Month: April 2019

My Name Is Red | Orhan Pamuk

Tejas RaoLeave a comment

My Name is Red,
by Orhan Pamuk, translated by Erdağ M. Göknar
Published by Vintage (2002)
Rating: ***** 

I’m not sure I will be able to do justice to the plot of My Name Is Red. It’s difficult to put into words. In essence, it is a murder mystery. An individual, Elegant has been murdered, and his corpse lies undiscovered at the bottom of a well. Speaking from the afterlife, he hopes that his body is found soon and that the murderer is captured.

However, Elegant is not the sole narrator through the book. Each fresh chapter introduces a new character to the story, and ends up explaining their backstory, alongwith how much they know about the murder of Elegant. As we learn more about the motives for murder, so we learn about the motives behind art, and the possibilities of its interpretation.

Pamuk’s consistency with exploring the blurring of lines in the confluence between the East and the West continues here as well. Each narrator, though modernist, has an intriguing take on the value and role of art in a person’s life. So too, does each narrator have a perspective on whom the likely murderer is. Pamuk unravels the plot slowly, allowing for these philosophical discussions and beliefs to be exposed in as nuanced a manner as possible. Pamuk manages to portray the 16th century world, full of its own contradictions, and capture it in a manner that is wholesome and enjoyable.

However, if you are reading Pamuk purely for the murder mystery – this might not live up to your expectations. There’s barely any distinction drawn in the likelihood that one of the narrators may have murdered elegant, which leaves room for a lot of doubt, and a lot of tension, one that Pamuk diffuses in a manner that isn’t all that appreciable. The narratives is skewed and feels heavily-strung together.

As a result, Pamuk’s novel gets 5-stars on its value as a text and its contribution to my understanding of ideas that it presents – lucid, simplistic, and detailed. However, as a pure literary text, my jury will have to wait for a re-read. Or multiple re-reads.

2019: Ninety-Eight

Tejas Rao1 Comment

I tried out a new barbershop today, motivated largely by my desire to drink cold coffee and walk back to campus as the sun set. The haircut has left me feeling very porcupine-ish, more porcupine-ish than I usually feel post haircuts. But the cold coffee was 100% worth it. Wow. So good.

Today’s been a lazy day – even post the haircut and everything. It took me 5 hours to write my book review for today, which was way longer than I anticipated – because I kept getting distracted by the internet. I found several cool memes, found some fun stuff to keep an eye out for over the summer, and discovered a pretty cool Spotify playlist. Of course it would have been great if I was productive alongside all of this – but I feel like if I looked back at April 8, 2019, I’d much rather remember the cool new song I heard, rather than a project I finished off.

I did get started on the project, so something got done.

In class today I was thinking a lot about how we need to find more efficient ways of using classroom time and contact hours. Ideally, it should be to impart wisdom about things that I can’t find myself, or provide perspective to an opinion held. I feel like doctrinal education is too much of a time-waste. If there’s some teaching mechanism that would address this, I feel like we’d get a better value for money in terms of our education.

Oh well. That doesn’t look like it’s going to happen for a while.

GloPoWriMo 2019: 8/30

Tejas RaoLeave a comment

Today’s prompt asks me to incorporate a commonly used phrase relating to a profession in my poem.

Legal-ish 

Your Honour,
Legalese is not difficult,
It’s inaccessible.
And yes the Law was supposed to be for the common man,
But so was Medicine and Healthcare,
Yet no Uncle complains when he reads the shabby handwriting an
M.B.B.S. passes onto him after a check-up
Where he understands where he little.

Forget that Your Honour,
He doesn’t complain when the Pharmacist insists
That the substitute he offers is the
Perfect substitute to the drug the Doctor prescribed.
But here
That same Uncle,
He claims I steal his money and prolong his cases
Because every time we go to Court he sees another
Date slapped on his face.

Your Honour,
Please tell him I can’t do anything about that.
Or slap him with a fine.
Or worse, give him another date,
The look on his face will be divine.

