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My Name Is Red by Orhan Pamuk: Discussion
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I Am a Book Yes, I am a book. How can a book talk, you ask? But books talk all the time. Every time you pick up a book to read it, it talks to you. I do not have beautiful illuminations within, more’s the pity, but I do describe such beautiful illuminations.
I am very proud of the fact that my author is someone who has won the Nobel Prize for Literature. This must mean that I am a very important book. I am part murder mystery, part love story—set amid the perils of religious repression in sixteenth-century Istanbul.
How do I explain myself to you? Perhaps, I shall tell you what my story is about. I am essentially the story of Black, a failed illustrator who has spent 12 years in the eastern provinces of the Ottoman Empire after falling in love with his beautiful cousin, Shekure, and being rejected by her.
Returning to his native Constantinople in the middle of a bleak winter, he finds everything changed. Shekure, married and widowed in his absence, is once again looking for a husband. Meanwhile, her father, a wealthy and influential former ambassador to Venice, known to all and sundry as 'Uncle', has embarked on a long-cherished project, the compilation of an illuminated book for the sultan in which the world will be depicted 'realistically' and in perspective, in the manner of the Renaissance painters Uncle grew to admire in Italy.
This, though, is a dangerous enterprise, for Islamic fundamentalists are abroad in the city and they hate all art and Western art in particular. One of the illustrators working on the book being prepared for the sultan has already been found at the bottom of a well with his skull crushed and, before long, Uncle himself is brutally murdered.
Black simultaneously tries to woo Shekure and identify the killer, now hanging about in coffee houses, now talking to illustrators, now poring over the priceless illuminated manuscripts in the sultan's treasury.
Bu that is only one part of me. Perhaps in talking about me, you will discover other parts.
Brilliant introduction, Whitaker!I'm not sure how to rate this book. On the one hand, Pamuk is an important writer and I should take advantage of what I can enjoy/learn from him. On the other hand, all the time I was reading I had to convince myself of this in order to keep marching on.
On the one hand, as an artist, I found the bits of information about the miniature arts and artists fascinating. On the other, would that they remained bits, instead of veering off toward treatises that interrupted the flow of the story.
On the one hand, it could have been a gripping murder mystery. On the other hand, it wasn’t. Part of the fun of a mystery is being able to guess at some of the possible solutions as you read. I was way, way, way too confused to guess.
On the one hand, it could have been an absorbing love story. On the other hand, it didn’t seem that either of the protagonists really gave a damn.
On the one hand, the multiple viewpoints thing worked brilliantly. On the other, it completely confused me in the beginning, and later I began to find it a tiresome gimmick that interrupted the flow with endless digressions.
On the one hand, I would have probably gotten more out of the book if I hadn’t skimmed in quite a few sections. On the other hand, I did skim or I’d still be bogged down in graceful if seemingly unending verbiage.
On the one hand, if I were rating on how important the book is I'd give it 4 stars. On the other, GR defines these stars as to how well one liked the book. Using that reasoning, I'll have to give it two.
Whitaker,I love your introduction also. I sometimes wonder if the Nobel Prize is given to obscure authors in order to promote world literature. I didn't care for much about this book. I felt that Pamuk was continually lecturing us about the difference in Persian and Western art. I got the point early on. The mystery wasn't much of a mystery for me, because I guessed right away who the murderer was from the clues given.
As Ruth said, I didn't think Black and Shekure really loved each other. Black was in love with the Shekure of old.
Here are some quotes that I like. p. 170, from Uncle: They (the Westerners) paint what they see, whereas we paint what we look at. p. 218, from Black in answer to why the miniaturists always paint horses in the exact same way: "Because they are attempting to depict the world that God perceives, not the world that they see."
That is just a start.
Thank you for posting the miniatures, Whitaker. It made me appreciate this book more than I had before.
Jane
You guessed the murderer, Jane? I'm still not sure who it was. I guess that's why you read mysteries and I don't. I can't ever figure them out. Was it Olive?
I haven't finished the book, and I'm still reading these notes, because, to me, it's unimportant who the murderer was. All those miniaturists were the same to me--there wasn't enough about them to make them into individuals.
Whitaker, your introduction is brilliant!This is the second Pamuk book I have read, and I have to say that I liked Snow better. The Nobel is given, I believe, for the body of work. And My Name is Red was written prior to Snow, so it feels to me like Pamuk grew as a writer in the interval.
That being said, I did like this book, but I also had to push myself on in many parts.
I liked the chapters that were written from the point of view of a tree or a horse. When one gazes at the pictures that Whitaker has posted elsewhere, you do know that the tree or the horse have great significance. If that horse could talk, what would he tell me? Now I know.
I love the observations being made, and I wanted to respond first to them. So far, the general feeling seems to be that it was an okay book, not awful but not great either. I have to say that the first time I read it that was how I felt too. I liked it, it was interesting, just not an absorbingly fun read. I actually enjoyed the various digressions into the art of Islamic miniatures, but such digressions do not a novel make. It never felt gripping enough to be a mystery novel, nor passionate enough to be a love story.
So why did I recommend it? Because despite everything I thought it was an interesting novel, flawed but definitely worthy of interest and very thought provoking.
