I have started to read Orhan Pamuk’s Istanbul, a combination memoir and ode to the city. Structuring a memoir around a city is such a good idea, that I am tempted to use it to get back to the “tracing my life from birth” theme of this blog. Moving to Fredericton, where I have lived for 41 years, is a central fact of my life.
All the different branches of the Pamuk family live in the Pamuk apartment building. My imagination has been stimulated by such a concept several times – my novel The Opening Eye is about a group of friends who decide to get individual apartments in a new building. The massive, unpublishable novel I just finished (except that I am still working on it) is about an apartment building where the inhabitants become friends.
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4 comments:
Writing is never finished, only abandoned.
Sounds like a great read to me.
Good Christmas.
Christmas blessings, NR.
I have a copy of Istanbul that I'd love to actually get around to reading in the near future. Glad you're enjoying it.
Your book sounds interesting--best of luck with it.
And happy holidays!
I bought Istanbul a few months ago (I read My Name Is Red a few years ago, a strange, fascinating experience) and I dip into it from time to time. It's a beautiful, interesting book, isn't it?
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