Customer Reviews

The Bastard of Istanbul

5 star:		(18)
4 star:		(13)
3 star:		(3)
2 star:		(3)
1 star:		(8)

 

 

I must admit I do not read fiction that often but after having read this book recently, I must revisit this.

Simply put, a beautiful book.

I heard Shafak's interview on NPR with Terry Gross and found her comments engrossing so that I decided to buy the book.

The structure of the book is the Armenian genoicide and role of memory, past, present and future and the different roles they play in Turkish and Armenian society.

More than this, the travels through to the US and back, relate a sense of flightlessness which helps shape the feelings of identity. The look inside at the relationships among Turkish women is conveyed in a delightful manner. The intergenerational relationships and ties are also brilliantly expressed.

A must read, a really, really beautiful book.

Any review of Elif Shafak's latest novel, THE BASTARD OF ISTANBUL, is sure to mention the surrounding controversy. When the book was published last year in Turkey, Shafak ended up facing a prison sentence because of what her fictional characters say about the massacre of Armenians under the Ottoman Empire, a tragedy not officially recognized by the Turkish government. This drama could overshadow the book itself, but instead it should contribute to the poignancy of the story.

The titular bastard is Asya Kazanci, a young woman living in Istanbul in a house of eccentric and loving women. Asya is rebellious, even though her "aunties" are fairly tolerant. She is obsessed with the music of Johnny Cash, smokes cigarettes behind her family's back, and ditches the ballet lessons they pay for so that she can sit and drink in a cafe with a bunch of world-weary existentialists. Asya's rebellion is inherited from her mother, the stunning "auntie" Zeliha who had Asya when she was just 19 and now runs a tattoo parlor catering to the artistic and secular of Istanbul. Shafak suggests that Asya's rebellion is part of being an Istanbulite, and the city itself is a major character in the novel. Zeliha has never revealed the name of Asya's father, and much of Asya's identity is tied up in her being a "bastard." But her identity as a woman, as a Turk and as a daughter of Istanbul will be challenged when a bold Armenian American woman arrives on her doorstep.

Armanoush Tchakhmakhchian is a college student in Arizona. Raised between her Armenian family in San Francisco and her mother and Turkish stepfather in Tucson, she, like Asya, struggles with identity. She feels deeply connected to her Armenian ancestry and is often ashamed of the fact that her mother married a Turk, Mustafa, after she and Armanoush's father divorced. She decides that a trip to Istanbul, to explore her family's past and to reconcile her feelings for Turkey, will allow her to move on with her life and sort through some of her confusion. She decides to stay with Mustafa's family in Istanbul, and Mustafa's niece happens to be Asya.

When Asya and Armanoush meet, they each begin to sort out their personal, national and ethnic identities, and uncover several family secrets.

THE BASTARD OF ISTANBUL is both funny and sad. Shafak's prose, although sometimes heavy-handed, conveys the spirit of both young women and the city that connects them. Readers feel for the characters who, often kooky, seem quite real (and mostly likable). The violence against the Armenians is addressed with respect and without being preachy. It is only sentences such as this that can slow the story down: "If there is an eye in the seventh sky, a Celestial Gaze watching each and every one from way up high, He would have had to keep Istanbul under surveillance for quite some time to get a sense of who did what behind closed doors and who, if any, uttered profanities."

Shafak nicely blends realism with a touch of the supernatural and mystical for an enjoyable and subtly thought-provoking read. She evokes the sights, sounds, smells and especially the tastes of Istanbul; her portrait of the city is at once romantic and brutally honest. It soon becomes clear that, despite the title, Asya is not really the central character. The story focuses on the relationship between Asya and Armanoush as each tries to negotiate a partially concealed past and an unknown future. This allows the unfolding of the stories of the two families, the Tchakmakhchains and the Kazancis, and how they are deeply connected. By the end of the novel, family secrets are revealed, and while the characters learn much, Shafak allows them to maintain certain notions and prejudices even as she attempts to strip them from her readers.