Then I read it a second time for this discussion. And something happened that I did not expect. This time, with the mystery out of the way and the love story out of the way, I LOVED it. My rating went from three stars to five. As to why, I’ll come to that. But first the other observations.
Jane wrote: "The mystery wasn't much of a mystery for me, because I guessed right away who the murderer was from the clues given."
Wow! I couldn’t remember the details so even though I knew that that the mystery was solved, I couldn’t remember which miniaturist did it. So even the second time round, I had no clue. You have to tell us what gave it away for you.
Ruth said: "On the one hand, it could have been an absorbing love story. On the other hand, it didn’t seem that either of the protagonists really gave a damn."
Absolutely agree with you. I think Jane is right when she says that Black was in love with the Shekure of old. In fact, what’s interesting is that Black doesn’t see this, but Shekure does. She says at one point that Black could have fallen in love with anyone. He was at the age when a man wanted to get married, and she was conveniently there for him to fall in love with. And, of course, the way the love story ends just feels somewhat of an anti-climax.
Sherry wrote: "All those miniaturists were the same to me--there wasn't enough about them to make them into individuals."
Yes, that’s true isn’t it? They are more representations of miniaturists rather than realistic portraits.
MAP wrote: "I liked the chapters that were written from the point of view of a tree or a horse. When one gazes at the pictures that Whitaker has posted elsewhere, you do know that the tree or the horse have great significance."
Yes, I loved those bits too! They were so quirky and fun.
MAP wrote: "… I have to say that I liked Snow better."
Hee. It was the opposite for me. Go figure.
Now, why did I love it the second time round? Precisely because it was no longer about the love story or the murder mystery. I knew how those turned out so they just weren’t important anymore.
But I would say that there IS a love story in this novel, it’s just not the love story of Black and Shekure. And there IS a murder in this novel, it’s just not the murder of Elegant Effendi or Uncle. The object of love and the murder victim are one and the same: it’s Islamic miniaturist art. Black ends his days pouring over miniatures, and the episode in the Sultan’s treasury really speaks of the love that he and the head miniaturist feel for this art. But it’s a dying art. It’s been destroyed both by Renaissance representational art and by the fundamentalist iconoclasts.
And so the book is an elegy to Islamic miniaturist art. But it’s not only an elegy, it’s an attempt to resurrect it, indeed to actually reproduce it, in novel form:
-- All the objects that talk to us are actually mentioned in the story. Just like Islamic miniature art, objects take on significance. But it's never, say, a specific horse (like Black's horse) that talks to us but "horse-ness" in general. Just like Islamic miniature art. In the same way, the depiction of certain persons never achieve representational effect, and they remain more types than persons.
-- We get many different viewpoints, sometimes contradictory, so the individuals' viewpoints never represent the truth. And sometimes the individuals themselves are not aware of the truth of themselves. We get a better perspective of the action from "on high". Just like Islamic art.
-- And that's why we get so very very much about the history of and reasons behind Islamic miniaturist art.
When it’s read that way, the novel positively glows. I really felt devastated at the end of the novel (okay, a bit strong that, but definitely I felt a sadness and melancholy) at the dying of a beautiful art form. Hey, perhaps one day, someone in the far future will write an electronic twitter piece (or whatever has come along to replace it by then) that seeks to replicate the (by then, dead) novel form. LOL!
So. It is perhaps best read as a novel of ideas. When read that way, all the faults, all the things that made us all go, "Oh, but it’s not a great murder mystery/love story," are no longer faults. We are meant to not pay too much attention to these forms.
But, and therein lies my continuing problem with this novel: the form is so strong that we can’t ignore it especially on a first read. And so, it feels unsatisfying. So, even treated as a novel of ideas, I’m not sure how I feel about a novel that feels somewhat unsatisfactory read the first time, and only becomes brilliant on the second.
Whitaker,You make some excellent points, but I didn't like the book enough to read it a second time. We seem to agree that the love story and the mystery are not strong points in this book, so I can see how the book would be better if you weren't paying so much attention to those two things.
Here is how I figured out who killed Elegant and the uncle. Stop reading if you don't want to know the answer. Actually it was before the uncle was killed, I think. Black went to visit each of the three miniaturists and they each have a chapter from their point of view. Only Olive did not have a beautiful wife who was spying on the conversation. When the murderer spoke, I got the impression that he lived alone and couldn't stand being in his home alone, so he wandered the streets.
Jane
I read this book during last Christmas vacation, so I don't remember a lot of details. I have also read the author's SNOW. At the beginning of reading both books,I was really enthusiastic. As I continued to read, I got bogged down in the middle. However, I enjoyed them both enough to persevere to the end.What I like about Pamuk the most is that he helps me visit worlds I barely knew existed before I met his books. That makes the experience of reading him worthwhile for me, although I would like to see him condense his books - they do seem to repeat themselves a lot.
Whitaker, I really liked what you said about the book being a homage to the miniaturists and their art
Why Jane, you are so clever. Remind me not ever to try to put something over on you.
At Chapter 30, I'm only half way through the book. I really, really like it, but I don't know how to tell you all the reasons why I do. It's a mystery, but it's not much of a mystery. It's a love story, not the erotic kind; some say the tale of Husrev and Shirin that's paralleling Black and Shikure in the book inspired Shakespeare's own Romeo and Juliet, I don't know.I like the book because it's discussing things I’m interested in, like: exotic countries, art and Allah; individually vs. the collective, symbols, timelessness, colors -- or, like Whitaker said: ideas!
