It must be confessed that
following a laboured perusal of Pamuk’s The
Black Book and The Museum of
Innocence, this reviewer was forced to conclude that the Noble Laureate’s
prose was self – indulgent, lugubrious and tedious in the extreme, which leaves
one bored to tears and balked at the prospect of wading through nearly 600
pages of his latest novel. Happily, though, Orhan Pamuk is one of the few
authors who evolve and churn out their best stuff, after getting over
themselves and the fact that they were heavily feted relatively early in their
careers. His writing is more beautiful than ever and no longer sterile but
infused with warmth, wit and gentle pathos.
A Strangeness in my Mind is a marvel of storytelling that traverses through
forty years of history as it chronicles the life of a lowly street vendor,
Mevlut Karatas of the boyish good looks and sweet disposition. Born in a tiny
village in rural Anatolia, he migrates with his father to Istanbul at the age of
12 and finds himself grappling with a succession of failures as he struggles
with schooling, political activism, a stint in the army, and petty business
ventures that include peddling yoghurt, boza, ice cream, cooked rice and
chicken, managing a small café and a turn as the Junior inspector for an
electric company. The highlight of Mevlut’s early days included stalking an
attractive stranger and endless stolen moments devoted solely to masturbation.
At his cousin Korkut’wedding,
Mevlut falls madly in love with the bride’s exquisite 13 – year old sister. For
the next three years, he pours his passion into painstakingly compiled letters
addressed to her “languid eyes” which are like “ensorcelled arrows” and
“bandits cutting across his path” plus similarly hilarious fare. His cousin
Suleymen, volunteers to bring the lovers together and tricks Mevlut into
eloping with Rayiha, the less attractive older sister of the object of his
desire, to whom the letters had been delivered. A bemused Mevlut deals with this
turn of affairs with the doggedness and acceptance that is so characteristic of
him.
Every one of his relatives and
friends go on to amass riches spurred on by the burgeoning prosperity of
Istanbul forced into being by the political corruption as well as private greed
of its citizens. Obstinately honest, success continues to elude him and yet he
is the only one who seems to have unlocked the doorway to true happiness for it
is his life which is graced with convivial bliss, cherished familial ties,
fulfilment and inner tranquillity even as he remains mired in poverty.
Throughout the major upheavals
in the capital and the myriad changes in his personal life, Mevlut sells boza,
“a traditional Asian beverage made of fermented wheat, with a thick
consistency, a pleasant aroma, a dark, yellowish colour, and low alcohol
content” by night. It has been supplanted by raki in traditional Turkish homes,
but people still buy a glass induced by nostalgia and the emotion in Mevlut’s voice
as he meanders through the streets of the city which he realizes has become an
extension of the light and darkness in his own mind.
This is by far Orhan Pamuk’s
most joyous novel though conflict and tragedy there is aplenty from political
coups, violence between the Turks and Kurds, murder of a dear friend and a
primitive abortion attempt that claims a life. Through it all Mevlut taps into
his indomitable optimism and “his knack for finding the easiest and least
distressing way through any situation.” His saga unfolds in the third person
though a host of characters intervene to make sure their voices are heard as
well, imbuing the reader with the profound love, wonder and pride they feel for
their Turkish identity and the city of Istanbul that threw open its arms and
drew them into its bosom.
An edited version of this review appeared in the New Indian Express which you can read here.
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