In the end, despite some problems with the prose, THE BASTARD OF ISTANBUL is an interesting book from a young novelist who already has made her mark in world literature and deserves to be read apart from the surrounding controversy.

--- Reviewed by Sarah Rachel Egelman

Elif Shafak's novel "The Bastard of Istanbul" is set in contemporary Istanbul with important scenes in Arizona in San Francisco. The novel was written in English and published in the United States in 2006. Earlier, in 2003, the novel was published in Turkey where it resulted in a prosecution of the author that was subsequently dismissed. The book has several themes, some of which are important, but all of which are patched together. The book examines the relationship between Turks and Armenians particularly in 1915. Many people have concluded that the Turks practiced genocide of serious proportions on the Armenians. The Turks officialy deny this. The novel shows modern day Turks and Armenians wrestling with their history and with the tragic earlier events. The book is also about two young women in their early 20s who are thrown together somehow and, who, like many people, struggle with with the illusive, ill-defined concept of personal identity. The book also is about the relationship between women and men as shown through the eyes of quirky, mostly appealing female characters, and much less sympathetic and largely absent men.

The plot of the book and the family structures are complex and tangled. There are two family groups. The first family is Turkish and located in Istanbul and consists of four sisters and no men. The men in the women's lives have died or disappeared in various ways. The sisters have a brother, Mustafa, who moved to the United States to study when he was 20 and who has remained in the United States, when the events of the book occur, at the age of 40. One of the sisters is mentally ill while another sister reads tarot cards and has clairvoyant powers, including two spirits which accompany and advise her. The sister that received the most attention is named Zeliha. Zeliha is a religious skeptic who dresses in short skirts and high heels. At the age of 19 she had a child out of wedlock, and she has never revealed the father. Her daughter is named Asya, who at the age of 20, is much like her mother in dress. Asya likes the music of Johnny Cash and reads French existentialists, particularly the wonderful book of Emmanuel Levinas, "Totality and Infinity". Totality and Infinity: An Essay on Exteriority (Martinus Nijhoff Philosophy Texts), which I read in my own graduate study of philosophy.

The second family centers on a young woman named Armanoush, or Amy for short. Amy is reserved and bookish and spends most of her time reading rather than trying to socialize with or appeal to young men. She is the daughter of an American woman, Rose, and an Armenian man from who Rose was subsequently divorced. For her second husband, Rose chooses a Turkish man, Mustafa, who has remained in America. Rose and Mustafa live a quiet, essentially contented life in Arizona. Amy's father and his extended Armenian family live in San Francisco and Amy spends her time between her father and his family and her mother and step-father Mustafa.

The two families and the two young women are awkwardly joined together when Amy decides to travel to Istanbul, a decision she keeps from both parts of her family. She invites herself to stay with Mustafa's sisters and during the visit becomes close to Asya. When she makes this decision, the book almost seems to be moving in the direction of a work which will study an American woman's reaction to Islam and women. But the author and Amy assure the reader that this is not the case. The purpose of Amy's impulsive decision to travel to Istanbul in Turkish-Armenian relations and Amy's own quest to understand these sources of what she sees as her identity -- in the person of her Armenian father and his family and her Turkish step-father and his family whom she has never met. The four sisters take her in, and Asya asks them about the killings of Armenians in 1915. The sisters profess ignorance.

As the book progresses, Amy and the reader see more of Istanbul and of Turkish-Armenian history from various perspectives. This portion of Turkey's past is also combined with many secrets and hidden events of Asya's family which become exposed as the plot develops.