I like it too that Whitaker said: (I hadn't considered this, it's very good.)
"And so the book is an elegy to Islamic miniaturist art. But it’s not only an elegy; it’s an attempt to resurrect it, indeed to actually reproduce it, in novel form:"
I like the discussion about western realism in art as being false and egotistical …. but, valuable and good :). Here's a quote from "I am Olive" Chapter 14, that I've been pondering for at least a day:
"Before the art of illumination there was blackness and afterward there will also be blackness. Through our colors, paints, art and love, we remember that Allah has commanded us to 'See'! To know is to remember that you've seen. To see is to know without remembering. Thus, painting is remembering the blackness. The great masters, who shared a love of painting and perceived that color and sight arose from darkness, longed to return to Allah's blackness by means of color. Artists without memory neither remember Allah nor his blackness. All great masters, in their work, seek that profound void within color and outside time."
I think this is a great analogy for a paradox about seeking God through alternative symbols; God exists in seeming blackness, but you can find Him by looking at colors ;). Can someone connect that to the references to blindness in the book?
Interesting that I'm also listening to an audio book called "The Blood of Flowers” by Anita Amirrezvani. It’s a novel set in 17th-century Isfahan in Iran, the author’s first book, about a young woman and the beautiful art of carpet making. In many ways it’s like this book, but it is erotic. Both stories are interesting to me for how Islamic women are treated, and how they can make their situations work to get what they want, considering their status.
Jane wrote: "You make some excellent points, but I didn't like the book enough to read it a second time."Yes, I completely understand how you feel. I wouldn't have read it a second time either except for this discussion. So, I'm seriously wondering, does that make it a bad book? What do you all think?
Janet wrote: "I think this is a great analogy for a paradox about seeking God through alternative symbols; God exists in seeming blackness, but you can find Him by looking at colors ;). Can someone connect that to the references to blindness in the book?"
I wanted to say that I'm so glad you're enjoying the book. I need to think about your question there, but yes, it does seem that there must be something there.
Okay, I know a few of you are artists (yes, Ruth, I'm looking at you. Candy, you too.) I'm curious, what did you think about the idea that the influence of Renaissance painting destroying Islamic miniaturist painting. I'd always thought that the strongest and most powerful periods of artistic creation were associated with ferment and cultural exchange. All that innovation spurs artists on to create more interesting things. Would you see your art in the same way?
I wish I knew more about Islamic art, Whitaker. I do very much like European Medieval manuscript art. The work that I've been doing on book pages is influenced by Medieval manuscripts. Medieval Mss share some things in common with the Islamic art we're talking about, such as lack of perspective, lack of shading for the appearance of volume, a hierarchy of size rather than of depth within the picture, the use of the idea of an object (such as horse) rather than the depiction of an individual.
Interestingly, some of the ideas of Modern art, cropping up in the late 19th century, are also predicated on rejecting the Renaissance idea of the picture plane as a window into deep space.
What goes around, comes around.
I am arriving a bit late to the discussion. I actually read it a few years ago, and like Jane, I didn’t think I had in me to re-read it, but this discussion is bringing up so many interesting points that I may just go browse through it to revive my memory. What I do remember of this book is the feeling of not really grasping it. I actually shelved it here on GD under the Way-Above-My-Head shelf. But, as always, the discussion here is making me see aspects I did not perceive on m y own.
I also browsed through the various reviews on GR, and found one by “Darcy” (http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/21...) to be most interesting, here is an excerpt:
The structure, ..., also allows for a second discussion, not about art but about writing on art. As much as this is a novel concerning visual images, it is also a novel about ekphrasis--the verbal description of art. Ekphrasis has the effect of slowing down a narrative, of interrupting it. Thus, in Homer's Illiad, the great battle scene is suddenly punctured by a lengthy description of Achilles' shield. Pamuk plays with this model repeatedly. When the image of the horse, described several times in the novel, is given a voice of its own the narrative is not interrupted, but rather the description of the image becomes the narrative. And, moreover, as the image speaks it refutes the fundamental principles underlying Master Osman's devotion to Islamic traditions of art. Pamuk can hardly resist the joke--this is a novel about art in which not a single image appears, except the map at the beginning and the ones we create in our minds as we imagine the images described. But, are we creating an image of the ideal horse, the horse of God, or one we can actually touch, taste, and smell?
You can read her full text here:
http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/...
I also invited Darcy to join us on this discussion, and I hope she does.
I found a bit more info into Ekphrasis here:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ecphrasis
the most delightful description of it is at the bottom of the Wikipedia page, I don’t know if it is directly related to this discussion at the moment, but I cannot avoid sharing it:
In another instance Socrates talks about ekphrasis to Phaedrus thus:
"You know Phaedrus, that is the strange thing about writing, which makes it truly correspond to painting.
The painter's products stand before us as though they were alive,
but if you question them, they maintain a most majestic silence.
It is the same with written words; they seem to talk
to you as if they were intelligent, but if you ask them anything
about what they say, from a desire to be instructed,
they go on telling you just the same thing forever".
