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I visited Istanbul twice and can still see, hear, smell and feel the vibrancy of this exotic, magnificent city. I eagerly anticipated reading this book. Disappointedly, I found this author’s lifelong experiences to be melancholy and his writings meandering. His reflections and observances offer a few beautiful moments but those moments are not worth the tedious read.
Rating: 2 / 5

I read this book ‘in parallel’ with Amos Oz’s “A Tale of Love and Darkness”; both are written by noted novelists looking back at their early years, but they are vastly different: a character-focused dynamic memoir marked by the birth of a state (Oz) versus a landscape-centered pathetic travelogue marred by the death of an empire (Pamuk)!

I generally do not read novels, so Pamuk is no exception. It is hard for me to believe that he has been so successful, as I found the writing in “Istanbul” rather mediocre. Although I can see an overall decadent individual producing great fiction, I suspect that his success is propelled by Turkey’s bid to join the EU: identity fusion such as “White Castle”’s and overall ‘confusion’ between East and West serves as a great spice for Turkey’s bid in the Brussells kitchen!

Of course a careful reading of “Istanbul” may reveal the origins of Pamuk’s East-West vision, and explain the style of writing as well: when the author was young he dreamed of becoming a painter, and that dream was fueled by relentless exposure to Western painters and travelers, so in the end he is not sure whether he gazes at his own city as a Turk or a Westerner, etc etc.

But in addition to those Western painters and writers there were some local Turks whose quest for ‘Turkishness’ amidst Ottoman Istanbul’s ruins — and contemporary Istanbul’s poorer districts — did not escape Pamuk’s notice. There is nothing unique in intellectuals from ‘peripheral’ countries searching for their ‘roots’ in the culture and lifestyle of those fellow men that are — or rather were, before globalization — least likely to be affected by foreign influences. But in Turkey’s case we have the added paradox of a parent empire that shunned the mother tongue and generally did not view itself as ‘Turkish’; add to that a city that was largely non-Muslim when Pamuk was born and the most prominent monuments of which are pre-Ottoman, and you begin to see where the author is coming from.

I could be biased due to my ethnicity, but the concept of contemporary — to a youthful Pamuk at least — Turks not knowing what to make of a fabulous city they somehow ‘inherited’ seems to emerge through the reading of “Istanbul”. To his credit, the author is very open about the endless persecutions of the now nearly extinct Greek (Rum) minority, and he even mentions the silence of the Turkishness-seeking Istanbul intellectuals after the 1955 pogrom. But this honesty does not make me share his sorrow at the decay of Ottoman Istanbul, and the vividly described phantasmagoric to cathartic burnings of the old pasha villas by the Bosporus in particular.

Ah, yes, the Bosporus… Many of the book’s best moments are connected to it — like the young author’s awe at the silent passing of a larger-than-death Soviet warship in the middle of the night, for example. Another moment for which I retain some affection is the old museum guard ending a young couple’s kisses through the sound of his steps on decaying wooden floor…

As other reviewers — notably Turks — have pointed out, you don’t get a good image of contemporary Istanbul and its dynamism by reading “Istanbul”. I can even say that a Guardian article by his translator (Maureen Freely) following the November 2003 terrorist attacks was, in a way, more worthwhile reading than the entire Pamuk’s memoir! Still, “Istanbul” might be remembered in the future as a valuable chronicle of that global city in its numbing phase between Ottoman Turkey and European Turkey.

Rating: 3 / 5

Orhan Pamuk has been in the news lately, owing to the Nobel Prize he was awarded in Literature. To me, it is always uplifting to see non-Western names in the Nobel lineup. I decided to check him out, and not having much time, preferred the light reading offered by Istanbul. It is an amazingly marvelous way of describing the conflicts faced by well-settled people, in developing countries, as changes sweep by, mostly for the worse. These changes are the modern realities of overcrowded cities, dumping of history and monuments, and migration of peoples from the rural areas. They can also be seen as muddled attempts at Westernization in most of the Third World; attempts running up against the limitations of wealth, land, innovation, and job creation. This can apply to any city in the Third World, caught in the realities of the modern era. I could easily change the names of the places in Istanbul, and could very well be in a city in India; such is the power of Pamuc’s expression.

All the changes have brought on a certain melancholy in the author, and he describes the various ways he coped with it. In the process, he has bared a lot of details about his personal ways and I find one description particularly disturbing—there is repeated description of masturbation in chapter after chapter. If it was true in his case, then was there a repeated need to bare this? I earnestly hope that this form of self-flagellation is not a gold standard for catching the attention of the Nobel Committee. Such a good book, and what would have been a good introduction to a famous writer, unfortunately, cannot be recommnded for young readers.
Rating: 4 / 5

Sharp analysis on how Instanbul’s heard bits following all roots and never fearing, censoring “black holes” of nationalistic past and presence. Pamuk avoided becoming cheap romantic and although not in his main focus, confesses historical truths by taking high personal cost. Not only very advisable before visiting Turkey and Istanbul, but for everyone who tries to understand how turkish mindset consists and from where tensions, uniqueness and prejudices but also sweetness of turkish soul sources. Unfortunately for Pamuk, like every prophet in his own land, Turkey doesn’t understand the cultural and political capital that could be exploited from his hot confessions.
Rating: 5 / 5

Orhan Pamuk brilliantly descibes the city he was born with melancholic touches. I think he is at his best at this novel. He is definitely one of the great masters of his era. I couldn’t help wiping tears.
Rating: 5 / 5