I found the book awkward, contrived, and poorly written. The history of the Turks and the Armenians is buried under a welter of other much weaker material and, for the most part, is not told well. The characters in the Istanbul family are eccentrics and largely stereotypical. They are described in a sentimental, syrupy manner with predictable attention to meals and indulgent portrayals of the family cats. The intellectual interests of the two young women, particularly Asya's delight in Johnny Cash and her reading of Levinas, are forced and mannered and have little to do with any threads of the book. The author overwrites, pounds home her points repeatedly, and shows more than usual narratorial omniscience in commenting on the actions of her characters and their motivations. While the author and Amy are narrowly correct in disclaiming "Islam and women" as the theme of the book and of Amy's trip to Istanbul, the theme of gender relationships dwarfs the stated theme of the book of Turkish-Armenian history. The family of women, and the two young girls, are shown as independent, thoughtful, vulnerable, and human. The men are absent, boors, vulgar, at a loss for what to do with themselves, and worse. The gender themes of the book have nothing to do with Turkish-Armenian relationships and history. These matters crossed the line of gender. The focus on gender sterotypes and of male conduct at the most offensive level detracts greatly from the book or from any serious understanding of a part of history that deserves to be studied and understood.

In general, when I read a novel I don't like, I rate it three stars on grounds that most books, including this one, have some worthwhile passages and that a rating of two stars or less is overkill. But I seriously disliked this novel. The plot is replete with coincidence, the writing is poor, and the gender bias offensive. Thus, with some reluctance, I departed from my usual practice in rating this book.

Robin Friedman

This is a poorly written novel that I honestly wish I had never picked up. I can't believe it received so many good reviews. Since that is part of the reason I decided to read it, I felt compelled to offer another opinion. The author's writing technique is generally poor. The prose is juvenile and reads like mediocre young adult fiction. There are a few good passages and I think with time and practice Shafak could be a better writer, but generally she spent too much time explaining things that were obvious to the reader (she needs to consider the old "showing, not telling" adage.) Her characters were flat and unbelievable. Because of this it was difficult to take them seriously and thus difficult to find the major revelation of the book remotely plausible. It is noble of Ms. Shafak to want to deal with the issue of the Armenian genocide in Turkey, but this novel fails to do that in a compelling fashion. For those who want to read a more moving (and better written) novel confronting the Armenian genocide I suggest Kurt Vonnegut Jr.'s "Bluebeard." For those interested in Turkish literature (another reason I picked up this book) you are better off with Orhan Pamuk or Yashar Kemal.

I picked this book up at the library when I was in a huge rush just looking for something to read; I had no knowledge about the author or the book before. What a wonderful surprise. This is a tremendous story of family, culture, history, political conflict, and intense personal secrets and consequences.

I feel the book is extremely readable (some have commented on what they called an awkward prose style). I especially enjoyed the descriptions of Istanbul in the chapter "Dried Apricots". The book is filled with sadness, yet it has many touches of humor. Logically, the intertwining of the two families may be a stretch, but emotionally it works.

The story may be about the Turkish people and the Armenians; however, it says so much more about the influence of past events on individuals and on entire nations. One can never escape the past even if there is no direct knowledge of it. The book is interesting, entertaining, and thought-provoking.

Highly recommended. Another title set it an entirely different setting but with the similar stuggles, check out Mister Pipand The Septembers of Shiraz

Altogether a beautiful book, however, in its attempt to emulate a languid oral storytelling tradition, the end result is far more akin to an MTV video debut: crammed with disjointed scenarios strung together with a weak and somewhat far-fetched storyline. Characters, events, objects are all either over or under described. It either leaves nothing to the imagination or leaves one with the feeling of overwhelming clutter. One can easily imagine what Rose is like and may even know someone like her in life. Her ex-husband Barsam on the other hand, practically disappears after the first chapter and only resurfaces at the end of the book to relay bad news. And Zeliha, from whom the story is launched and is certainly not your typical Istanbulite, how did she become the way she was? Describing her as the rebellious youngest daughter over and over again does not reveal anything.

Chronological figures also do not seem to be the author's strength. Petit-Ma is described as a "little girl" in 1923 when judging from the rest of the story, it appears that she was born circa 1908. Worse, 20 yr. old Mustafa is described to be in Istanbul with Zeliha just when the family secret is revealed which is contrary to an earlier chapter that describes the 18 yr. old being shipped off to the US.