Capitu wrote: "I am arriving a bit late to the discussion. I actually read it a few years ago, and like Jane, I didn’t think I had in me to re-read it, but this discussion is bringing up so many interesting poin..."Capitu, thank you so much for that post and for pointing us to Darcy's review. Oh, this is one reason why I love Goodreads and Constant Reader! :-D
Ruth wrote: "The work that I've been doing on book pages is influenced by Medieval manuscripts."I love that! And I'm so glad you pointed that out. It adds a whole additional level of texture to your work that I find very stimulating.
I guess what I was trying to say, though, is that all artists like yourself surely are influenced by many different things. And that exchange helps the art rather than hinders it. In the art history context, Moorish art in Spain got a boost from the mix of cultures I think, creating vibrant and original works.
Don't know enough about Muslim miniatures myself to comment, but just generally it seems to me that cultures usually adapt to other influences. Perhaps it takes some time to digest them, but in the end, the overall effect is good. It's like if you're a novice writer. You start off imitating writers you admire but you gradually internalise that and mature to develop your own style. The quality of the good writing overwhelms you at first, but that's how you grow.
I'm also wondering to what extent Pamuk is also commenting on the huge influence of pop culture on the rest of the world, and how some cultures have not been able to cope. It's like Video Nights in Khatmandu when Pico Iyer talks of hearing Eye of the Tiger played all across the world. On the other hand, I would point out that Bollywood and Indian bahngra music are surely pop culture art forms that have taken on and successfully adapted the Western pop culture form. And Salman Rushdie and Gabriel Garcia Marquez must surely be examples of successful adaptation and fusion.
Culture clash? Creative destruction? Artful melding? What does everyone else think?
Culture clash? Creative destruction? Artful melding? I think it can be all three, Whitaker. In fact, it usually is. All three are the engines which push change.
Whitaker: "I'm curious, what did you think about the idea that the influence of Renaissance painting destroying Islamic miniaturist painting. I'd always thought that the strongest and most powerful periods of artistic creation were associated with ferment and cultural exchange."I'm not an artist, so this is just guessing... but I think both can be true: that cultural exchange leads to periods of heightened creativity AND to the destruction of a particular art form. Don't know much about Islamic miniaturist art, but it seems that its form was as rigidly structured as haiku: only illustrate stories -- and the same stories; aim at reproducing the works of the masters; paint idealized images, not individualized ones; paint from the perspective of Allah (i.e., looking "down" on the subjects)... Oh, and I almost forgot this: if you do a REALLY good job, you go blind! The painting was not just a style, but a way of seeing the world, a way of life. Adding "Frankish" techniques changes the artist's perspective in more ways than one...
Speaking of perspective: what is Pamuk saying through his choice of multiple narrators? Did you think that they had individual "voices," or not? Interesting that he is using many "on the ground" voices to tell a story about an art form where individualism is a flaw and everything is to be presented from an omniscient, overhead perspective.
Mary Ellen, about mid-way through the book & still enjoying it a lot.
Thank you for suggesting and posting this link, Whitaker. I enjoyed listening to the interview; I've just finished listening to it and will remember many things he said, including this: Orhan Pumak said he's used a lot of color references in this and other books because, as an artist himself, he simply likes color; therefore, I should stop trying to read more into its symbolism than there is. Although there is much symbolism in tradional literature, he said, he isn't intentionally using it. I still have to read a few chapters to finish the book. I think I've most enjoyed parts when the characters, or sometimes the objects, are expressing religion by explaining the miniaturists' art. (If I close my eyes perhaps I can see it all better :D )
Maybe there's a bigger point: that seeing, although it's fantastic and realistic, like Frankish representation, is not a substitute for the real deal, which is living.
I just joined this group and this book is on the way to me through my library system. I had never heard of it! Always looking for a good read.
I read this book last year, so don't remember a lot of the details of it, but I really loved it. I've skimmed the comments here, so may have missed a few things people have said, and may be duplicating what someone already said. Still...Like others here, I also thought the mystery and love story were secondary, but perhaps not, if they were subtly symbolic. I say this because the other Pamuk I've read, The White Castle, was again exploring the juncture of of Turkish and Western European society and ideas, that juncture dealing with science and technology.So, when I read this book, I saw a parallel to that. I developed a working hypothesis that underlying Pamuk's books is an exploration of the differences between the two cultures, and how those very differences have intertwined and influenced each other over time. So, the tepid and almost one-way love story (again a hypothesis I could think more clearly about if the book were still fresh in my mind) and the murder might represent the attractions between, but also destructions occuring to, the two cultures due to their proximity and interactions. Feel perfectly free to reject this idea, as I can't give good examples to substantiate it. But wanted to throw it out there.
One of the things which struck me in the book was the really Platonic idea of essence which seemed to underly the traditional ideas behind the miniatures. Yet as I remember, European art never was interested in Platonic essences (at least up to the time of the book). Plato was persona-non-grata for the Church, and Aristotelian ideas, the ones known, were far more acceptable. Medieval art was usually interested in visually telling moral and religious stories, and the Renaissance got interested in natural representation, perspective and classical mythology. Again, art historians here, feel free to contradict me! Perhaps this Platonic idea within Muslim art is again a good example of the subtle interchanges which had taken place between the two cultures, even if neither was particularly conscious of the adoption, and thought the ideas their own.
