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macloo's review
3.0
I could muster no enthusiasm for this book or the story it tells. It is at least twice as long as needed to tell the tale it encompasses, and as for the so-called mystery — the reader needs to care about something if a mystery is to be of interest, and there was just nothing to care about here. The dead man seems to have no personality at all, and that is true for all of the various potential suspects as well. It's not lost on me that maybe that blandness was a deliberate move on the author's part, because a central theme here is the absence of individualistic characteristics in the traditional form of painting in the Ottoman empire in the 1500s.
This Ottoman style of painting was inherited or adopted from the Persians, and the miniaturists in Istanbul in this story still revere those ancestors — but this is the era of western ascendancy, and some of these Istanbul painters have seen the new painting style from Europe. Renaissance painting features not only linear perspective but also distinctive individual styles, such that you can recognize who made a painting. This theme — the recognizability of style, and the ascendance of individualism over collectivism — is at the core of the story.
Unfortunately, it is repeated over and over and beaten to a pulp until I, as a reader, wanted to scream. Pamuk is far too good a writer to have dedicated time to such a draggy, dull tale.
The most interesting parts of the book, for me, were those told by two women — who are not even involved in the painting work, because of course women would never have been allowed to make art. Chapters are narrated in the first person by all the different characters. Esther (a Jewish peddler) and Shekure (a beautiful young widow with two children) were the most three-dimensional people in the story. However, their roles are really peripheral.
There was lots of potential here, but it's drowned in detail and redundancy. In particular, I liked the thread about the religious fanatics who are trying to destroy figurative painting altogether just now that it teeters on the edge of becoming individualistic. The painters talk about representing the world as God sees it, not as humans see it. They talk about transferring to their images God's vision of the world, and there's a mystical element beyond mere talent. (I am fascinated by Sufi dervishes and really enjoyed the mentions of them in this story.) This enables the miniaturists to defend their painting of human figures, even though the Quran explicitly forbids it.
I also think this book might have suffered from the translation. The language is rather wooden and dull. In The Black Book by the same author — which I loved and want to read again — the language was rich and tantalizing, lovely, lush. I fear that maybe the translator of My Name Is Red was not up to the task.
This Ottoman style of painting was inherited or adopted from the Persians, and the miniaturists in Istanbul in this story still revere those ancestors — but this is the era of western ascendancy, and some of these Istanbul painters have seen the new painting style from Europe. Renaissance painting features not only linear perspective but also distinctive individual styles, such that you can recognize who made a painting. This theme — the recognizability of style, and the ascendance of individualism over collectivism — is at the core of the story.
Unfortunately, it is repeated over and over and beaten to a pulp until I, as a reader, wanted to scream. Pamuk is far too good a writer to have dedicated time to such a draggy, dull tale.
The most interesting parts of the book, for me, were those told by two women — who are not even involved in the painting work, because of course women would never have been allowed to make art. Chapters are narrated in the first person by all the different characters. Esther (a Jewish peddler) and Shekure (a beautiful young widow with two children) were the most three-dimensional people in the story. However, their roles are really peripheral.
There was lots of potential here, but it's drowned in detail and redundancy. In particular, I liked the thread about the religious fanatics who are trying to destroy figurative painting altogether just now that it teeters on the edge of becoming individualistic. The painters talk about representing the world as God sees it, not as humans see it. They talk about transferring to their images God's vision of the world, and there's a mystical element beyond mere talent. (I am fascinated by Sufi dervishes and really enjoyed the mentions of them in this story.) This enables the miniaturists to defend their painting of human figures, even though the Quran explicitly forbids it.
I also think this book might have suffered from the translation. The language is rather wooden and dull. In The Black Book by the same author — which I loved and want to read again — the language was rich and tantalizing, lovely, lush. I fear that maybe the translator of My Name Is Red was not up to the task.
travfore's review
3.0
A largely entertaining, but difficult read. It's amazing how little actually occurs in this book. I think the narrative spans about a week, but because we skip between view points it is very slow to develop. And nothing is straightforward. There are layers and layers of description, innuendo and constant 2nd guessing within the mind of each character.
