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A review by beaconatnight
The Bastard of Istanbul by Elif Shafak
4.0
"Was it really better for human beings to discover more of their past ... and then more and more? Or was it simply better to know as little of the past as possible and even to forget what small amount was remembered?"
The Bastard of Istanbul Is less about the current events in the lives of our main protagonists and more about how people and relationships might be defined by what happened in the(ir) past. The frame of reference is the Turkish-Armenian conflict that escalate when in 1915 600,000–1.5 million Armenians were killed.
I know very little about this dark chapter at the very end of the Osman Empire. Or generally about Türkis history for that matter. If it's the same for you, it shouldn't discourage you to read the novel. In fact, knowledge of the past is a conceptual issue the story explicitly reflects upon. I think in Germany too we are familiar with the idea of collective responsibility, and collective memory is closely related as prerequisite to fully comprehend and meet the claims that others might rightfully make.
Yet, it's evident from our personal lives that shameful memories can be hurtful. Parts of the story are construed as thought-experiment that pose the question whether it would be better to forget – or never know – than it would be to face what happened and to come to terms with that. The big twist of the novel very graphically illustrates how this might manifest itself on an individual level. Obviously, spoilers ahead.
The plot opens with a young woman, Zeliha Kazancı, who is about to get an abortion. For one reason or another (mostly coincidental), the doctor doesn't go through with the procedure and afterwards she quickly decides to have the baby. When she is grown-up her daughter, Asya, often wonders about who her father is and she experiences what we might call a perceived lack of history or past. It's only in the last chapters that we learn that Zeliha was raped by her brother Mustafa. Would Asya rather forget that she is the product of rape and close incest?
It's a horrible act and one that perhaps might never be redeemed. Mustafa left for the United States and the connection to his family in Istanbul became more and more sporadic. In this way he was able to forget (or suppress) the memories of what he did and he could become someone he was not. However, it's clear that he is responsibility for what he did. Similarly, a people might still be responsible for its past even when its individuals forgot (or never learned) what actually happened.
There is another aspect about the rape that might be grounded in the past. It makes us wonder how a man might be capable to do something this terrible. In order to understand the following chapter frames the event in socio-cultural terms. Their father, Levent, was a very authoritarian man that required order and discipline from his children. After his death, Mustafa might have felt as only male in the family he needed to take over his father's role. Yet, Zeliha was mocking his claim to authority as well as his sexuality that he consciously suppressed as impure or malicious. Of course, these factors don't excuse him, but they make us better understand the act.
There is another central plot thread I haven't talked about, yet. The Kazancıs in Istanbul are only one of the two families portrayed in the book. The Tchakhmakhchians are an Armenian family located in San Fransisco. They are (only) loosely connected through Mustafa Kazancı's wife, Rose, who had a child with her ex-husband Bissen. Here too we have a time leap and their daughter, Armanoush (whom Rose calls Amy after their divorce), is nineteen when she decides to explore her Armenian roots by visiting her stepfather's relatives in Istanbul.
What she finds is that the Turks are very similar to the Armenians of her own family. Sure, they have different names, speak a different language, and their are Muslims (while the Armenians are Christians). But they welcome her with open arms, eat very similar food, and her age-peer Asya has similar interests as she does. It feels natural to the reader how the two quickly become friends, even though Asya was worried that the American would come to study them as if exploring the oppressed condition of women in Turkey. In fact, even the more religious members of the family pride themselves with living in a modern and liberal state (which is not to say that the generations don't clash on certain issues). What they don't acknowledge, though, is the genocide that is the focus of Amy's perception of the past. Apparently, for them it doesn't even matter much.
There are some points throughout where the novel discusses the normative issue of whether the Turks should remember or whether it was the moral obligation of the individuals to seek out information on what actually happened. It's not presented as a clear-cut issue. For instance, it's openly acknowledged that many Armenians too lack knowledge of the details. This is only natural, since only very few people are genuine historians. Of course, the story cannot give us any easy answer on how to deal with the issue. Yet, the hopeful message seems to be that close contact, openness and communication are the only way to build trust.
There is another big reveal at the end of the story. Above I've said that the two families are only very loosely related. As it turns out, this is not true at all. It's much more accurate to say that they are the same family with shared Armenian roots. Oblivion and deceive were necessary for survival. The hidden family ties structure insights into the past, especially the terrible events of World War I. I have to admit, I had to read these parts two times to figure out how exactly the two families are related. You might argue that the narrative is a bit convoluted here, but I think the exact details don't really matter much.
The story features a cast of highly enjoyable characters. Of course, overall the story is very dark and reflective, but it's full of amusing dialogs. There are other qualities, too. For instance, I didn't even talk of the docile auntie Banu, the mystic of the family. With her Shafak introduces a minor element of magic into the story, since her djinn allows her to experience the events of the past and learn things that would otherwise be inaccessible.
The Bastard of Istanbul is not a historical novel. It doesn't intent to teach the reader facts about the past (if there was something that simple). Instead, it offers ideas on how to frame conflicts without pretending to give ready-made answers. Personally, I feel it very well succeeded in this goal.