Anyway, those are a few of my residual thoughts about the book.
Libyrinths wrote: "So, the tepid and almost one-way love story (again a hypothesis I could think more clearly about if the book were still fresh in my mind) and the murder might represent the attractions between, but also destructions occuring to, the two cultures due to their proximity and interactions."I love that idea! The murder of the illustrator certainly parallels the death of Islamic miniature art that Pamuk talks about. I'd never considered, however, the Shekure and Black romance paralleling the Ottoman infatuation with Renaissance art. It certainly adds an enlivening perspective to the book that I find most intriguing.
Libyrinths wrote: "Perhaps this Platonic idea within Muslim art is again a good example of the subtle interchanges which had taken place between the two cultures, even if neither was particularly conscious of the adoption, and thought the ideas their own."
I don't know much art history myself, but I like your comment about subtle interchanges. Even in the book, Pamuk mentions how Islamic art was heavily influenced by Chinese art. So there was certainly an exchange of ideas.
Mary Ellen wrote: "Speaking of perspective: what is Pamuk saying through his choice of multiple narrators? Did you think that they had individual "voices," or not? Interesting that he is using many "on the ground" voices to tell a story about an art form where individualism is a flaw and everything is to be presented from an omniscient, overhead perspective."
That would be a wonderfully indirect comment on the notion of individuality wouldn't it? Actually, I found the voices of Shekure and Esther to be the most alive and vibrant. And I found it most interesting that Pamuk says that he wrote those sections for his wife. And also that Shekure's interaction with the children is based on his and his brother's relationship with their own mother.
There are so many interesting comments and questions on this thread that are making me see things in what I think I remember of the book! Two questions asked brought me to see something I hadn't before. First, the question about the stories of individual elements of the miniatures, and whether they represented individual voices. The second was the question about blackness and blindness.What occurred to me in the first of those questions was, if I'm remembering correctly, that each of those stories -- like dog, tree, etc. -- began with the universal, that is, that which is supposed to be represented in the miniatures, and ended very much in the specific. If I AM remembering right, that would seem to imply a continuum between the universal/essence and the specific/individual, or between the Muslim view of art and the W. European view of art. As I remember the stories just flowed from start to finish.
The colors, blackness/blindness would seem to be the same continuum, just going in the other direction. The masters dealt with colors (specific/individual) until they finally saw the unseeable, the universal/essence by going blind. The specific enabled them to finally see the universal.
And, this brings to mind deductive and inductive reasoning, which may or may not apply here.
Whitaker said But it’s not only an elegy, it’s an attempt to resurrect it, indeed to actually reproduce it, in novel form:
Oh, this is perfect! Thank you for that! I agree, yes it does explain the seeming deficiencies in the book in terms of plot or characterization. I found they didn't bother me so much when I read it, though, because I also agree with what you said that this is primarily a novel of ideas. I enjoyed that aspect enough that the other didn't seem so important anyway.
Whitaker said Even in the book, Pamuk mentions how Islamic art was heavily influenced by Chinese art.Oh, I now vaguely remember that, now that you mention it. Do you happen to remember where that passage was in the book? If not, that's okay, don't go hunting for it. I was just trying to remember whether it was style that was influenced or more than that. I vaguely remember a sense of degeneration being conveyed in that passage as well.
Libyrinths wrote: "If I AM remembering right, that would seem to imply a continuum between the universal/essence and the specific/individual, or between the Muslim view of art and the W. European view of art."That's an interesting observation. I remember Pamuk as saying that he didn't believe in the clash of East and West, so that would seem to be in line with his way of thinking: that it's not an either-or or for-or-against type thing, but rather different points along a spectrum.
Libyrinths wrote: "Do you happen to remember where that passage was in the book?"
I think it happens at a couple of points when he is talking about the development of style, and how an artist would borrow from another or what was an unconscious innovation would ossify to become the accepted way of drawing.
I found that an odd notion, because one the one hand he is saying that Western art "destroyed" the art of the miniature but on the other hand, he's pointing to another influence which the miniatures took on.
A few additional comments and questions after finishing the book.I agree with Sherry that the 3 miniaturists did not become "individual" enough for me, so that the revelation of the name of the killer was not very significant. I remain uncertain about the reason for the killings and where the killer stood on the traditional v. Frankish debate. At first I thought he was pro-Frankish modification, and that he killed Elegant because Elegant thought Enishte's project was blasphemous, and was going to betray them to the mob associated with the preacher. (That crew echoed the Taliban destroying the giant Buddhas, for me!) But at times it seemed the murderer thought that Elegant was right, that the paintings were blasphemous. I'm not sure why he killed Enishte, though I thought he was pretty much off his rocker by that time.
I thought Black was in love with Shekure's BEAUTY and that he had carried that image of her, as an ideal of beauty, for 12 years. (Presumably she was MORE beautiful as a woman than as the 12-y-o girl he left.) I agree that theirs wasn't much of a love story though, apparently, Shekure came to love him through the 20+ years of their marriage (and of "anointing his wounds"!).
I think one person being blinded with a needle in the course of a book is more than enough. I have had to restrain the impulse to get rid of all the needles in our house. (Would make it hard for me to pursue my own hobby, embroidery!)
