Nov 252011
 

Istanbul by Orhan PamukThe same friend who suggested The Museum of Innocence passed this book along. It’s pretty spectacular…and yet, I didn’t finish it.

Which is odd because Pamuk is an amazing writer with an incredibly nuanced sensibility. He’s exactly the kind of writer I tend to like.

The problem is that he is also a writer who has lived his entire privileged life in the same house. When he lingers over his hyper-refined sense of his own and of other people’s sorrow. I find it grotesque.

The best thing in this book is the photography by Ara Güler of the street life, buildings and monuments of the city.

 November 25, 2011  Book Logs

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