My Name Is Red

Of Miniatures and Murder One of these days, Turkish writer Orhan Pamuk will be awarded the Nobel Prize for literature. As is usually the case with this prize, it will be given for all the wrong reasons: a Muslim may be needed that year or the clash of East and West may demand a winner who is from both cultures. That said, it will be an honour long overdue and richly deserved. For 20 years, Pamuk has been spinning his postmodern yarns in Istanbul and getting better with every book. In Turkey, he is a publishing sensation (after his latest book his publisher successfully sued a newspaper which refused to believe the sales figures) and his books have been translated into 20 languages. His latest effort My Name is Red is a magnificent historical mystery, which manages to be a thrilling page-turner as well as a dense novel of ideas. The book is set in Istanbul in 1591. The Ottoman Empire is a major superpower, perhaps the most powerful in the world, and the sultan has commissioned a new book of paintings. These are not just any paintings. They are to be rendered in the 'new' Venetian manner, a style that flies in the face of all the rules of Islamic miniature art. The book is so secret that even the miniaturists working on it are unaware of the whole picture. Only Enishte Effendi, the official supervising the book, knows how all the pieces will fit. But rumours of heresy and blasphemy swirl around the project and an extremist preacher, incensed at the new western influences, is preaching murder. When one of the miniaturists working on the book is killed, anyone could be the killer. Was he killed because he was committing heresy? Or because he had discovered heresy and was about to unmask the heretic? Enishte and his lovesick nephew 'Black Effendi' are racing to find the killer when another murder is committed. Meanwhile, there are other complications: Black Effendi is in love with Enishte's widowed daughter Shekure, who is also being pursued by her brother-in-law. She is flirting with both through a Jewess who carries her messages through the streets of Istanbul. And always in the background is the conflict between the self-contained and insular Islamic civilisation and the brash and uncomfortably individualistic new challengers from Europe. The book is written in the form of 59 short chapters, each a monologue by one of the characters. Most of the chapters are narrated by the central characters - Black Effendi, Enishte, Shekure, the miniaturists and so on - but several are unconventional. The opening chapter is narrated by a freshly killed corpse, while others are narrated by the picture of a dog, a horse and even the colour red, from which comes the title of the book. The multiple perspectives work very well as a murder mystery - the narration by the killer, for example, invites the reader to guess at his identity through his style - and help Pamuk to push his complex cultural debate much better than any single perspective could have managed. The amazing thing is that the book works at every level. As a murder mystery, it is thrilling and loaded with suspense, while as an allegory on the clash of cultures, it is masterful and subtle. Pamuk is far from being didactic or one-dimensional. The Ottoman world is indeed depicted as a despotic and insular culture, increasingly constrained and hampered by rigid and oppressive orthodoxies. But the orthodoxies have their own internal justifications and rationalisations. In a world where "the center will not hold and mere anarchy is loosed upon the world", these certainties do have an appeal. Pamuk is too much of a postmodern intellectual to actually embrace these ideologies but he is not above suspecting that in all this 'progress' something has also been lost. Not all the illusions are on Don Quixote's side, some are also on the side of those who jeer at him. In 1999, the Turkish government tried to give Pamuk the title of state artist, which he refused by saying: "For years I have been criticizing the state for putting authors in jail, for only trying to solve the Kurdish problem by force, and for its narrow-minded nationalism, I don't know why they tried to give me the prize." After September 11, he wrote: "The western world is scarcely aware of this overwhelming humiliation experienced by most of the world's population, which they have to overcome without losing their common sense and without being seduced by terrorists, extreme nationalists or fundamentalists. Neither the magical realistic novels that endow poverty and foolishness with charm, nor the exoticism of popular travel literature manage to fathom this cursed private sphere." Near the end of the book, one of the miniaturists offers what could be Pamuk's own credo: "An artist should never succumb to hubris of any kind, he should simply paint the way he sees fit rather than troubling over East or West." Pamuk spent five years writing My Name is Red, one must spend a few days reading it. It will not be a disappointing experience.