I'm wondering about the significance of the storyteller. I gather that the narratives of the coin, the dog (still a favorite of mine!), "red" (WHY is that the name of the book??), etc., were supposed to be his stories. But how did he relate to the miniaturists' work? Was he just another example - along with the art and the coffee - of something the ultra-religious preacher considered sinful?
I am grateful to CR for leading me to read this book. It brought me into another world and created that world effectively. I felt, in some ways, that I was living INSIDE one of those miniatures. I think I will try another Pamuk. Maybe "Snow."
Mary Ellen
Sorry I'm so late to this discussion (been traveling the last few weeks) and thanks to Capitu for letting me know that you all were reading My Name is Red! Whitaker, the quote you posted from Pamuk stating that he didn't believe in a clash between East and West initially seemed so odd to me, given that so much of the novel is about precisely those tensions that emerge when two cultures meet. I've been thinking about it for a while, though, and I'm curious what other people think about that statement. The main argument of the novel seems directly contradictory to his negation of any culture clash. The Renaissance revolution, with its reformulation of art from a human perspective and development of the cult of the artist, directly challenges not only the status quo throughout Europe, but also in Constantinople. When miniaturists are committing murder and blinding themselves over the problems associated with the influence of Renaissance art, what else can we call it except culture clash? But the novel as a whole, also seems to suggest that it is naive of us to think that any art can fail to be highly individualized. Yes, these artists produce within a workshop, and yes they copy the same forms over and over, but the book is nonetheless a testament to the power of the individual human spirit to assert itself. After all, even the idealized horse--the horse that all these artists keep painting over and over--is still a highly individualized horse. In short, the clash between East and West in the novel doesn't seem to suggest that West triumphs and all these artists start painting based on the ideals of the Renaissance, but rather that the clash draws out what was already present in the workshop--namely, a desire to sign one's art work with one's signature. So maybe it isn't as much of a clash as a revelation?
I have found this thread much more engaging than the actual book. Thanks to you all for your very interesting observations and writings.
Lovely comment, Darcy. Thanks for posting it, and thanks too to everyone who took part. I enjoyed the discussion. Y'all stay safe now, y'hear?
Sherry wrote: "I have found this thread much more engaging than the actual book. Thanks to you all for your very interesting observations and writings."What Sherry said.
Darcy, I enjoyed your comment also. Certainly one of the most obvious instances of individualism coming to the fore, was the murderer's placement of his own self-portrait at the center of the last painting, in place of the Sultan's portrait. One of the more poignant moments in the book, for me, was the murderer's realization, upon studying that self-portrait, that neither he nor the other miniaturists had the skill to attain the level of quality of the Frankish painters. He noted that the Frankish painters' achievement was the result of cultural development over centuries -- and that, most likely, the never-to-be-completed book of Enishte would have inspired in the Venetian court, not awe at the Sultan's power, but pity for the Sultan's artists.
Mary Ellen
Darcy, I am so glad that you did check on us. I hope that you have a look around and maybe join other discussions in this group.I already mentioned how much I enjoyed your review, and now you post interesting questions about Pamuck and the book itself. I too would say it is a contradiction for Pamuck to say that he did not believe in a clash between East and West when my personal explanation of “My Name is Red” is that it portraits exactly this clash. But then, reading Mary Ellen’s post I thought that maybe cultural clashes don’t really exist as a definition of “clash” would imply on both cultures being equally impacted by each other. And in the relationship between East and West has being one of overshadowing and engulfing much more than mutual influences.
The only other book by Pamuck I have read was his memoir Istanbul Memories and the City, and in it I think he vocalizes more this sense of growing up on the ruins of an empire which has been swallowed up by another. I did not see this connection between the two books until now, although it quite obvious to me now. And both books do share a sense of melancholy and loss.
But I have to say though that overall “My Name is Red” has failed to engage me. Like Sherry and others, I feel this discussion has brought up many points that I had missed on my own, and I want to thank Whitaker for his great job bringing about so much info and prodding us along. Yet I wonder that this discussion at the end reflected how I felt about the book itself: so much was there, but every aspect was so ethereal it was hard to grasp, or led into so many directions at once that I felt lost. All along I have blamed myself for this feeling, my own lack of academic knowledge about art and/or ottoman culture. It is after all very pretentious of me criticise a Nobel Prize winner, but I cannot avoid the sense that “My Name is Red”, for all its brilliance, is lacking some essential element, which I cannot name, but still is perceivable in its absence.
I will then leave at that...
I know this discussion is officially over, so I'll just write this last post. Mary Ellen, I had completely forgotten that the murderer inserts his portrait in place of the Sultan's. It is a lovely detail to note. Capitu and Sherry, I couldn't agree more with you about reading "My Name is Red." As far as both a murder mystery and a love story, it wasn't exactly gripping! I've read "The Black Book" and "Snow" and have had similar reactions to all three novels--there's a lot there that I'm simply not getting. A big part of this though, I think, is that I'm simply not familiar with Turkish culture, politics, or society. It is as though I can recognize events, characters, statements, etc., that are significant or critical, but I can't see why. These novels feel intimately Turkish to me, as though one couldn't really understand what's going on without having spent quite a bit of time in Constantinople. Anyway, I really enjoyed the discussion and hearing other people's thoughts on this book--I've been very curious about how other readers reacted to the novel. Thanks again for letting me know about the group!
