View from my Window - or Other Colours
Orhan Pamuk's latest offering, the View from my Window (in German) or 'Other Colors' (in American English), sounded like a good book to take on my most recent trip to Istanbul. I expected another book exploring the highways and byways, little corners, tiny streets and unusual courtyards of Istanbul, a book which would lead me into further, so far unexplored corners of the city.
In fact the book is a collection of essays, and a story (though it does not seem to be a fiction story). The essays cover a vast variety of topics; moments from his childhood (which he seems to revel in - he always talks about it), thoughts about other authors, the experience of being in Germany with the expatriate Turkish community where everyone holds a different concept of Turkishness, a fond farewell essay addressed to his father, something that looks like a speech (and what a long one) he made when receiving the Peace Prize of the German Book Trade; in another essay he pokes gentle fun at people who exhibit their books to impress their visitors; he contemplates earthquakes and gives a description of the Istanbullus' reaction to the 1999 earthquake which killed about 30,000 people, and finally adds a story from his childhood of one of the occasions when his father left.
As always, the essays are absolutely beautifully crafted, and because one does not expect anything to happen, or to develop, the long and very involved descriptions do not get in the way of action, as they do in some of his novels. Going by some of his other stories I was rather surprised to find that he has a wife and a daughter; his writing is so contemplative and slightly melancholic that I expected him not to have space in his life for people, apart from the city of Istanbul which he loves. An essay on the earthquake and the high risk of earthquakes in Istanbul (I would not buy a house there) finishes answering the question - why don't we leave? 'Because I cannot imagine a life in any place other than Istanbul'. This makes it doubly sad that after Hrant Dink's murder he left Istanbul to live in the US.
It's a lovely book, one which one could pick up, read an essay or a few lines, and put down again. It's been put together from essays published in a variety of media, and I wonder a little bit if this was an emergency reaction to having to live in expensive New York - but my bookshelf is richer for this little volume. He is growing on me more and more....I still have a number of unfinished books on my 'to be read' shelf....
In fact the book is a collection of essays, and a story (though it does not seem to be a fiction story). The essays cover a vast variety of topics; moments from his childhood (which he seems to revel in - he always talks about it), thoughts about other authors, the experience of being in Germany with the expatriate Turkish community where everyone holds a different concept of Turkishness, a fond farewell essay addressed to his father, something that looks like a speech (and what a long one) he made when receiving the Peace Prize of the German Book Trade; in another essay he pokes gentle fun at people who exhibit their books to impress their visitors; he contemplates earthquakes and gives a description of the Istanbullus' reaction to the 1999 earthquake which killed about 30,000 people, and finally adds a story from his childhood of one of the occasions when his father left.
As always, the essays are absolutely beautifully crafted, and because one does not expect anything to happen, or to develop, the long and very involved descriptions do not get in the way of action, as they do in some of his novels. Going by some of his other stories I was rather surprised to find that he has a wife and a daughter; his writing is so contemplative and slightly melancholic that I expected him not to have space in his life for people, apart from the city of Istanbul which he loves. An essay on the earthquake and the high risk of earthquakes in Istanbul (I would not buy a house there) finishes answering the question - why don't we leave? 'Because I cannot imagine a life in any place other than Istanbul'. This makes it doubly sad that after Hrant Dink's murder he left Istanbul to live in the US.
It's a lovely book, one which one could pick up, read an essay or a few lines, and put down again. It's been put together from essays published in a variety of media, and I wonder a little bit if this was an emergency reaction to having to live in expensive New York - but my bookshelf is richer for this little volume. He is growing on me more and more....I still have a number of unfinished books on my 'to be read' shelf....
2 comments:
I think you've converted me, Beate - I got stuck on one of his books long ago and never went back. More fool me, by the sound of it.
Shame about his exile. But you can't blame him.
Try 'Other colors' or his book on Istanbul first. I find them easier than the novels...
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