What a fantastic review! I'd seen this title before and briefly noted it, but now you've really piqued my interest. Selling more copies than Orhan Pamuk. Wow. I have a longstanding fascination with Turkish culture and literature, even if my attempts at learning the language have all failed miserably. (I signed up for a Turkish class in college and ended up being the dumb blonde eg the one girl in the class who didn't already speak a Turk-ic adjacent language. I'll always remember the polyglot who sat next to me and proclaimed, "F*ck! I always get this confused with my Azerbaijani!" Me too, girl. Me too. And here I thought my French was impressive.) Anyway, I still harbor dreams of Istanbul.
On a language level, the '40s in Turkish lit must have been fascinating. I've always been intrigued by the language's mandated switch from Arabic Script to Latin circa 1929. (Law on the Adoption and Implementation of the Turkish Alphabet.) Imagine waking up in the morning and The New York Times is written in Arabic script. An incredibly powerful tool for rendering entire generations illiterate and infusing new ones with a different cultural identity.
Anyway, I wish Ali would have escaped safely. What a loss.
Somewhat related, if you find yourself eager for more Turkish lit in Translation, one of my Substacker friends (Oleg, from Fictitious) recently introduced me to Barış Bıçakçı. We've been corresponding about his book "The Mosquito Bite Author." It's a quick read and, perhaps relatably, filled with reflections of a writer who's anxiously trying to pass the time as he waits on a response from his editor. One of the most delightful things I've read in awhile.
Can't wait to pick up your new book and delighted to have discovered you here on Substack!
I have not read Ali’s novel yet (always meant to) and now you have given me the final push to get hold of this translation! Thank you!
One of my favorite novels about language, migration, and identity is “The Lost Word” by Oya Baydar, a Turkish sociologist and writer. I think it’s the only one of her novels in English translation. Main character is an Istanbul writer who travels to the Kurdish east of the country, which is completely foreign for him. There are parallel story lines with his son in Scandinavia, his wife traveling in Europe, all about what it means to be the outsider culturally and linguistically. It takes a while to get going (translation maybe?), but is then quite compelling.
I am listening to it on Audible, and the protagonist has recently arrived in Berlin and first seen Maria's self-portrait in the museum. I was intrigued by this main character being a masterful German-Turkish translator, and just happened upon this tidbit from an article about which language has the most words: "The Turkish language is similar to German in this way. Turkish not only crams words together but does so in ways that make whole, meaningful sentences. 'Were you one of those people whom we could not make into a Czechoslovak?' translates as one word in Turkish." So I wonder whether this has anything to do with why Turks form a large body of immigrant workers to Germany - is it less intimidating to learn than say, French? Also, I wonder if the translation is missing some richness because of the nature of Turkish.
I also found one "off" observation. The young narrator observes: "Like all women, she forgot things instantly" (or similar wording.) Not at all my experience, rather the opposite!
Also, the way the story within a story is set up reminds me of Maugham, who does a similar thing in almost every one of his short stories.
This might be my favorite so far (I've probably said that already, though, and will likely keep repeating myself). It's a beautifully rounded character study, with a big cast of minor, eccentric characters in the first 48 pages who all fade away as the narrator begins to read Raif Bey's notebook. Without that long introduction I guess the love story could stand alone, but the envelope structure seems to breathe some air into the intensity, gives it depth and perspective. I most love Maria's monologue/manifesto about her understanding of what men want from her, and her desire to keep her relationship with Raif platonic (p. 114-16).
Rebecca, have you solidified the list of 84 books? I'm hoping you'll somehow hit Armenia on the way back to Hungary. Our son's boyfriend is Armenian and we've heard so much about the country's tragic history with Turkey. I don't think there's a lot to choose from, but perhaps by the time you're rounding the finish line there will be! https://electricliterature.com/we-need-to-translate-more-armenian-literature/
What I liked about this book is its sheer originality. I feel sure the affair happened, although the final twist feels tacked on. What I did find strange and a missed opportunity was that Maria, as an artist, except for the self-portrait, is completely unexplored. She plays the violin at the Atlantic, and takes long walks and eats lunches with Rafi during the day; I kept waiting for her to go to a studio, to assert to him that this was at the center of her existence, for each painting to be an obsessive venture, the one thing that Rafi cannot compete with and is jealous of. How could she make one marvelous painting and not seem at all driven to make more?
I also thought it would have been more true-to-life if time had induced a getting-over-her in him as the years passed. We all have had great, wounding first loves we thought we'd never get over, but we almost always do - often to our great surprise. The way he sweeps his eventual wife and actual daughters into inconsequentiality bothered me. Parenthood tends to crack open the hardest emotional nut. Only when Maria is the eventual mother does he seemed moved by it.
But I see that Ali structured it as a mystery, the answer to the question of what explains Rafi's strange life, his seeming willingness to be abused by his family and boss. Within that structure, it was more successful than not. The audiobook narrator was excellent. (As was your interview with Julia Whelan).
