Orhan Pamuk was born in Istanbul in 1952. He is a high profile Turkish novelist and has previously been awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature. But it is his non-fiction masterpiece of growing up in his native city that really appeals to me. It is an emotionally charged portrait of its neighbourhoods, its buildings, its transport, the Bosphorus and Pamuk’s extended family. A feeling of melancholia runs throughout Pamuk’s tales of Istanbul and the many accompanying black and white photos, but in a way which succeeds in making a virtue out of dreariness.
Damian Rainford, 2024
Orhan Pamuk, ‘Istanbul – Memories of a City’ (2005)
“…. I preferred being indoors. The street below, the avenues beyond, the city’s poor neighbourhoods seemed as dangerous as those in a black-and-white gangster film. And with this attraction to the shadow world, I have always preferred the winter to the summer in Istanbul. I love the early evenings when autumn is slipping into winter, when the leafless trees are trembling in the north wind and people in black coats and jackets are rushing home through the darkening streets. I love the overwhelming melancholy when I look at the walls of old apartment buildings and the dark surfaces of neglected, unpainted, fallen-down wooden mansions: only in Istanbul have I seen this texture, this shading. When I watch the black-and-white crowds rushing through the darkening streets on a winter’s evening, I feel a deep sense of fellowship, almost as if the night has cloaked our lives, our streets, our every belonging in a blanket of darkness, as if once we’re safe in our houses, our bedrooms, our beds, we can return to dreams of our long-gone riches, our legendary past.”
Published by Faber and Castell
Featured image: Ahmet Çığşar, Pixels.com
