false 5 3 false false Wed Apr 30 00:00:00 -0700 2008 Tue Apr 22 03:37:50 -0700 2008 Sat Oct 17 03:12:01 -0700 2009
Pamuk manages to intermingle the story about Istanbul and himself - reflecting each other along the way. The writing style is mostly visual - his trademark - and of course when it comes to sensitive or personal facts, he would be cheeky enough to sort of hide it from the readers, certainly without compromising the dramatic effect nor the reading pleasure.

This intricate prose taught me about "huzün" - the collective melancholia of istanbul and its people, being a former high civilization plummeted into poverty and defeat. It also taught me about the radical westernism who wish Turkey to be uprooted from its traditions and history. Yet reflectively, this two elements are those playing with his own life. Reading his lamentation, I am so glad I am not in his shoes.

Picked up this book after reading his later book "Other Colours" mentioning that this book has disturbed his relationship with his mother. Found the answer in the final chapter which I consider very impressive, leading to his current life choice.

Strangely enough, I don't feel encouraged to visit Istanbul at all.

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Addition:

http://www.ft.com/cms/s/2/703e6e8a-b860-...

"I had written most of Istanbul by then. But I kept finding details that I should have put in my book. What I came to realise – what I had learned, through heartbreak, while I was working on the book – was that to write a memoir is not to review all of one’s memories, preserving each in turn, but to forget almost all of them, creating instead a story from those memories that refuse to go away."

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