Please share your thoughts and questions about Pamuk's Snow here.
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Please share your thoughts and questions about Pamuk's Snow here.
I am almost half way through and here are some thoughts.
It is difficult to follow all the events (and their importance) for a non-Turkish reader, I think.
Some information:
In Turkish, snow=kar, which does sound like the main characters assumed name Ka. Also, the town name Kars starts with these letter so nice alliteration work there for Pamuk.
I am struggling to take Ka seriously in anything he does and says; somehow immature... Is this Pamuk's general attitude towards leftists in Turkish politics?
I just finished Chapter 3. It is slightly confusing, I had to stop and reread a few times to figure out where we were at in the story. Not to mention at least three guys so far have the same last name.
OK, the last names aren't the same even so this book is so..... maudlin?
I'm going to need to read an evanovich after this.
Is it me or is the story being told from Ka and from Ka's friend point of view? I'll be reading along and think it's Ka talking when all the sudden I read a sentence like " Ka and I used to frequent this teahouse", and it stops me in my tracks.
As with any story set in a foreign cultural-political milieu, it is difficult to grasp immediately the import of some events and expressions but as you read along the picture becomes clearer.Quote:
Originally Posted by Scheherazade
My perseverance paid off. It turned out to be a very educating story about modern Turkish dilemmas in specific and the larger Muslim dilemmas in general.
One thing to keep in mind about Pamuk's style is that he employs a lot of improvisation, sometimes rather excessively, which may tire the reader.
I think he handles characters evenhandedly. Now it's leftists but later in the novel there comes Sunay Zaim who is a nationalistic/rightist character. He's arguably the most retarded character of the novel.Quote:
I am struggling to take Ka seriously in anything he does and says; somehow immature... Is this Pamuk's general attitude towards leftists in Turkish politics?
Some characters are little more than flat cardboard symbols so don't expect them to have rounded personalities. This is one area where Pamuk could have improved.
This confused me too. The story is actually told from the point of view of a friend of Ka's. That friend of Ka is no other than the novelist himself! Later on you will meet 'Orhan' the narrator, who is also Orhan the novelist. It's a fictional flourish some readers enjoy and some do not. So when you read "I" in the novel, it is the novelist-narrator talking to you directly.Quote:
Originally Posted by papayahed
Anyway we'd discuss more once you guys have finished reading it :)
I read Snow several years ago but only appreciated it to a certain extent. (I gave my only copy to my dad, so I am not rereading it now). I remember having two problems with the novel, but on reflection, I would say that they were both my problems rather than Pamuk's. For one thing, I didn't really gain many new insights about people from reading Snow. Pamuk seemed to want to show the appeal that overt religious expressions can hold for young people; and that teenage girls (and others) may see traditions like the wearing of headscarves as acts of defiance rather than submission. Neither of those things were surprises to me. I was interested, though, in the idea of inspirational mysticism that was introduced early in the book and comes up again near the end. I wished that the theme had been more fully developed in the rest of the book.
My second obstacle to getting more out of Snow was equally subjective--my fault rather than Pamuk's. I really didn't enjoy it much as a novel. That's not because Snow lacked vivid beauty (even through the veil of translation) or because I found some of the more upsetting parts of the novel off-putting. I am a little embarrassed to confess that it was probably because Snow was exactly what it should have been: a Turkish novel. Its sharp wide-angled focus (in the theater sequence, for example), its subjugation of an even narrative structure to the particular timelines of the relationships and passions of the characters, and Pamuk's theme of eastern distinction from the presuppositions of the European Enlightenment all caused me to suspect that despite its rather western "detective novel" premise, Snow was playing by rules that I didn't fully understand. I say "suspect" because, not reading Turkish, I don't really know what I'm talking about. But I often felt unconnected to Snow as a novel, and I associated that unconnectedness with my experience reading "western" novels (which are the blood of my heart).
