Istanbul: memories and the city

a Shimmering Evocation, By Turns Intimate And Panoramic, Of One Of The World’s Great Cities, By Its Foremost Writer. Orhan Pamuk Was Born In Istanbul And Still Lives In The Family Apartment Building Where His Mother First Held Him In Her Arms. His Portrait Of His City Is Thus Also A Self-portrait, Refracted By Memory And The Melancholy–or hüzün– That All istanbullus Share: The Sadness That Comes Of Living Amid The Ruins Of A Lost Empire.

with Cinematic Fluidity, Pamuk Moves From His Glamorous, Unhappy Parents To The Gorgeous, Decrepit Mansions Overlooking The Bosphorus; From The Dawning Of His Self-consciousness To The Writers And Painters–both Turkish And Foreign–who Would Shape His Consciousness Of His City. Like Joyce’s Dublin And Borges’ Buenos Aires, Pamuk’s istanbul is A Triumphant Encounter Of Place And Sensibility, Beautifully Written And Immensely Moving.

the New York Times - Christopher De Bellaigue

pamuk Is Not A Sunny Memoirist, But Neither Is He A Sunny Novelist. In This Memoir Of His Youth, As In The Six Novels He Has Set In The City, Istanbul Bears Only A Fleeting Resemblance To The Smiling And Vibrant Place Many Westerners Know From Vacationing There. Pamuk's Hometown Is Rarely Consoling; It Is More Often Troubled And Malicious, Its Voice Muffled And Its Colors Muted By Snowfalls That Happen More Often In The Author's Imagination Than In Real Life. ''from A Very Young Age I Suspected There Was More To My World Than I Could See,'' Pamuk Writes, And So It Goes. Far From A Conventional Appreciation Of The City's Natural And Architectural Splendors, istanbul Tells Of An Invisible Melancholy And The Way It Acts On An Imaginative Young Man, Aggrieving Him But Pricking His Creativity.