I liked the book unexpectedly. I have read Pamuk's "House of Silence" and my memories are gloomy: the talent of the master and the message of the book are high, but the atmosphere is joyless, so I was afraid to start such a big work as "My Name is Red". In vain I was afraid.
Orhan Pamuk was born in Istanbul in 1952 and grew up in a large family similar to those which he describes in his novels Cevdet Bey and His Sons and The Black Book, in the wealthy westernised district of Nisantasi. As he writes in his autobiographical book Istanbul, from his childhood until the age of 22 he devoted himself largely to painting and dreamed of becoming an artist. After graduating from the secular American Robert College in Istanbul, he studied architecture at Istanbul Technical University for three years, but abandoned the course when he gave up his ambition to become an architect and artist. He went on to graduate in journalism from Istanbul University, but never worked as a journalist. At the age of 23 Pamuk decided to become a novelist, and giving up everything else retreated into his flat and began to write.
In the beginning, of course, I had to work hard to get used to the book, to get into its rhythm, to understand that it cannot be read in parallel with others. There are no separate coherent segments of meaning-the ends of the chapters are not. It would be ideal to read it in one fell swoop from beginning to end, but it's impossible, you have to stop and pause somewhere, but it's not clear where and how to do that. Even though the narrator changes in each chapter, it makes no sense to interrupt exactly at the end of the chapter - it's expensive, it will be hard to read the next time. This is such a peculiar thing.
Istanbul, 1591. The sultan commissions his court painters to draw a book as a gift to the ruler of Venice as proof of the power and glory of the Ottoman Empire. The drawings in the book are to be done in a European style as opposed to the traditions of oriental miniatures. On the peculiarities and differences of Western and Eastern styles is tied up in the conflict of this novel. One of the artists suddenly disappears and is later found murdered. When the master craftsman in charge of the project is found murdered in his own home, it is time for the Sultan himself to intervene. At the center of the story is the calligrapher Kara, who has just returned to town after a twelve-year absence. He is in love with the married daughter of the head master. The story of this love, reciprocal or not? - The heart of the entire novel. Each chapter is written on behalf of one of the characters, so the reader sees events more broadly than any individual character.
What did you like about it?
The first is the unconditional skill of the narrator: he doesn't pour water, picks themes interestingly, takes care of the reader, intrigues, keeps him in suspense, etc.
The second is the characters. There are many characters, but they don't get mixed up because they are different - as in life - and each is not only recognizable when he takes the floor again, but also develops into his own, different side from the others. They evoke real emotions, then annoyance, then respect, then envy, then pity. Whatever you want, reader, enjoy! The main character at times directly infuriates her womanizing, and in other places, you wonder how wise she is the same female wisdom - and in this there is no contradiction, she is perceived harmoniously, as a living person. And the main character - from an enthusiastic young man in the first pages to a seasoned warrior with sad eyes at the end of the story - it is interesting to walk the path with him! It's interesting guessing who the killer is (I didn't guess). Every time the author gives him a word - you get to know him and at the same time wonder about the changes and how events affect him.
Well and the third thing I really, really liked was the fullness of meaning! Book lovers have read hundreds of stories, dozens of them about love, dozens of them about murder and the search for killers, many historical novels about different times and manners and much more. It would seem that what more could be invented to surprise me, fill me, please me (hello, postmodernism, I'm coming to you by leaps and bounds!)? But here it is! Here's a new story. A new interpretation of why to kill and how to justify killing, how to revenge and how to punish. A new way to fall in love, to show and hide your love, and that love itself is so different, as it should be. The message of the book: how scary it is to lose traditions. This is a new topic for me. How does it feel to feel like standing at the origins of the destruction of something that has centuries-old roots, that has been created by the painstaking work of generations of masters, carefully passed down to students and jealously guarded against hostile influences? You are standing on the ashes of your own life and suddenly realize that not only your fate is ruined, but immeasurably worse - your actions initiated an irreversible decline of the unique art of Islamic painting. That is what the book is about.
Now for the title of the review. "My Name is Red" has been compared to Umberto Eco's "The Name of the Rose," talking about imitation and secondary. And for good reason, by the way, they say, and this is by no means a flaw, but a virtue, if anyone guesses to discern why. And yet, from Orhan Pamuk's gloomy, heavy-handed, conservative prose, I did not expect postmodern devices. But he made people, animals, objects, and even color speak in turn, while hiding himself as the author. Welcome to postmodernism! Before you know it, you're in.
So, be warned, the book is hard to read. Very difficult. But worth it, very worth it!
Comments