But perhaps that was the point. Turkey occupies a unique geographical and cultural landscape between east and west. Ka's journey is both. As he moves from the intellectual milieu of "Enlightenment Turkey" (via artistic mysticism?) into a rural Turkey empowered by a dynamic and personal Islam, the obscuring snow begins to fall. What is ultimately lost, Pamuk seems to conclude, is that very mystical poetry that Turkey alone is able to produce. I don't wish to be more specific since many have not finished the novel. But those, in any case, were my impressions of Snow.
Interesting take on the novel, Pompey Bum. One thing I learnt from reading Snow is that nothing is unequivocal, agreed upon, done with, already understood - no narrative is without its justifications and ironies. That one chapter in the words of a religious character says something like..."It is only the name that the Westerners and secularists give us." And somewhere another chapter is titled "Do they have a different God in Europe?" The uncritically accepted narrative of 'modernisation' or 'Enlightenment', as it's so often called, is not a universal recipe that produces universal results. Snow, in my understanding, shows us a glimpse of this wider worldwide conflict with a Turkish example. In that the novel has universal appeal. It could be set in Zimbabwe or in India all the same, with a different story.
Our previous generations of novelists from non-Western world aped their Western predecessors and contemporaries to try to produce similar results in their fictitious societies. I don't think it worked. Now we are hearing first-hand reports from more and more novelists who are challenging the precepts on which the literary social edifice is built. This excites me a lot. This challenges set beliefs and taken-for-granted perceptions. We may not feel connected to it but in my opinion it is not important; nor is being able to 'relate' is important. Personally, I don't read new stuff from peoples I don't understand and languages I don't speak and countries I have never been to with a view to 'relate' to their stories; I put myself up to it so that it may pull me out of my local cocoon and make see the world from a different vantage point than I am using to seeing it from my window.
I agree that neither modernization nor European Enlightenment traditions cannot be imposed on the historical, philosophical, or literary landscape of a different culture without some problems arising. But it's more complicated than that, precisely because of the period of European colonialism that sought to impose the western model uber alles. As most Europeans eventually acknowledged, that attempt failed to find "a universal recipe that produces universal results" (well put, btw), but it has left a legacy in some places that (in my opinion) should not be too quickly dismissed. Vikram Seth's A Suitable Boy, for example, is a thoroughly Indian novel written in English and rooted in the literary works of Anthony Trollope. Although Seth has been criticized at times for "not being Indian enough" (he was educated at Doon, an elite Indian school on the model of a British boarding school), it seems to me that such an approach robs India of a historical reality (200 to 500 years of British cultural imposition that affected her deeply) and a linguistic bounty that includes English and many other languages. Such issues become less academic when viewed in the context of Boko Haram's war on "western education" or Malala Yousafzai's work (and suffering) on behalf of girls' education.Quote:
Originally Posted by Marbles
But I digress. The idea that the European Enlightenment "is not a universal recipe that produces universal results" is one that we share.
That is helpful, although some might say, "Hey, if I'm not going to get much out of a book, then why pretend? I'll just read a book I can relate to." Obviously that is a personal call, so I will just observe that with me it's hit or miss. Apart from its aesthetics, Snow left me a bit--cold? But as I said, part of that was not feeling like I was learning much new. Although I don't speak Turkish (I can count to four and say ice cream), I have traveled there a bit and more or less knew what Pamuk was talking about. On the other hand, I am currently reading A Brief History of Seven Killings, a novel about Jamaican gangland in Kingston during the 1970s, by Jamaican author Marlon James, written largely in patois. I've never been to Jamaica, and God knows I've never been in a gang, but I am hanging on every word precisely because so much of it is new to me. Sometimes one's own cocoon is best, sometimes one slips into someone else's. I'm always surprised by what works and what doesn't.Quote:
Originally Posted by Marbles
Like Pompey, I read "Snow" several years ago and am not rereading it now. I preferred "The Black Book", mainly because I loved the newspaper editorials that constitute every other chapter of that book.
Pamuk's non-fiction about Istanbul is also excellent.
