anything to keep the process going. Give the reader a red herring, some useless detailed information. Just write something, but make sure it is entertaining, talks about something, and that the reader would enjoy it. – These are the thoughts that are running through my head today, as I sit here writing this blog. I’ve never had a problem before writing a review, of a book, and certainly “The Black Book,” by Orhan Pamuk should not be causing me these problems. For in my head the sentence or saying or repeated words keep playing: “For Christ’s sake it’s a book, you’ve reviewed books before. Some worst then others. Get to it!” – Yet there is just something today, something out of place.
Dear Gentle Reader, who reads because they are so kind, I admit I woke up this morning with the worst feeling in my stomach. There is that feeling of being watched. That feeling, which makes the hair on the back of your next stand up; your eyes quickly move from left to right. That futile attempt to see what is behind you, but the human anatomy does not allow such feats of human abnormal bodily movements. So you roll over on your shoulder, and look behind you. Total disappointment follows as you know you felt absolutely certain that there was something behind you. Those grainy images of those old tasteless horror films flash across your eyes. You think of those old and creepy porcelain dolls, with the cracks. The dark little hollow shell of their “insides,” (?) or strange rabid mutts sitting in the streets. Those starved eyes watching you as, you see their lungs push up against their almost translucent skin. There are so many images of odd and eccentric people on buses that flood back, the weird man in the food court who sat there making faces and talking to himself, and so on and so forth. Even though when you turn over on to your shoulder and you find nothing there looking back at you, and there is a sense of relief to find nothing there, even though logically you knew nothing would be there. This is one of those repetitive images in Orhan Pamuk’s novel “The Black Book.”
According to the back of the book (or at least a small portion of it):
“With its cascade of beguiling stories about Istanbul, The Black Book is a brilliantly unconventional mystery and a provocative meditation on identity.”
This is the perfect summarization of the novel. On the surface it is a mystery – but do not be fooled. This is not the common place mystery novel. This certainly is not Agatha Christie novel, or Sherlock Holmes story. This is a novel with the guise or on the surface a simple mystery novel, but Orhan Pamuk rips apart the entire concept of the mystery novel with his cult novel that is said to have found his voice.
The premise of this novel is about Galip a Turkish lawyer living in Istanbul. With the brief summary of the financial ruin of his family. The strange relationship between his grandparents, and their constant nagging of each other for smoking. To his uncle Melih who had disgraced himself and his family and has a very troubled relationship with his son Celâl, who is a famous columnist for the Turkish newspaper Milliyet. There is Vasıf the deaf cousin (I think) of Galip who is entertained by his Japanese fighting fish, and also enjoys the company of Galip and Galip’s (missing) wife Rüya, and review the news paper clippings he keeps in his box. In these opening chapter(s) and passages, Orhan Pamuk is writing about the wealthy and declining family that is reminiscence of his own family.
This novel however is not concerned with the outlook of the family or their history or how they ended up in their current situation. But it does serve as some background as to why Celâl is estranged from his own family, and no longer remains in contact with them. It also is a great way to show the distortion of time in the novel – that is for me it felt like time distortion. I am still not entirely sure how old Galip is or how old Celâl is. Though he is loved and hated by his family. The main characters in this novel are Galip, Rüya, Celâl though only one of them really makes much of a statement in this entire novel. However the columns that Celâl writes do make their statements, and in fact slowly and surely the entire philosophical conversation and concept of identity that appears to strike both Galip and Celâl, begins to fade the lines between who is who. Is Galip still Galip even if he pretends and mimic’s Celâl – or has he himself slowly begun to become Celâl losing his entire identity in the process. One would say it certainly is fair to say that in some way or another Galip wanted to be Celâl all along. Could Galip have been sick and tired of his own life, and longed and dreamed of the life of Celâl. His wife Rüya loves Celâl, just as much as she loves her cheap and dreadful detective novels. Celâl is famous and beloved by many. People eagerly await for the Milliyet everyday and flip to the second page to read the column. Celâl writes about the history of the city. He writes of his own personal history also.
One of the greatest parts of the histories of Istanbul presented in “The Black Book,” by Orhan Pamuk is the entire history of the mannequins, of Istanbul. How the public despised these mannequins because they resembled the Turkish people. The general public of Turkey did not want mannequins that resembled the Turkish people. They wanted mannequins that resembled the exotic and delightful beauties of Europe. They did not want to see peasants, peddlers, vendors, navy officers, and historical figures of Turkey; they wanted to see the exotic beauties of Europe. They want the elegance of the French woman holding the cigarette. They want to know the way to stand like an English person. That self-proclaimed dignified stance that they hold themselves. They want that perfect German look of engineering. The blonde hair and the blue eyes. They do not want to see themselves or the strangers on the streets, which they see every day.
Orhan Pamuk is also writes about the interesting characters and their stories of Istanbul. But also be warned my Dear Gentle Reader, Orhan Pamuk presents an interesting view of Istanbul. You do not hear of the Istanbul Sapphire (probably because it wasn’t built on the novels publication) this is a novel about Turkey’s backstreets. The crumbling decaying buildings, where the present, stands on top of the dust of the past.
“As for Tarik, who spent his days producing rat position in his stepfather’s libratory and his nights writing poems about the alchemy of death [. . .]”
Orhan Pamuk’s style also is interesting in his use brief mentions of past works. In chapter twenty-six Orhan Pamuk mentions his English debut novel “The White Castle,” which also deals with identity, in this following passage:
“The Ottoman defeat at Doppio or White Castle, as it was also known as.” – Now of Course I could be reading too far into this, but it certainly was neat to see that, not to mention that in an earlier chapter a man by the name of Cevdet Bey a tycoon of sorts is also mentioned. “Cevdet Bey and His Sons,” was written in ninety eighty two (1982) and is Orhan Pamuk’s first novel and so far has not been translated into English.
Another interesting work of Orhan Pamuk’s always shifting style is, that every chapter opens with a quote. These quotes can be from the twelfth century poet, Lewis Caroll’s “Alice’s Adventure in Wonderland.” On one such occasion while reading “The Black Book,” I came across two acquaintances of this book, who earlier on had given us two quotes. Adli and Bahti at first introduction are nothing more than two people/characters, offering their views and quotes. But in Chapter eight along with Cemali a third character introduced alongside the first two acquaintances of characters. After the introductions of these three musketeers the readers learns of their contradictory advice about how to write a column. One could suppose these three men A, B, C all helped or advised Celâl in his own formation of writing his own column.
This book by the Nobel Laureate of Literature of two thousand and six (2006) is no beach read that you’d sit and read. It is not a light read. It is a complicated novel, about identity, about Istanbul – the limbo that Istanbul is faced in being situated between Europe and the Middle East; it is about the present and the past. It is about the people. It is a complicated novel, on the surface a detective novel, but deep beneath the surface of this novel it is a meditation about identity, and about the nature of being oneself, and who is oneself. It is a complicated novel, which frustrates, but also rewards. Many people think that in two thousand and six that Orhan Pamuk was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature on political grounds – this was the man that was arrested and going to be charged for making “un-Turkish,” remarks – where he recognized openly the genocide and slaughter of the Armenians and Kurds. The charges were dropped but the ultra-nationalist lawyer Kemal Kerinçsiz had appealed to the Supreme Court who found Orhan Pamuk guiltily in March of this year (2011) and ordered him to pay a total of six thousand liras. But Orhan Pamuk is a talented writer and though he is a political writer also, “The Black Book,” is one of the most rewarding, challenging books I have had the pleasure of reading.
Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
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