A fascinating look at the relationship between art and life in the Ottoman empire. There is a murder mystery here, and a decidedly unromantic love story, but those simply serve as a framework for rumination on the purpose art should serve in society, particularly in the Ottoman empire of the 1500's. Art is a form of creation and the act of creation can be seen to infringe uncomfortably on the area of expertise that is the the domain of God. However, these creations serve to exalt God, inspire beholders, and establish legacies. Where do these worthwhile purposes intersect with the heresy of stepping on God's toes?"Yes, these are our hidden traces, not those identical horses all in a row. When a painter renders the fury and speed of a horse, he doesn't paint his own fury and speed; by trying to make the perfect horse, he reveals his love for the richness of this world and its creator, displaying the colors of a passion for life -- only that and nothing more."The Ottoman artists in this novel are miniaturists who decorate books to exalt the glory of the sultan. They are working in a style that is devoid of perspective and this puts their work at a comfortable distance from realism and the murky gray area between art and blasphemy. Their world is turned upside down by the radical trend towards realism in art that comes by way of Venice. At what point do these ideas cross from being aesthetically pleasing to being downright dangerous?

I chose the title only because of a couple of scenes....read the book and you find out whyThis book is about 14th century art in Istanbul. It is a murder mystery that blends the life stories of miniaturist … artist that created the beautiful artwork and gold leaf edging in books of that era. Today’s miniaturist is better known as an illustrator of books. The author takes a unique approach in beginning a chapter with a title “I am”. Then each chapter is told in the voice of the name of what would follow “I am”; a first person story told by many different first persons. The name is not necessarily a person. It could be an object like a coin that would then set the setting for the commerce that crosses both Venetian or Ottoman, Christian or Muslim, of that era. There are love dramas, conspiracies, Greek tragedies, (so apropos a term for a setting in Istanbul), and a lot of art history in novel form. Any reader would be intrigued enough to start fact checking and eventually planning a trip to Istanbul to discover firsthand the art of an era so over looked by us Westerners.Bikaner Miniature Painting You'll have to go to my blog cigarroomofbooks to see the picture. Apparently it would post here.The murder and conspiracy spins around a real plot on a person’s conceit. Imagine a person of wealth having his portrait painted and hung on the walls of his palazzo. Take it a step further and imagine a famous scene, say a battle, and that a Doge would have himself painted in to the scene, though having not been there. It would be a false rendering of the story. And then imagine the concern of the miniaturists who see the betrayal of truth and Allah himself. Remember in the 1500’s there were no other material media for stories to get told in color. You then begin to appreciate how grave the crime might be. Of course Hollywood does this all the time, so one must question the sliding scale of the virtue of man. And then weigh in on the moral consequences in what may be a justified murder. Or was it just for the money after all?As the murder plot thickens, the reader is rendered as the sleuth to figure out who the murderer is. The information is presented in first person of the prime character of any chapter. And the detectives are describing drawing styles of art that could be linked to one miniaturist or another. The reader cannot help but learn to become an art critic. The author, like in the book, sneaks up on you with art education while distracting you with a multi faced plot.The 14th century Muslim art critic’s primary objection was in defense of Allah. It was not the goal to paint a scene objectively, but rather the painting should be rendered as though seen through the eyes of Allah. As the plot unfolds the objection unravels. To determine the author you had to examine all the artists for style. Style was at that time in the Ottoman Empire dictated by the masters of any given schools. Somehow a master artist would at the end of his career go blind from so much dedication to Allah’s work and he could still somehow be able to instruct his students. It was an achievement to go blind. Somehow the actors in the drama fail to see that Allah is really the master artist forcing his style on his students.The real tragedy is the suspect artists feud with each other as they witness art from the Venetians who capture scenes objectively. Their feud is fueled with the competition of who would succeed their murdered master. Poor Black who is strapped with the job to figure out who done it so that he may earn the love and hand of the dead master’s daughter, finds himself being convinced, one by one by the arguments of each suspect. Every argument brings two themes. Fist is the sacrilege of their brethren actually painting with their own style. And second is that unique style is exactly evidence found in the murder scene painting.The book is clearly poetry in prose. It is word art. It is a Walt Whitman rant style of poetry. The only thing missing is the artwork.

Often in life, we come across literature so beautiful that we feel we would have missed something in life had we missed this literature.This book is exactly that. It is extravagant and deep. Beautiful and haunting.I've reordered this book after losing my previous copy while shifting homes because this is one of those book one should have on their shelves.Note for the seller: please be conscious of your packaging.