What a fantastic review! I'd seen this title before and briefly noted it, but now you've really piqued my interest. Selling more copies than Orhan Pamuk. Wow. I have a longstanding fascination with Turkish culture and literature, even if my attempts at learning the language have all failed miserably. (I signed up for a Turkish class in college and ended up being the dumb blonde eg the one girl in the class who didn't already speak a Turk-ic adjacent language. I'll always remember the polyglot who sat next to me and proclaimed, "F*ck! I always get this confused with my Azerbaijani!" Me too, girl. Me too. And here I thought my French was impressive.) Anyway, I still harbor dreams of Istanbul.
On a language level, the '40s in Turkish lit must have been fascinating. I've always been intrigued by the language's mandated switch from Arabic Script to Latin circa 1929. (Law on the Adoption and Implementation of the Turkish Alphabet.) Imagine waking up in the morning and The New York Times is written in Arabic script. An incredibly powerful tool for rendering entire generations illiterate and infusing new ones with a different cultural identity.
Anyway, I wish Ali would have escaped safely. What a loss.
Somewhat related, if you find yourself eager for more Turkish lit in Translation, one of my Substacker friends (Oleg, from Fictitious) recently introduced me to Barış Bıçakçı. We've been corresponding about his book "The Mosquito Bite Author." It's a quick read and, perhaps relatably, filled with reflections of a writer who's anxiously trying to pass the time as he waits on a response from his editor. One of the most delightful things I've read in awhile.
Can't wait to pick up your new book and delighted to have discovered you here on Substack!
En iyi dileklerimle,
Alicia
R: Great review, sent this to a friend who makes (moyen orient) soaps, in Lebanon. What a find. This is fun.
I have not read Ali’s novel yet (always meant to) and now you have given me the final push to get hold of this translation! Thank you!
One of my favorite novels about language, migration, and identity is “The Lost Word” by Oya Baydar, a Turkish sociologist and writer. I think it’s the only one of her novels in English translation. Main character is an Istanbul writer who travels to the Kurdish east of the country, which is completely foreign for him. There are parallel story lines with his son in Scandinavia, his wife traveling in Europe, all about what it means to be the outsider culturally and linguistically. It takes a while to get going (translation maybe?), but is then quite compelling.
I am listening to it on Audible, and the protagonist has recently arrived in Berlin and first seen Maria's self-portrait in the museum. I was intrigued by this main character being a masterful German-Turkish translator, and just happened upon this tidbit from an article about which language has the most words: "The Turkish language is similar to German in this way. Turkish not only crams words together but does so in ways that make whole, meaningful sentences. 'Were you one of those people whom we could not make into a Czechoslovak?' translates as one word in Turkish." So I wonder whether this has anything to do with why Turks form a large body of immigrant workers to Germany - is it less intimidating to learn than say, French? Also, I wonder if the translation is missing some richness because of the nature of Turkish.
I also found one "off" observation. The young narrator observes: "Like all women, she forgot things instantly" (or similar wording.) Not at all my experience, rather the opposite!
Also, the way the story within a story is set up reminds me of Maugham, who does a similar thing in almost every one of his short stories.
&, in advance, best wishes on Pub Day to the writer who used " troglodytic," from my word list, before I found the right slot. "Cacchinate," is next.
Thank you for these recommendations! Looking forward to reading. (And I've pre-ordered your book too!)
Book of the Week in People? Daaaaamn. :)
This might be my favorite so far (I've probably said that already, though, and will likely keep repeating myself). It's a beautifully rounded character study, with a big cast of minor, eccentric characters in the first 48 pages who all fade away as the narrator begins to read Raif Bey's notebook. Without that long introduction I guess the love story could stand alone, but the envelope structure seems to breathe some air into the intensity, gives it depth and perspective. I most love Maria's monologue/manifesto about her understanding of what men want from her, and her desire to keep her relationship with Raif platonic (p. 114-16).
Rebecca, have you solidified the list of 84 books? I'm hoping you'll somehow hit Armenia on the way back to Hungary. Our son's boyfriend is Armenian and we've heard so much about the country's tragic history with Turkey. I don't think there's a lot to choose from, but perhaps by the time you're rounding the finish line there will be! https://electricliterature.com/we-need-to-translate-more-armenian-literature/
What I liked about this book is its sheer originality. I feel sure the affair happened, although the final twist feels tacked on. What I did find strange and a missed opportunity was that Maria, as an artist, except for the self-portrait, is completely unexplored. She plays the violin at the Atlantic, and takes long walks and eats lunches with Rafi during the day; I kept waiting for her to go to a studio, to assert to him that this was at the center of her existence, for each painting to be an obsessive venture, the one thing that Rafi cannot compete with and is jealous of. How could she make one marvelous painting and not seem at all driven to make more?
I also thought it would have been more true-to-life if time had induced a getting-over-her in him as the years passed. We all have had great, wounding first loves we thought we'd never get over, but we almost always do - often to our great surprise. The way he sweeps his eventual wife and actual daughters into inconsequentiality bothered me. Parenthood tends to crack open the hardest emotional nut. Only when Maria is the eventual mother does he seemed moved by it.
But I see that Ali structured it as a mystery, the answer to the question of what explains Rafi's strange life, his seeming willingness to be abused by his family and boss. Within that structure, it was more successful than not. The audiobook narrator was excellent. (As was your interview with Julia Whelan).
Pre-ordered!