Much is beautifully written, but it left me frustrated.
Much is beautifully written, but it left me frustrated.
brughiera's review against another edition
4.0
It's definitely worth accepting the challenge that this book poses. The period - late sixteenth century, location - Istanbul (referred to as such although it would have been Constantinople at the time) and, within the city, the atelier of miniaturists working for the Sultan, and the prevailing Islamic culture are all foreign to the modern reader. Then there is the format of the book, narrated in first person from a myriad of different perspectives including those of a corpse and a coin. As a result the underlying detective story of the hunt for the murderer flows with difficulty with diversions into numerous, often fascinating, eddies. The format certainly strengthens the characterization with characters revealing themselves and others in their monologues. Female characters, though fewer, are particularly memorable with the manipulations of the beautiful Shekure often directing the story and the Jewess Esther playing a vital intermediary role.
Pamuk initially set out to be an artist rather than a novelist and the care and attention paid to the portrayal of the craft of the miniaturists shows a professional understanding. Although some might find that the exploration by Master Osman of the Sultan's trove of classical illustrations unduly slows the unwinding of the plot, it also stimulates curiosity and desire to see these works that have been so prized. The threat posed to the art of the classical miniaturists by the portraiture of the infidel 'Franks' is analogous to the wider one posed by western civilization to the Ottoman Empire. Pamuk reveals further complexities within Ottoman society with the destruction of the coffee house by the fanatical Erzerumis and the tempting of miniaturists to go further east to the court of Akbar, Sultan of Hindustan.
The romantic aspects: Black's return after twelve years to his first love, Hasan's jealousy, and the suggested relationships with the beautiful apprentices in the miniaturists' workshop, add further skeins to the complex plot but pale beside the fierce devotion of Shekure to her sons which appears to be the main motivating force behind her actions.
A minor disappointment is the ending. Although the murder is solved and the murderer dealt with, there is a rather rushed summing up of the following steps ending with a surprising revelation of the author of the tale, which is at odds with the deliberate pace of the rest of the novel.
Pamuk initially set out to be an artist rather than a novelist and the care and attention paid to the portrayal of the craft of the miniaturists shows a professional understanding. Although some might find that the exploration by Master Osman of the Sultan's trove of classical illustrations unduly slows the unwinding of the plot, it also stimulates curiosity and desire to see these works that have been so prized. The threat posed to the art of the classical miniaturists by the portraiture of the infidel 'Franks' is analogous to the wider one posed by western civilization to the Ottoman Empire. Pamuk reveals further complexities within Ottoman society with the destruction of the coffee house by the fanatical Erzerumis and the tempting of miniaturists to go further east to the court of Akbar, Sultan of Hindustan.
The romantic aspects: Black's return after twelve years to his first love, Hasan's jealousy, and the suggested relationships with the beautiful apprentices in the miniaturists' workshop, add further skeins to the complex plot but pale beside the fierce devotion of Shekure to her sons which appears to be the main motivating force behind her actions.
A minor disappointment is the ending. Although the murder is solved and the murderer dealt with, there is a rather rushed summing up of the following steps ending with a surprising revelation of the author of the tale, which is at odds with the deliberate pace of the rest of the novel.
herbieridesagain's review against another edition
4.0
A whodunnit, written in a kaleidoscope of voices, including the murderer and starting with the murdered, My Name is Red is a book about snow. I mean, it seems to snow all the time, snow is everywhere, sometimes several times in the same paragraph. Aside from the snow, it’s confusing to start with. In fact, as I reached chapter 9, I realised that Chapters 1 and 2 were completely different people, so that reset my points and pinged me off down slightly different tracks. So I read them again and then continued, oh Pamuk, you can’t outwit me that easily. Well I mean you did. but I get there eventually.