I liked Snow better than Pompey did -- but I'm having trouble remembering the details now. It seems to me that it's about an essential Turkish conflict -- the conflict between Europe and the East. When the snow blocks the roads, Kars goes back in time. Ka is the political exile - a European for many years. He returns first to Istanbul (half of which is actually in Europe), and then to Kars, deep into Asia. His return to his Asian roots revitalizes his poetic muse, which has been repressed in Europe. The other characters in the book represent different aspects of this muse: the beautiful Ipek represents his youth; the fiery Blue his Muslim heritage; etc. Tellingly, however, the poems Ka writes have been lost -- the narrator (Orhan) finds only mention of them in a notebook. The poems are gone; the muses remain, immortalized in "Snow".
The more I read the book, the more I get the feeling as if I am watching one of those real life documentaries which follow one person around, simply recording whatever is happening without actually offering much insight... In a way it is good that there is much room for interpretation... which is also a downside: much too room for interpretation.
By now, I am truly annoyed with Ka... He is immature and lacking direction. A lost cause in himself, just like their dream of a liberal Turkey.
I agree that this is a story that would be of little interest to anyone who is not familiar with the regional and, maybe, religious debates in and around Turkey but, as Pompey pointed out, these conflicts are not limited to Turkey today but many Muslim countries who are dealing with radicalism.
It is interesting that Ka was unable to write poetry (be productive) in Germany, where he had freedom. He finds his muse again once he's faced with conflicts and turmoil. Is that an artistic requirement?
I am wondering if Ka will somehow die and it will be left to the author (Orhan) to tell his story.
(No spoilers please... Just musing and still about 150 pages to go!)
^ It is the narrator - Orhan - who is telling the story ab initio.
Yes, I realise that... Just wondering why Orhan chose to tell this story.Quote:
Originally Posted by Marbles
Well, that questions has been answered...Quote:
Originally Posted by Scheherazade
Just read the part when Ka visits Blue in the cell... There is something weird going on. Is it possible that Ipek is also in love with Blue?
Apparently, Ipek=silk and Kadife=velvet
Do you think these names are significant?
Also, if anyone looked at a map of Turkey... Kars is a rather small city in the corner... Wondering why this particular city was chosen... There are other cities that are bigger and more prominent that are considerably distant from Ankara, the capital.
http://www.lonelyplanet.com/maps/eur..._of_turkey.jpg
Well, just finished the book... Quite mixed feelings.
A small, tatterdemalion town of Kars is chosen as the setting probably to show the full effect of the political and cultural conflicts of modern Turkey which are quite often lost in the 'happening' places of the country where conflict is more easily washed over by the modernist facade Turkish ruling elite put on display.Quote:
Originally Posted by Scheherazade
"Modernist facade"?
You sound like you know more about Turkish politics and history than you let on!
After finishing the book, I think it was essential it to be this almost God forsaken place for them to be cut off so easily from the "real world".
I really enjoyed the book; interestingly the beginning and end more than the middle, which is just the opposite for me usually. It has the same feel of a Marquez book... Almost challenging the reality. All characters are compelling even though they are not fully developed or well-rounded.
