Istanbul by Orhan Pamuk
The 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.
Posted November 23, 2011
©2011-. Site created using Eastgate's Tinderbox.