Rating: 4/5
The Bastard of Istanbul Is less about the current events in the lives of our main protagonists and more about how people and relationships might be defined by what happened in the(ir) past. The frame of reference is the Turkish-Armenian conflict that escalate when in 1915 600,000–1.5 million Armenians were killed.
I know very little about this dark chapter at the very end of the Osman Empire. Or generally about Türkis history for that matter. If it's the same for you, it shouldn't discourage you to read the novel. In fact, knowledge of the past is a conceptual issue the story explicitly reflects upon. I think in Germany too we are familiar with the idea of collective responsibility, and collective memory is closely related as prerequisite to fully comprehend and meet the claims that others might rightfully make.
Yet, it's evident from our personal lives that shameful memories can be hurtful. Parts of the story are construed as thought-experiment that pose the question whether it would be better to forget – or never know – than it would be to face what happened and to come to terms with that. The big twist of the novel very graphically illustrates how this might manifest itself on an individual level. Obviously, spoilers ahead.
The plot opens with a young woman, Zeliha Kazancı, who is about to get an abortion. For one reason or another (mostly coincidental), the doctor doesn't go through with the procedure and afterwards she quickly decides to have the baby. When she is grown-up her daughter, Asya, often wonders about who her father is and she experiences what we might call a perceived lack of history or past. It's only in the last chapters that we learn that Zeliha was raped by her brother Mustafa. Would Asya rather forget that she is the product of rape and close incest?
It's a horrible act and one that perhaps might never be redeemed. Mustafa left for the United States and the connection to his family in Istanbul became more and more sporadic. In this way he was able to forget (or suppress) the memories of what he did and he could become someone he was not. However, it's clear that he is responsibility for what he did. Similarly, a people might still be responsible for its past even when its individuals forgot (or never learned) what actually happened.
There is another aspect about the rape that might be grounded in the past. It makes us wonder how a man might be capable to do something this terrible. In order to understand the following chapter frames the event in socio-cultural terms. Their father, Levent, was a very authoritarian man that required order and discipline from his children. After his death, Mustafa might have felt as only male in the family he needed to take over his father's role. Yet, Zeliha was mocking his claim to authority as well as his sexuality that he consciously suppressed as impure or malicious. Of course, these factors don't excuse him, but they make us better understand the act.
There is another central plot thread I haven't talked about, yet. The Kazancıs in Istanbul are only one of the two families portrayed in the book. The Tchakhmakhchians are an Armenian family located in San Fransisco. They are (only) loosely connected through Mustafa Kazancı's wife, Rose, who had a child with her ex-husband Bissen. Here too we have a time leap and their daughter, Armanoush (whom Rose calls Amy after their divorce), is nineteen when she decides to explore her Armenian roots by visiting her stepfather's relatives in Istanbul.
What she finds is that the Turks are very similar to the Armenians of her own family. Sure, they have different names, speak a different language, and their are Muslims (while the Armenians are Christians). But they welcome her with open arms, eat very similar food, and her age-peer Asya has similar interests as she does. It feels natural to the reader how the two quickly become friends, even though Asya was worried that the American would come to study them as if exploring the oppressed condition of women in Turkey. In fact, even the more religious members of the family pride themselves with living in a modern and liberal state (which is not to say that the generations don't clash on certain issues). What they don't acknowledge, though, is the genocide that is the focus of Amy's perception of the past. Apparently, for them it doesn't even matter much.
There are some points throughout where the novel discusses the normative issue of whether the Turks should remember or whether it was the moral obligation of the individuals to seek out information on what actually happened. It's not presented as a clear-cut issue. For instance, it's openly acknowledged that many Armenians too lack knowledge of the details. This is only natural, since only very few people are genuine historians. Of course, the story cannot give us any easy answer on how to deal with the issue. Yet, the hopeful message seems to be that close contact, openness and communication are the only way to build trust.
There is another big reveal at the end of the story. Above I've said that the two families are only very loosely related. As it turns out, this is not true at all. It's much more accurate to say that they are the same family with shared Armenian roots. Oblivion and deceive were necessary for survival. The hidden family ties structure insights into the past, especially the terrible events of World War I. I have to admit, I had to read these parts two times to figure out how exactly the two families are related. You might argue that the narrative is a bit convoluted here, but I think the exact details don't really matter much.
The story features a cast of highly enjoyable characters. Of course, overall the story is very dark and reflective, but it's full of amusing dialogs. There are other qualities, too. For instance, I didn't even talk of the docile auntie Banu, the mystic of the family. With her Shafak introduces a minor element of magic into the story, since her djinn allows her to experience the events of the past and learn things that would otherwise be inaccessible.
The Bastard of Istanbul is not a historical novel. It doesn't intent to teach the reader facts about the past (if there was something that simple). Instead, it offers ideas on how to frame conflicts without pretending to give ready-made answers. Personally, I feel it very well succeeded in this goal.
Rating: 4/5