Not to worry, Darcy. CR discussions are never officially over. They just peter out, sometimes over a matter of months.
Hello all, I am quite late to this and so thankful to you all. I just finished the book tonight and have read your thoughts with it fresh in my mind. You've raised so many great points and ideas to reflect on.As for culture clash vs. culture meld, though. I was grateful for the chronology in the back of the book. It left me with the feeling that there could have been a successful integration, evolution, development cycle where the art of the miniaturists did not have to become extinct. It just so happened that the two styles were meeting so abruptly at a time in the Ottoman Empire's history when forces within were threatening it mightily. Those forces were the religious extremists that Pamuk simply tore to shreds with his scathing humor and the transition of the Sultans. I think that without the attack on the art from within, the miniaturists themselves would have been up to the challenge of preserving their style while taking bits of the Frankish without becoming pale imitators. But faced with an assault from all directions (indecision amongst themselves over how to proceed, criticism from their fellow countrymen over whether their work was blasphemous, and losing the support of the sultan) they simply threw up the white flags and thus we had an end to the art.
I really liked this book, although like others, as I was reading I couldn't always identify why. There were also moments when I thought to myself, just get on with it already, I'm never going to finish this. I actually think Pamuk knew this, though. I felt Black's character also having this reaction to some of the lecturers present, most notably his Enishte and Master Osman.
The unexpected bits of humor that popped up even in serious philosophical discussions were a true delight for me. And while at first I was a bit disappointed in the wanness of the love story, it felt historically real to me. With the contemporary strictures on codes of conduct between the sexes, it seemed about right that this would be the way the lovers talked about each other. Though, for the life of me, I couldn't figure out some of Shekure's conflict over the brother-in-law. But, the fact that I could get so frustrated with her, meant to me that Pamuk succeeded in giving convincing voices to his many different characters.
Rashida, Hasan certainly seemed like a creep, and maybe a mentally unbalanced one, didn't he? Yet I got the sense that, at some level, Shekure was attracted to him. Maybe she was attracted to his attraction for her? And I don't think she was attracted to Black at all, or at least, I don't think she found him as attractive as she found Hasan. But at base, she was just looking for protection and economic support for her children. Perhaps she thought Hasan & his family were more secure than the itinerant Black.Mary Ellen
I finally finished this book last night and came here to read the discussion, which has been very interesting and insightful.I want to thank Whitaker first and foremost for nominating the book, providing examples of the miniaturist art, his witty and elegant introductions of both author and book, and his explanations of the story's power for him, especially on his second reading.
I had a hard time getting started on the book -- I reached p. 51 three times, put it down for a week or so, then started all over again, each time enjoying the experience more and more. Odd, but true.
I savored the rich descriptions, the long digressions on perspective and style, the various points of view, the shifts in perspective that (yes) at times made me confused or frustrated, but (as Whitaker explained so well) created the artistic effects of repetition, languor, patterning essential to Islamic ornamental and narrative art (and, my thought, reminiscent a bit of Persian or Turkish carpet art).
I dislike reading mysteries, rarely do so (though I enjoy the equivalent genre at the movies) and so was puzzled about the murderer's identity for a long while. I thought we were meant to think it was Black for a time. What clued me in, about mid-way through the story, reveals more about me than anything else -- I was making repeated reference to the timeline Pahuk provides at the end of the novel, and there we see a reference to the arrival of Olive in the city, with no mention of any significance for the other two master miniaturists under suspicion.
I'll make some other remarks separately so this message doesn't get even more unwieldy!
I appreciate so many observations in this thread! Back in post #4, for example, Jane gives us two remarks about painting from the perspectives of Uncle and Black. I noted several passages like those that I found engaging and provocative; I am especially intrigued by the contradictions between artistic creation and the painter's role as "spokesperson" for the divine point of view.
Here are three more examples:
Allah created this earthly realm so that, above all, it might be seen. ... Painting is the act of seeking out Allah's memories and seeing the world as He sees the world. (p. 79)
A great painter does not content himself by affecting us with his masterpieces; ultimately, he succeeds in changing the landscape of our minds. (p. 161)
There was a time when Allah looked upon the world in all its uniqueness, and ... bequeathed his creation to us ... The duty of illustrators and of those who, loving art, gaze upon the world, is to remember the magnificence that Allah beheld and left to us. (p. 303)
One of the more interesting parts of the book for me, and of this marvellous discussion that I am enjoying so much though a few weeks late, is the role of the "ideal" or "representative" horse, tree, color red, dog etc., pointed out and commented on nicely already by MAP (in post #7) Janet (#12) and Capitu & Darcy (#15).My thinking all along was that this was a curious version of the Platonic ideal of spiritual or heavenly Form being sought and only partially realized in plastic or concrete form. So I was happy to see that Libyrinths has already drawn attention to this connection:
(Post #23) One of the things which struck me in the book was the really Platonic idea of essence which seemed to underly the traditional ideas behind the miniatures.
(#25) each of those stories -- like dog, tree, etc. -- began with the universal, that is, that which is supposed to be represented in the miniatures, and ended very much in the specific.
