book of books

Istanbul: Memories and the City by Orhan Pamuk

What a great memoir. I loved how he intertwined his own life with the history of Istanbul over the past two hundred years or so. He was very philosophical and existential about the city, and he made the city a bigger character than himself. The huzun or melancholy of the city,and him, is the major theme. Many famous authors, native and Western, were compelled by the mystery of Istanbul, and each had a chapter devoted to them.

The dilemma and insecurity of Istanbul - wanting validation from the west, yet the Western opinion doesn't count or it romanticises the experience of the Istanbullis, reminds me of PEI. We want to be respected or admired, and yet when a CFA, come from away, person gives their opinion, flattering or not, it doesn't count because they are not from here. And yet we want their opinion. Obviously, Pamuk makes his point much better than I, but I was able to relate some of his experience in his city and country, to my province and country.

His writing and imagery were wonderful. And, to improve the feel even more, pictures and photographs were placed within the prose, instead of in a center section of the book. I loved the feel and flow this gave to the book. I so wish I had read this book before I was in Istanbul this summer. Not that I got to see a lot of the city, but just to know that whole melancholy and history would have changed my experience and interpretation of what I saw.

The river, Bosphorus, is in the background of Pamuk's life, always nearby and ever present. His writing also flows like a river, gentle and ebbbing, retracing, restating, moving slowly, but still advancing. Of course, PEI  and its history is also linked to the water and I understand that connection of knowing the water is just over there,waiting.

I don't know how much the translation added to the book or took away. I think there was a definite feel to the book that I attribute to the author, but it may be the tranlator. I didn't like the reference to soccer, because I thought it should be football; I blame that on the translator, which of course then makes everything else suspect.

Pedro Paramo by Juan Rulfo

I decided to try to read books for a Reading Without Borders Challenge - books outside your usual comfort zone or geographical zone of reading. I've read a few in the last year or so anyway and I've really enjoyed them. Books such as Shadow in the Wind, The Kite Runner, and Istanbul were excellent stories.

When will I learn to stay away from books described as 'great literature' ? Pedro Paramo was, different. I could be flip and say there were too many pronouns and I couldn't figure out who anyone was. The story is told in the past and present, in first and third person, interchangably. There is a dead town, inhabited by ghosts telling their story, and the same people, maybe, are telling a story from the past. I could understand some parts, but it was like grabbing a wisp of smoke because I could almost see it or understand, but then I would lose it. I think I could follow parts of the story another time, but it took a lot of effort, and I don't like to put that much effort into a story.

To summarize, I just didn't get it. It was short (120 pages) so I didn't mind investing the time to finish it, but I guess I needed the Cliff notes to understand the plot and imagery. I like the setting in a small village in Mexico and some of the story and characters. But I needed more details.

Quiet little story, set in Holland at the end of the World War II about a young boy, Anton, and his maturing and learning about himself. He is remembering a summer from five years previous, a summer where he and another boy, David, were rowing on the river and forming a friendship. Anton is from a lower class family, afraid to dream, to be happy, to dare to be. His partner is a more affluent, assured Jewish David has everything, and of course in 1939 Holland, will lose everything. But the story is very quiet, very descriptive and, with history that the reader knows as the backdrop, only focuses on that summer as they work together and become a great team of rowers.
It wasn't the easiest story to get into, and I found it hard to start. However, by the end, and it was only 130 pages, I was engrossed in the final race for the championship, as Anton is waiting for the liberation in 1945. His naivite and unawareness of much beyond his own house makes it easy to see how some things could have happened in Europe during the war.
The point of this challenge was to expose myself to different cultures and stories. I'm glad I read this, although it was a little arty, and it is hard to know how much the translation affects the mood and story.