 

Snow | Orhan Pamuk

Tejas RaoLeave a comment

Snow,
by Orhan Pamuk, translated by Maureen Freely
Published by Vintage International (2005)
Rating: **** 

Snow is essential reading.

In two distinct parts, the book follows the story of Ka (the shortened form of Kar, which is “Snow” in Turkish).

The first part follows Ka’s discovery of Islam. It begins as Ka reunites with Ipek (a woman he once loved), who has recently divorced Muhtar, owing to his interest in political Islam. Ka meets Muhtar, and is introduced to Muhtar’s experience with Islam. During that meeting, he is accused, alongwith Muhtar, for a recent public shooting for which an Islamic extremist group claimed responsibility.

Ka begins to write, composing a poem, “Snow”, and several other poems. Ipek urges Ka to visit a Sheikh, and they have an astounding conversation on the value of organized religion in an individual’s life. Ka, although hesitant to accept religion – claiming it to be “backward”, chooses to accept instead, that his poetry is a gift from God – an unnamed entity. Following this interaction, Ka continues to meet people with different experiences of Islam. He meets a self-identifying Muslim radical as well as Islamic feminists.

Reflective of a newly independent Turkey, there are growing tensions between secularists and Islamists, which ends up blowing out of proportion at a televised event. The police and military impose martial law, and Ka is taking in for questioning once more. Upon his release, he meets an actor who identifies as a Turkist Republican, who ends up orchestrating – in a spectacular sequence, both a coup d’état and a coup de théâtre.

The second part deals with a denouncing of the coup. True to Pamuk, there is a post-modernism in his introduction as the narrator of the book. We fast-forward four years, and explore Turkey post-Ka’s life, and reconstruct events leading to his demise.

You’ll notice that my plot summary elaborates one part of the book far more than it does the second. This is intentional. If you’re intrigued by what the first part holds, the second part is a deeper dive into all things so related, and I would recommend reading the book to find out more.

The characters are phenomenally crafted. My usual criticism of Pamuk involves a comment on how characters are just one-dimensional individuals. But here, every single character is developed well, with backstories that keep you hooked, and motives that you find yourself questioning at every turn. There is no black-and-white, only grey, and it’s very easy to fall in love with, and hate Ka and his crew.

A truth that has been fundamental to Turkey has been its struggle with who it wishes to be, who its leaders wish to represent, and how to unite a population that has such fundamentally different beliefs. Pamuk’s reflections on this struggle is a driving force behind Snow’s plot, and is an exposition both in Turkish society, and a commentary on the ability of speech – to propagate messages of peace and unity, as well as violence.

One star is docked again for Pamuk’s staunch refusal to allow us to fully immerse ourselves in the world of his characters. Similar to the New Life, he reveals nothing of Ka’s poems – making it difficult to fully relate to Ka’s perception of the world, and more crucially, fully appreciate certain scenes that Orhan the narrator weaves for us.

However, an understanding of Western Asia would mandate a reading of Snow. And I would force it upon people as well.

2019: Ninety-Seven

Tejas RaoLeave a comment

RCB lost again,
Today is Sunday,
The weekend was meant to be longer,
But tomorrow is Monday.

This is my weekend in four sentences.

First, I cannot believe RCB lost again. I will support this team unwaveringly, but they’re making it very difficult to be loved at this moment. I don’t even know what is going wrong. Some fortunes must change, a match must be won. At this point, I’m worried this is going to be like the first season of IPL. My roommate chuckled and said that the team’s results crashed the way Mallya’s fortunes did. I did not laugh.

I bought my first ice-cream of summer today – a nice Vadilal chocolate cone. The pleasure of chocolate cones in general, I believe, is underrated. Aside from the deliciousness of the ice-cream itself, there are surprises in every bite of the cone. Especially the cute cone tip at the end, which has a nice little coating of chocolate. Eating this ice-cream is an artform. Find me one person who can eat this chocolate cone without leaving any marks of gluttony on their hand, and I will buy you your own chocolate ice-cream.

