The Architect's Apprentice

by Elif Shafak

‘In order to gain mastery, you need to dismantle as much as you put together.’

‘We are not destroying the buildings, son. We are destroying our desire to possess them. Only God is the owner. Of the stone and of the skill.’

Blissful days these were – though, as too often happens with blissful days, they would be appreciated only when they were no more.

Death settled over Istanbul like a fog that wouldn’t lift, seeping through every hole and crack. It fluttered about in the sea breeze, frothed in the yeast of bread, brewed in the thick, bitter coffee. Little by little people stopped going about; shrinking from gatherings, they sank into solitude. The splash of oars and the murmurs of oarsmen could not be heard even on the quietest evenings. No one wished to journey from one shore to the other if they didn’t have to. Never had Istanbulites been so afraid of standing out in the crowd. Never had they been so afraid of offending God. For He had a peevish disposition, the God of the early days of the plague. People were forever worried about the wrong word escaping from their lips, the wrong hand touching their skin, the wrong smell filling their nostrils. They bolted their doors and darkened their windows to avoid the sunrays that spread the disease.

On Friday, after the evening prayer, they set upon the twisting streets of Pera.

It was as if there were two invisible arcs: with our deeds and words we ascended; with our deeds and words we descended.

If you don’t know what to do with an answer, don’t ask the question,’

‘Talent is a favour of the divine. To perfect it one must work hard. This is what we must do.’

If there were no hope of reward and no fear of punishment, would I work less? I don’t believe so. I work to honour the divine gift. Every artisan and artist enters into a covenant with the divine. Have you made yours?’

‘Because you’ll compare. If you think you are better than the others, you’ll be poisoned by hubris. If you think another’s better, poisoned by envy. Either way, it is poison.’

Sinan was made of flowing water. When anything blocked his course, he would flow under, around, above it, however he could; he found his way through the cracks, and kept flowing forward.

the worth of one’s faith depended not on how solid and strong it was, but on how many times one would lose it and still be able to get it back.