Elegant Effendi has been murdered! I know this because he tells me in the first chapter and he’s quite annoyed and upset about it, and he really doesn’t like his murderer, or the fact that no one know’s he’s been murdered, because he’s at the bottom of a well. A couple of chapters later the murderer is talking to me, but who is it? Black is called in to try and find out what happened to Elegant by his uncle, and as he investigates the world of Istanbul’s world of miniaturists, we are presented the story through the eyes of the people he interacts with as well as himself.
It’s all a bit complicated you see. Black’s uncle, also the father to the beautiful, capricious Shekure, who everyone in the world thinks is beautiful, has been commissioned by the Sultan to create a magnificent book, in the style of the damned Franks. This goes against everything that the miniaturists, the holy men and everyone in between believe in, as well as a tradition stretching back generations. But as in all times, a few coins slipped here and there, some men’s souls do not shine so bright as the luminous reflection of a few gold or silver pieces, the book is slowly put together, without anyone but Black’s uncle seeing the whole thing. What doesn’t help poor Black is that rumours are going around surrounding this book, and a zealous preacher is inciting hatred against everything that is not traditional (now that sounds vaguely familiar). It’s not all inkwells and innuendo about artist’s quill’s though. There’s a love interest. Black is in love (as is the murderer) with Shekure. She has moved back into her uncles following advances made by her missing husbands brother but she cannot hide forever, and her two young children need a dad, is Black man enough? While navigating a murder investigation, Black and Shekure court each other through the seller of wares and local cupid Esther, one of the books more engaging characters.
Pamuk uses a highly original style in My Name Is Red that means you have to think while you read, and being a man, meaning I can’t multitask, it takes a while to get used to, but never the less, it is still hugely enjoyable. The city, it’s people, their habits, their daily chores and errands, their food are all here, observed and followed by the characters as they narrate their way around their work and the murder that has engaged even the Sultan himself.
Not just a captivating murder mystery (a genre I have zero interest in, while I was intrigued about who the murderer was, I did not work it out until roughly the same time as Black) My Name Is Red is also an intricate look at the world of miniaturist painting in Istanbul, and across the Islamic world, it’s great proponents and place in the scheme of the religion and the more earthly rulers. While each of the subjects tell us how they are the best of their time, some rail against the Frankish methods, using perspective, painting portraits, that take painting away from how God sees the world, to how people see it, ultimately making people the centre piece of art, and not God himself. Yet still there is the recognition that everything they have achieved, everything they have striven for and created will be swept away by this new style from the West, a recognition and often fear that resonates particularly loudly today.
I’ve read Pamuk’s Istanbul, which I loved, even if I thought Pamuk himself came across as a little weird, eccentric, let’s go with eccentric. But I loved his prose, his view of the world, and I wanted to read more of his fiction after A Strangeness in my Mind which I also loved. Now, I think I’ll wrap up against the snow, and read another.
(blog review here)
Elegant Effendi has been murdered! I know this because he tells me in the first chapter and he’s quite annoyed and upset about it, and he really doesn’t like his murderer, or the fact that no one know’s he’s been murdered, because he’s at the bottom of a well. A couple of chapters later the murderer is talking to me, but who is it? Black is called in to try and find out what happened to Elegant by his uncle, and as he investigates the world of Istanbul’s world of miniaturists, we are presented the story through the eyes of the people he interacts with as well as himself.