Wow.

What a delicious. Made my entire weekend.

GloPoWriMo 2019: 7/30

Tejas RaoLeave a comment

Today’s prompt challenges me to write a poem of gifts and joy. The prompt asks me some very difficult questions. Like “What would you give yourself, if you could give yourself anything?” This is particularly notorious because it’s very difficult for me to instantaneously name what one gift I want. As a result, this poem concentrates specifically on something I want right now.

Truth 

At this present moment
It’s getting tougher and tougher to believe the things I read
The things I see – they contradict what I hear
And what I hear is distorted by what my friends hear
This chaotic cacophony  means
As society, we hold hands,
Stand in a circle,
And scream
“Ignorance”
Into the fire in the middle.

There is no left,
No right,
No neutral,
There is just bias
And noise.

I have nothing to believe in,
Nobody to trust.
I’ve grown up on truth,
But I’m maturing on lies.

So if I can ask for one thing,
And give to myself a superpower,
It would be the ability to find the truth,
Share it proudly,
Display it as a symbol of light,
Because there’s darkness everywhere,
No end in sight.

The New Life | Orhan Pamuk

Tejas RaoLeave a comment

The New Life,
by Orhan Pamuk, translated by Guneli Gun
Published by Faber and Faber (1997)
Rating: ***

Reading Orhan Pamuk is an exercise in learning and unlearning. This book was the third in my journey of understanding the author.

The New Life follows the journey of individuals who, captivated by a book they read, seek to implement its principles, and achieve its conclusion – the prospect of a new life. The protagonist, Osman, notices the book as his friend, Janan sets it down – buying his own copy shortly thereafter. Subsequently, Janan introduces Osman to her boyfriend, Mehmet – who is shortly gunned down at a bus stop. As Mehmet is untraceable, Janan and Osman end up taking bus journeys – which are violent, and surreal, in an attempt to find Mehmet. Ultimately, they find Mehmet’s father, Dr. Fine, who – as the antagonist in the story, has attempted to curb the readership of the book, by murdering individuals who follow its teachings using a network of spies. The book concludes with a revelation of the book’s actual author – who is related to Osman.

This is a summary of the plot. The nuance involved, along with Pamuk’s writing style, makes this an extremely heavy, complex read. As a result, unlike his other works, I don’t think this is his most accessible novel. It left me feeling several mixed feelings. Before we get to criticisms however, Pamuk deserves appreciation.

As always, his storytelling will leave you with a sense of wonder and bewilderment. There’s a lot of depth, and while sometimes difficult to follow, Pamuk’s imagination is a credit to mankind’s thinking. Technically, Pamuk achieves Inception-level writing in the 90’s – something that only took to the screens much later.  Again, quintessentially true to style, there are scathing observations on Turkey’s complex, confused character, and remarks on the West. Further, the existentialism Osman faces – which leaves him in quest for a New Life, and his eventual succumbing to that quest, is something that is relatable across generations.

While the ideas and layering is grand, the writing here lacks a lot of precision. The prose here is heavy. Descriptions, for example, are over-done. Sentences are lengthy, and complicated. As a result, Osman’s introspection is overly complicated, rather than simplistically presented. Additionally, Pamuk appears to have a thing for disappearing acts. Reading this after The Black Book made them seem far too similar, and expectations were heightened.

Further, Pamuk doesn’t develop his characters as much as he usually does. There’s too much similarity between Osman and Janan. Their chemistry is far too quickly created, and progresses only as a result of their commonalities. Their friendship, and unrequited romance, is not organic, insofar as their personalities do not show any progression – aside from their sole focus being to find Mehmet.

Finally, I think what the book could have done with, is some exposition of the book that Osman, Janan and Mehmet all read. I understand that the crowd is split on this, but Pamuk tries to leave it to the reader to figure out what the book was about, and what the “new life” the book propagated actually is. In a sense, this is fantastic – it’s so subjective, and open to interpretation, that it allows the reader to soak in all this information and formulate an opinion. On the other hand, the motivation of these characters is so grey, and difficult to  pinpoint. Some excerpts – perhaps two lines, even, at the start of chapters, would have been fantastic.

