By Ink Alone: Istanbul and Story-telling
by Matt Stevens
Translated to the English by Erdag M. Goknar
Published by Faber and Faber, 2001
Orhan Pamuk’s riveting tale set in late sixteenth century of the murder of a master gilder by one of his associates and the attempts to catch the murder won a Nobel Prize for Literature in 2006. The book tells the story of another book, commissioned by the Sultan to be done in the Venetian painting style. This is where the delicacies of East-West interaction become so important as the Venetian style is often seen as sacrilegious by Muslims and destroying the culture of both workshops and the Ottoman People. An even bigger problem is that the head of the workshop who works solely for the Sultan is not given the project, but a usurper who enlists four master craftsmen – three illuminators and one guilder – to assist him in the project.
The opening pages have the gilder murdered by what we are lead to believe is one of his fellow illuminators, because he objected to the style of the painting, coming under the influence of a reactionary Mosque Preacher, Hoja Erzurami. The main character, interesting named Black contrasting the title, of the book is an outsider (like any murder mystery story) who is recently returned to Istanbul and is madly in love with the daughter of the man commissioned by the Sultan. The Sultan’s man is also murdered, and Black has it put upon him to solve the mystery of the murders in order to marry the woman of his dreams, the Sultan’s Man’s daughter.
Black visits the various illuminators, the head of the workshop bypassed by the Sultan, and is entangled with the daughter and her trying to get a divorce from her missing husband. Set against 1590’s Istanbul, this could be riveting enough. However, Pamuk crafts the story in a different way, and tells each chapter from different character’s perspective. We are actually with the murdered Gilder as he dies and the murdered book leader as he is bludgeoned to death. Truly memorable descriptions. However, Pamuk does more than that, he interspaces his tale with chapters from the color red, a dog, and a gold coin. These chapters ad depth and beauty to the book, and also ad important exposition.
Most importantly, Pamuk’s book is not just a murder mystery. Either I missed the clues, but Pamuk does not want his murderer found too soon. He often does not provide enough information, enough little secret clues to give away the murder. The book often reads more like a thriller, or a time set piece, especially the second half, rather than a murder mystery.
Also, because of Pamuk’s constantly shifting perspective, the characters have a real depth. One of the illuminators, who’s nickname is Butterfly is arrogant, brilliant, overtly sexual and an asshole. But he’s a real character. Even though you detest his arrogance (especially when it is portrayed to the often bumbling slowness of Black) at the end, you feel for his desires, you wish that he could succeed, that what he loves will not be dying.
Finally, the perspective (can you tell that I love the changing point-of-view) allows Pamuk to bring in one final conceit to the story: story telling. Inherently, each chapter is not a retelling of facts, but it is a story, told from the perspective of the character. Where do facts stop and embellishments start. Who really said what to whom? At the end of the book, we know the murder (if you didn’t this review would be three words long: this book sucks.) Throughout the book, it was difficult to pin down who I thought the murder was because I couldn’t believe the stories being told by any of the characters, who made it clear they were seeking to portray their fellow miniaturists as doing the deed.
Pamuk’s changing viewpoint added as much if not more to the book than everything else combined. Because it is inherntly a simple story: One man is killed, only three other people can be the killer, and one outsider is entrusted with capturing him (any murder mystery you can faithful describe in three clauses has issues). Even set against he cultural dissimilation of late 16th century Istanbul, that is not that interesting of a story. By bringing in viewpoints, and tall tale telling, Pamuk creates a story more impressive than the sum of its parts.
All that said, I’m not sure this book deserved the Nobel Prize. it is a great read, and I heartily recommend it to anyone, but is it really one of the best fiction books ever written? I don’t know if I would go that far. However, I know I will pick up one of Pamuk’s other books next time I see them in a shop.
Four and a half Melons!
November 30th, 2008 at 1:53 pm
I read the first part of Snow and had to stop because it was so dark, with no hope of getting better. If I have time to pick up Pamuk again, I’ll probably start with this one instead.
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