First book I've read by Orhan Pamuk and certainly it won't be the last! I think like Salman Rushdie, you need to understand the writer's psyche to enjoy books like this. That said, I found the Satanic Verses a tricky read but then again, I've been told by Muslims you need to understand the Koran. I am not religious so I'm not going to comment on that. My Name Is Red is not like the Satanic Verses so let's clear that up. It is in its entirety a great read. I read over the Christmas period and I was literally devouring great swathes of it at any time. When I finished it I gave it to my brother who wouldn't really read this sort of book but even though he's older, he's now prone to experiment with his reading. I haven't heard back from him on it. He may not read it for months! I love historical fiction and Orhan Pamuk does it as good as any one else. Umberto Eco springs to mind while I read this.

La novela está bien escrita, muy elaborada, fácil de leer, pero no tanto de seguir. Motivo: se cuenta la historia (ubicada en el Estambul del Imperio Otomano antiguo) de un grupito de ilustradores de libros (miniaturistas que adornan los márgenes de las páginas de libros manuscitos). Este grupo recibe del Sultán el encargo de adornar un nuevo libro que pretende competir en calidad con la pintura occidental, más avanzada al no tener las restricciones que impone el Corán a los retratos de personas o animales.En esto, uno de los miniaturistas es asesinado. Y el Sultán amenaza con torturarlos a todos si ellos mismos no descubren cuál de ellos es el asesino. Si cuento casi todo el argumento no es para fastidiar, sino porque la técnica novelística que usa Orhan Pamuk es bien complicada: cada capítulo es un monólogo, una parte de la historia contada por (y desde el punto de vista de) muy distintos "personajes". Entre estos no sólo hablan los miniaturistas sino otros tan extraños como una moneda, un perro, la muerte misma... Esto tiene el efecto siguiente: si empiezas a leer un capítulo e inturrumpes la lectura, luego tienes que tomarte la molestia de averiguar quién está hablando esta vez, a base de volver a atrás y ver el título del capítulo (por ejemplo, Mi nombre es Mariposa).En resumen, esta novela está elaborada como un puzzle, o una colección caleidoscópica de distintos puntos de vista sobre los sucesos que van ocurriendo. Está bien ambientada históricamente, pero a veces da la impresión de ser harto repetitiva. A unos lectores les encantará, pero a otros los cansará hasta el agotamiento. Y es que el autor ha querido pintar un gran cuadro repleto de detalles, con planos de muy diverso estilo, y especulando con la idea de hasta qué punto la prohibición coránica de los retratos coharta la libertad del pintor. Es una parábola que puede que sea intencionada, reflejando la tesitura actual del Islam, dividido entre la adaptación al mundo moderno y la fidelidad a los preceptos musulmanes, división que parece estar en la base de los extremismos jihadistas de hoy día.

Fabulous writing Gets you in from the start

Fascinating book offering a glimpse into a world very few of us know much about: The Ottoman Empire at the apex of its glory, in the middle of 16th century. Orhan Pamuk takes us to the heart of Istanbul of those times and immerses us in the customs, intrigues and daily preoccupations of people living in that time and place. Readers who enjoyed “The name of the Rose” by Umberto Eco will love this. Like the other book, “My name is Red” delivers a thriller wrapped in a deep intellectual debate. This time the debate involves the aesthetics of painting and the way it relates to religion, culture and the history of humanity in general. The atmosphere around the characters and their debates is medieval and dark. However, little sparks announcing the future can be clearly seen. Elite Ottoman miniaturists engrossed in their masterful but impersonal painting style become aware that in Venice and beyond, Western painters depict human faces as they really are, different from each other and enhanced by the use of shadows and perspective. Can Allah tolerate that? Soon, it’s time to take sides; some miniaturists reject the new style, others would like to imitate it, some are still ambiguous. In an environment already saturated with professional jealousy, the dispute leads to murder and then to the race to uncover the murderer.Pamuk lead us with mastery toward the denouement where the culprit is revealed and punished. Along the way he uses various characters and even un-animated objects as first person narrators . This technique allows him to better move the plot forward and deepen the mystery. Despite the multitude of narrators, Pamuk’s voice remains easily recognizable. The writing is strong and handles with ease highly refined aesthetically or theological topics as well as sexual themes and naturalistic descriptions.There is an enormous amount of detail about Ottoman and Muslim art or history. This can be overwhelming at times but it can motivate the reader to find out more and search for new learning opportunities. A great reading experience.