The book's dialogue is also curious. Asya and her friends at Cafe Kundera greet each other with "Yo, ....". Do Istanbulites actually greet each other with "Yo" or are they all wannabe homeboys? There are also plenty of "yeahs" from the non-Americans. I'm quite sure that every language has its equivalent of "yeah" but the overall effect in the book gives the impression that the story could have occurred anywhere, not just Istanbul. At one point, I was wondering if the book was translated to English and in the process, was injected with a little street cred.

In all, I was quite disappointed with the book given all the glowing customer reviews that I had read about it. Describing intricate details and emotions certainly set the mood but can not save an average story.

In the end, I really enjoyed this book. Though my interest wavered in the first half, I had a hard time putting it down towards the end. I am a big fan of Gabriel Garcia Marquez. And while I wouldn't go so far as to put Elif Shafak in the same league as Mr. Marquez, there are elements of the mystical in this book that will interest those who appreciate classics such as 100 Years of Solitude and Love in the Time of Cholera. Ms. Shafak does a commendable job of weaving the details of the Armenian genocide into the story line of the book, without making the book a tragedy. Though her writing can be a bit elementary at times, the story itself shines through. I read this book while traveling in Turkey and would recommend it to those who are planning a trip to that wonderful country, or anyone else who enjoys a good story regarding complex characters, family relationships, historical perspectives and distant lands.

The Bastard of Istanbul is not just an entertaining story. It is an engaging and enriching work of literature. Each chapter is named for an ingredient in a symbolic Turkish recipe. Each ingredient is cleverly worked into the storyline.

One family is described as being out of a Gabriel Garcia Marquez novel. A critical character is described as making "a good Dostoyevsky character."

This is a story of bold, passionate, and often eccentric women contending with the forces of tradition, modernity, and the supernatural. You are drawn into a world of exotic customs and mouth-watering foods. It held my interest through to the end of the surprising and satisfying final chapter.

This is the best novel I've read in years.

You know the basic Writing 101 advice to "show, not tell"? Elif Shafak could use a refresher course. Before we are ever shown the characters relating to their environments, we are told who they are. This character is a nihilist. This character is a rebel. This character is mentally unstable. Et cetera. They are caricatures and mouth pieces with no depth or individuality. None of them have a unique voice. It is so painfully boring to read, in spite of what really could have been an interesting novel.
The intellectual tangents are so drawn out, self-important, and unrelated to the rest of the plot that they distracted me from the few elements of the book I did like. I pushed through to page 234 because of my book club, but could simply not make myself go on. The rest of the book club felt the same way and not one of us finished it. We thought it might have been the fault of an incompetent translator until we realized that Ms. Shafak wrote it in English. Oops. Try again.

This novel caught my attention because of media coverage. It kept my attention because of the characters and the way the story developed.

For me, the central theme of the novel was interpretation and denial of truth. We see how, over time, facts can be distorted and reinterpreted, or just denied. All of this is in the much broader context of the treatment of the Armenians in 1915 - which resulted in Ms Shafak being accused of 'insulting Turkishness'.

You can - if you choose - ignore the politics and be swept up by the wonderfully idiosyncratic characters. The narrative style meanders through the lives of the characters sometimes avoiding aspects that might seem important to the reader in favour of details that appear incidental.

Still, each of the main characters (particularly the women in Istanbul)and to a lesser extent the family in the USA keep the story moving. Who can resist the notion of using Auntie Feride's hair colour as a guide to her insanity? Or Auntie Banu's relationship with her djinns? The younger women: Asya and Armanoush are not, in my view, as well developed but perhaps that is for other reasons.

The result is an interesting story built on shared but contested history. Ultimately, as in all struggles, there are 'winners' and 'losers'.

Recommended.

Jennifer Cameron-Smith