In short, this is a more of a case of “what could have been” rather than “what is”. If you’re intrigued by Pamuk, it’s worth the shot, but shouldn’t be your first pick.

2019: Ninety-Six

Tejas RaoLeave a comment

Sometimes lazy Saturdays are all you need to keep your drive going. I’ve got a mountain of work and several things to do before Monday. All things I know are achievable in a 5-hour time-frame. So I have the option of procrastinating till Sunday afternoon-evening, and then beginning to hack at it. Which I’ve gloriously taken. I plan to sit, read, make playlists on Spotify, watch some stuff on Netflix, and genuinely just take some time off for myself before the week begins again.

I’m missing high school right now. Specifically the fact that I used to binge-watch shows on my laptop at home on my beanbag with my AC on. That’s probably the most “first-world” problem, but it’s honestly a feeling of comfort I associate with summers in Bangalore a lot. All of this was supposed to be when I was studying – but I used to genuinely have a whale of a time doing this when I wasn’t solving past papers.

I miss discussing prep with my friends. We had this site called xtremePapers we used to all use, and when any of us got stuck, there used to be a photo on our group. All of us used to attempt solving it before seeing the mark scheme and figuring out what the right method and correct answer was. It was honestly reverse-engineering at it’s finest.

I miss loafing around on the piano, being pushed out of the house by my mum, playing basketball with friends – and being very average at it. Buying ice-cream at Namdhari’s.

But while I miss that, I’m well aware of the fact that I’m living in the present – laying on my bed, wearing the comfiest cotton shorts, and typing this piece on my blog.

GloPoWriMo 2019: 6/30

Tejas RaoLeave a comment

Today’s prompt asks me to write about the “if’s”

Opinions 

My only desire is to be able to have conversations
With people who don’t share the same opinions as I do
Without them attempting to attack my ideology, my approach
Without the emotion
Without the lies
Just, plain conversation
No anger – just an exchange of information
An understanding of how ideologies practically function
An agreement on disagreement
No violence, no resentment.
I wonder if this will ever be possible
When our country battles with words, more than swords,
And prefixes, and suffixes are shrouded with subliminal messaging
Meant to attack, rather than inform.
One day I’m hopeful of engagement rather than brute disagreement
For it is in ignorance that darkness lies
And it appears that our world is in great need of light.

2019: Ninety-Five

Tejas RaoLeave a comment

As an update, everybody needs to know I managed to eliminate that stupid adware/malware I had accidentally installed onto my system. I spent three hours trying to get rid of it. Nonsense. It embedded itself deep into my system drives and I had to do all sorts of stuff with Command Prompt to get it out of the laptop. I hope that never happens again. Will this prevent me from downloading things onto my laptop? I think not. Will I try to be more responsible? Maybe. Only time will tell, really.

I spent a lot of time thinking about things today. Over the course of one hour, I found good music I was vibing to, a nice article I was reading – and several thoughts were panning around in my head – largely concerning my current position on things. It felt like an appraisal of sorts. I arrived at certain conclusions.

Do I like sauce? The answer is still no. However, I love Tabasco, and I really enjoy Nando’s Peri-Peri Sauce.

What would I eat for breakfast, if I could eat only one thing everyday? A nice mushroom,bell-pepper,cheese omelette, made with 3 eggs, and served with 3 slices of buttered toast. Alongwith a glass of cold chocolate milk, or orange juice. Lies. Dosa.

If I could change one thing about my room right now, what would that be? Air-conditioner.

You get the gist of things my brain was doing.

At which point I opened up ESPNCricinfo and saw that Royal Challengers Bangalore, a team I support in the Indian Premier League had ended up with a total of 205, with both of our best batsman firing on all cylinders. I was pretty sure we had this game in the bag, especially after a 0-4 start to the season. And more than anything else, as an Indian cricket team supporter, I really needed RCB to win so that Kohli would get confidence in his captaincy before the World Cup. There’s more at stake than this nonsense competition.

