I am nothing but a corpse now, a body at the bottom of a well.
— Elegant Effendi, My Name is Red, Orhan Pamuk
So opens My Name is Red by Orhan Pamuk.
Oh! what a tangled web of a book this is.
It is a beautiful book, at once a brilliant murder mystery, a philosophical dialogue about
- sin
- art
- inspiration
- memory
- imagination
- and hubris
a masterful portrait of Istanbul in the late 16th century, and a literary representation of an illuminated text.
How much should I tell you? How shall I tell you? Each chapter is told from a different character’s point of view, but to you, the reader, sometimes as if in confidence, other times as if trying to convince you of their innocence. (Psst. Sometimes they lie.) As the story develops, you begin to feel as if you too are a character in the book. I was invested, involved, eagerly evaluating and guessing who the murderer might be.
I could write every day for the rest of my life and never come up with anything this perfect.
I’ll leave you with my favorite quote:
“…suddenly it seemed to me that the entire world was like a palace with countless rooms whose doors opened into one another. We were able to pass from one room into the next only by exercising our memories and imaginations, but most of us, in our laziness, rarely exercised these capacities, and forever remained in the same room.”
— Shekure, My Name is Red, Orhan Pamuk
Trigger warnings:
- Sexual content
- Graphic descriptions of violence
If you liked The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco, you’ll like this book and vice versa.
Thank you for reading my thoughts.
— Shalanosa
P.S. My favorite character is Shekure.
Shalanosa's Sanctuary 