By 'modernist facade' I mean that the tourist's Turkey is in many respects different from the native's Turkey. Main cities are build on an imported and imposed idea of secularism that has been pasted on to the fabric of Turkish life. This decorative glittering veneer does not match with the traditional aspirations of the people and their way of life elsewhere in the country. In Snow, Kars is selected to represent that process in a nutshell - a place 'cut off' from the outside world so it can't grow organically, so it must be changed by swift force. We see it in young girls' suicides when the state dictates them how to dress up. For them to show their hair in public is like ordering a Christian nun to sunbathe at a nudist beach or to humiliate a Sikh to make him cut his hair. Sacrilegious. Hence the intense reaction. Similarly, when the Kemalist theatre actor comes to Kars, his idea of how Turks must behave meets with stiff resistance. The oppression of Kurds in the name of Turkishness, too, is a product of post-Ottoman direction the Turkish nation took. And so is religion-inspired terrorism: though brutally crushed, it continues to inspire many people. Why? Because it attempts to redress some deep grievances of a society that was made to mould too forcefully and absolutely in too short a time into something that it was not or was not willing to be. As I see it, though there might be and must be other interpretations, Kars encapsulates the history of the modern Turkish state from the ouster of the last Sultan till the present.Quote:
Originally Posted by Scheherazade
Indeed. All Pamuk's books that I have read left me with the same feeling. His beginnings are compelling and endings fascinating. In the middle he somewhat drags the story where his improvisation is strongest. I read The White Castle recently, which is his debut in English. I wasn't expecting much from it as it comes from before he found his voice but I thoroughly enjoyed it. I think that novel was his first attempt at challenging the reality. A sort of intellectualised madness pervades the atmosphere of the novel, just as in Snow. But it is more personal and less ideological, which was a positive for me. There you have a brilliantly worked swapping of identities between a captive from Europe and a sort of Turk scientist in the service of the Ottoman Sultan, both embarking on a project that makes them one and the same despite all their personal differences. It has a historical setting but then his magnum opus, My Name is Red, is also historical and arguably his best work.Quote:
I really enjoyed the book; interestingly the beginning and end more than the middle, which is just the opposite for me usually. It has the same feel of a Marquez book... Almost challenging the reality. All characters are compelling even though they are not fully developed or well-rounded.
If you haven't already read it, I recommend The White Castle for whenever you want to return to Pamuk's work.
I have read his My Name is Red a few years back and I truly enjoyed it.
You sound like you know a lot about Turkish history and politics. Combining that with your avatar, is it safe to assume that you are of Turkish origin? Or from that region?
I think your explanation for "religious terrorism", as you put it, is somewhat simplistic... And if you blame it on Turkey's "modernist facade", how can you explain the same brutal, merciless attitude festering all over the world?
I think what is a "facade" is to pretend that Islam - or any other religion or philosophy - can live in a capsule or in a cocoon, ignoring what has been happening outside them throughout the centuries, expecting people to pretend that they still live in a gloried bygone era....
No, not just pretending to live but also keep insisting on celebrating that bygone era and its rather outdated code.
Err...I'm afraid a detailed discussion on this topic would take us into the realm of contemporary politics the discussion of which is discouraged on LitNet.Quote:
Originally Posted by Scheherazade
Facades are erected when things are portrayed with a cosmetic masking that hides the reality that lies beneath. In that respect I agree that all fundamentalist or extremist movements (Islamic or others, religious or nationalistic) have their own false facades which are divorced from reality.
Like everything else, the reasons for Islamist terrorism around the world are complex. I agree things are never explained so simplistically. I am sorry if it came across as though I was blaming Turkey's turbo secularism as a sole or main reason for the existence of Islamist terrorism in that country. I intended only to point to it as a catalyst or a contributing factor that strengthens the complaints of the conservative-fundamentalists and helps them recruit disgruntled youth.
The roots of Islamist terrorism are essentially political, as in Snow, and manifold, but its intellectual raison d'être is couched in Islamic rhetoric for popular appeal.
Contrast Turkey with Iran. Turkey is portrayed as a Muslim success story, a modernist democracy etc. But while we hear so much about the violation of women rights in Iran for making them put on headscarves etc, we don't hear a peep in the mainstream media about women rights violations in Turkey which until recently forced its women to take off headscarves and dress up against social norms to get education and jobs. People are reacting to coercion in both countries. If in Iran they defy the state by taking off their headscarves, in Turkey they are doing the exact opposite. Two facades, two falsehoods, being challenged by people who don't want to be forced intro following one or the other lifestyle.
I'm not Turkish but I come from the Muslim world.
Rather limited for time at the moment but I wanted to add that it must be quite a temptation for those people who are unable to find "comfort" (material or otherwise) to have the promise of an eternal life that will offer nothing but happiness in evergreen pastures of Heaven. And I find it quite interesting the promises of Heaven often target the male audience even though - as in the example of Snow - it is often the females who make the ultimate sacrifices in this world.