BUT OF COURSE WE LOST.

IDIOTS.

Why did I open the ESPNCricinfo page? I should’ve just stayed away from it. But NO! I was curious. I had to know how my team was doing!

UGHHHH.

One match bro.

That too after Bengaluru FC killed in the Indian Super League.

Why is being a fan so difficult?

GloPoWriMo 2019: 5/30

Tejas RaoLeave a comment

Today’s prompt asks me to try one of three things. I’ve chosen to attempt a villanelle. Examples include One Art, by Elizabeth Bishop

Shorts

I wish I could wear shorts everywhere,
Show off my bruised knees and my glistening shins,
Allow them to be declassified as merely leisure wear.

My legs deserve to breathe the open air,
I imagine it would catch several people unaware,
But truly, I wish I could wear shorts everywhere.

Understand that merely because pants are treated with more care,
Does not entitle them to a class containing silverwear,
Please, I beg you, declassify shorts as leisure wear.

This false notion propagates injustice,
It prevents shorts from being worn at classrooms and official events,
Shorts are stylish – allow me to wear them everywhere,
By declassifying them as merely being leisurewear.

 

The Black Book | Orhan Pamuk

Tejas RaoLeave a comment

The Black Book
by Orhan Pamuk, translated by Maureen Freely
Published by Vintage (2006)
Rating: ****

As an exposition of Turkish culture, only the Turkish or individuals with intricate knowledge of the Mediterranean nation’s history can comment on the accuracy of The Black Book. I do not claim to be an expert in this field. As a result, my comments on Turkishness are restricted to plot points which stood out to me. Nonetheless, it is impossible to read Pamuk, even the translated version, and miss his identity and the influence of his surroundings on the book.

The Black Book opens with rhe protagonist, Galip, finding that his wife/first cousin Rüya has left him. Over the course of the novel, he attempts to hunt her down in Istanbul  – suspecting that she has taken off with her half-brother, Celal, a columnist. The book weaves in reprints of Celal’s columns with Galip’s hunt for his wife. Eventually, Galip attempts living as Celal – trying to think like Celal, and understand where they could have possibly disappeared. Eventually, trying to fuse his identity with Celal’s has consequences he was unprepared for – including life-threatening circumstances, which arrive from Celal’s own past. The book ends with a death, and a revelation built-up too, but unpredictable, which is typical of Pamuk’s writing.

As with The White Castle, Pamuk’s craft of storytelling is a thoroughly enjoyable adventure. His prose is smooth, and fluid – with a sustained build-up to a conclusion that sparks the imagination. True to style, Pamuk is able to invoke post-modern elements including a reveal that introduces the narrator’s role in the entire story, startling, yet masterfully constructed.

Noticeably, The Black Book builds on a lot of Pamuk’s revelations about identity in the White Castle. There are multiple levels on which a deep level of confusion about identity dominates the narrative. First, we see Galip’s own confusion and dissatisfaction with who he is. He slowly comes to understand his own unhappiness and causative factors for the same. This plot intertwines with Istanbul’s own identity as a city – which is split between an attempt to be secular, and an attempt to proudly accept and celebrate it’s Muslim and Christian roots. Finally, the book asks several questions about Turkey’s identity as a nation – and how people choose to confront the westernization of the nation.

None of this feels forced upon the reader, which I think is Pamuk’s biggest achievement with this book. It is entirely possible to enjoy the mystery of Rüya’s disappearance without viewing the plot as a commentary on Turkey. I thought the book could do with greater depth of character for Rüya, who is painted exclusively through one lens. Additionally, Pamuk’s choice of focusing on Istanbul and Turkey separately is intriguing, and perhaps, overdone in parts.

Nonetheless, this is a book I would thoroughly recommend. Pamuk is an author I’ve been aching to read, and I’m glad 2019 is the year I read him.