And this also helped make sense to me of Pamuk's characters' seeming obsession with the beautiful boys who feature as apprentices, assistants, or servants. Unfortunately I didn't note the passage, but somewhere one of the artists muses about how attraction (aesthetic and/or erotic) for a lovely boy can train the eye and then the soul for recognizing higher and truer forms of beauty, very much an expression of "platonic love" in its original meaning.
So too, the journey from appreciation of color into blackness, darkness, and blindness that has been discussed so well here by Mary Ellen and others, may be a parallel to attaining a higher or truer comprehension of divine reality through the paradox of invisibility. God and heavenly essences are invisible and intangible except through their partial representations in the flesh or in art; ultimately the expert artist can concentrate on that higher truth through the gift of blindness, undistracted by the visible world.
This seems to me to be the point of Master Osman's ruminations while glorying amongst the old illuminated books in the Sultan's treasury.
Philip,I so enjoyed reading your thoughtful posts. I think Sherry mentioned how the notes here made the book more interesting. I can't say I liked the book, but I have enjoyed the discussion.
Jane
Two years after the fact--I saw an exhibit at LACMA today that featured many many illuminated pages from the time period of this book. Some are from Turkey. I found My Name Is Red to be a hard read due to my total lack of background knowledge, but today I had some knowledge :)
I don't know if this is a traveling exhibit, but for anyone in LA, it's worth a trip!
http://www.lacma.org/art/exhibition/g...
Looks interesting. I love illuminated manuscripts, but don't know much about ones from that area.I'm a little over an hour away from LACMA. May lasso a friend and drive up there.
this book is on my list to read. I love the miniatures. I started reading some of the discussion but decided it might be better to read it after reading the book.thanks for the museum link.
I loved the book, though not an easy read. Some sort of combination of "historical literary mystery artsy" thing going on.
I'm hoping I will like it. I saw him discussing it on PBS, Invitation to World Literature I believe, along with some other people. The discussion really got me interested. Not sure when I'll get to it. Guess I'd better hit those priority buttons.
If you enjoy learning about a culture that you might not know much about, which was the case for me, you will appreciate this book, as well as Snow.
This is one of the intriguing aspects for me. I know so little about that part of the world, whether in the current day or the past, and I'd like to change that.
Constant Reader
Books mentioned in this topic
Snow (other topics)Istanbul: Memories and the City (other topics)
But which Orhan am I? Am I the Orhan whose mother is called Shekure? But then the Orhan in the book and the Orhan in the 20th century both had mothers called Shekure. No, I shall not continue to play with you any longer. Obviously, I am the Orhan from the 20th century, or someone masquerading as him. For surely you cannot believe that a fictional character from a novel can be talking to you? Or perhaps you can, after all, you believed in a corpse speaking and a tree voicing its thoughts.
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I was born and brought up in Istanbul, that divided city that sits between Europe and Asia, and so does not know what it wants to be. This is reflected in a good deal of my novels, where I deal with the conflict between East and West. I want to be a bridge in the sense that a bridge doesn't belong to any continent, doesn't belong to any civilization, and a bridge has the unique opportunity to see both civilizations and be outside of it.
My grandfather was a successful civil engineer and businessman who made his fortune building railroads and factories. My father followed in his footsteps, but instead of making money, he kept losing it. I spent my childhood in a large family surrounded by uncles and aunts. I was educated in private schools in Istanbul, and after studying architecture for three years, I dropped out, enrolled in a journalism course, and set out to become a writer.
In 1982—at about the same time that I published my first novel, I married Aylin Türegün, and because we had both grown up in the same affluent, westernised Istanbul neighbourhood, walking the same streets and—before we ever knew each other—attending the same schools, I used to tease her by saying I had "married a girl from my village". Our daughter, Rüya, was born in 1991.
I have made my living exclusively from writing. Between 1985 and 1988, I was a visiting scholar at Columbia University in New York, while my wife was working on her doctorate at the same university. My wife and I were divorced in 2002. She and our daughter remain my best friends.
In 2006, I won the Nobel Prize for Literature. In that year, I was also prosecuted for stating in an interview with a Swiss daily that "30,000 Kurds and a million Armenians were killed in these lands and nobody but me dares to talk about it". The charge was dropped on a technicality but recently six people have been given leave to demand 36,000 lira (£15,000) in compensation from me. Their case, which claims personal damages arising from the "insult" to Turkishness, was rejected twice previously, but in May this year was upheld by Turkey’s highest appeals court.
When I look back on my life, I see a person who has worked long hours at a desk, in both happiness and in misery. Today my novels have been translated into 55 languages.
What inspired me most for My Name is Red were the Islamic miniatures. Thousands of little details from countless miniatures that I’ve looked at took their place in the novel. Behind these scenes of love and war lie the classical Islamic texts because the miniatures were always drawn to illustrate the best scenes of stories that once upon a time everyone knew by heart and today, because of westernization, very few remember. My Name is Red is a homage to these forgotten stories and the wonderful pictures drawn for book lovers of the time.
As for the different voices in the novel, it was so much fun to impersonate my characters! I enjoyed finding the voice of a sixteenth century ottoman miniaturist, a mother of two children who is looking for a husband, the voice of her kids, the demonic voice of a murderer, and the narrative of a dead man on his way to heaven. Not only my characters speak in my story but objects and colors as well. I thought all these distinctive voices would produce a rich music—the texture of daily life in Istanbul four hundred years ago.