It’s all a bit complicated you see. Black’s uncle, also the father to the beautiful, capricious Shekure, who everyone in the world thinks is beautiful, has been commissioned by the Sultan to create a magnificent book, in the style of the damned Franks. This goes against everything that the miniaturists, the holy men and everyone in between believe in, as well as a tradition stretching back generations. But as in all times, a few coins slipped here and there, some men’s souls do not shine so bright as the luminous reflection of a few gold or silver pieces, the book is slowly put together, without anyone but Black’s uncle seeing the whole thing. What doesn’t help poor Black is that rumours are going around surrounding this book, and a zealous preacher is inciting hatred against everything that is not traditional (now that sounds vaguely familiar). It’s not all inkwells and innuendo about artist’s quill’s though. There’s a love interest. Black is in love (as is the murderer) with Shekure. She has moved back into her uncles following advances made by her missing husbands brother but she cannot hide forever, and her two young children need a dad, is Black man enough? While navigating a murder investigation, Black and Shekure court each other through the seller of wares and local cupid Esther, one of the books more engaging characters.
Pamuk uses a highly original style in My Name Is Red that means you have to think while you read, and being a man, meaning I can’t multitask, it takes a while to get used to, but never the less, it is still hugely enjoyable. The city, it’s people, their habits, their daily chores and errands, their food are all here, observed and followed by the characters as they narrate their way around their work and the murder that has engaged even the Sultan himself.
Not just a captivating murder mystery (a genre I have zero interest in, while I was intrigued about who the murderer was, I did not work it out until roughly the same time as Black) My Name Is Red is also an intricate look at the world of miniaturist painting in Istanbul, and across the Islamic world, it’s great proponents and place in the scheme of the religion and the more earthly rulers. While each of the subjects tell us how they are the best of their time, some rail against the Frankish methods, using perspective, painting portraits, that take painting away from how God sees the world, to how people see it, ultimately making people the centre piece of art, and not God himself. Yet still there is the recognition that everything they have achieved, everything they have striven for and created will be swept away by this new style from the West, a recognition and often fear that resonates particularly loudly today.
I’ve read Pamuk’s Istanbul, which I loved, even if I thought Pamuk himself came across as a little weird, eccentric, let’s go with eccentric. But I loved his prose, his view of the world, and I wanted to read more of his fiction after A Strangeness in my Mind which I also loved. Now, I think I’ll wrap up against the snow, and read another.
(blog review here)
glennab28's review
3.0
i've been wanting to read this title by pamuk for some time and thought i'd be more inclined than most to find the storyline (miniature painting in the ottoman empire) interesting, given that islamic art is something i love. there was an awful lot reiterated about painting and style so if you can get past that you'll probably enjoy the read. i will say it took me a while to really get into the story; it seems to take a while to get going.
one nagging thing that did bother me was the almost comical indecisiveness of the main female character. it was a bit ridiculous that she would completely change her mind or feelings about a situation within not just pages but paragraphs. is this how pamuk thinks women behave or is it more a commentary on how women at the time were perceived..? at least by getting into the minds of the women characters (as well as illustrations, death, etc) we do get a glimpse at the perspectives of various individuals.
one nagging thing that did bother me was the almost comical indecisiveness of the main female character. it was a bit ridiculous that she would completely change her mind or feelings about a situation within not just pages but paragraphs. is this how pamuk thinks women behave or is it more a commentary on how women at the time were perceived..? at least by getting into the minds of the women characters (as well as illustrations, death, etc) we do get a glimpse at the perspectives of various individuals.
ariqstotle's review
5.0
The moment he wrote from the narrative perspective of a coin was the moment I knew it was over
jconnuck's review against another edition
challenging
dark
mysterious
reflective
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0
arinoyume's review against another edition
4.0
This was my first book from Pamuk, and I was stricken by his writing and sometimes the choice of his words. His storytelling ideas are profoundly original, and a joy to see developed to their fullest. You would only have to read the first chapter to understand my meaning.
Even though the depictions felt long at times, I still enjoyed the gripping story and truly felt the thriller genre this book inscribes itself in.
'My Name Is Red' is definitely not for people who do not enjoy lengthy descriptions over more that 600 pages, and is definitely for those who enjoy diving fully into a world (in this case old Istanbul) they are unfamiliar or already familiar with.
In a nutshell, you may lose yourself completely when reading it. I recommend.
Even though the depictions felt long at times, I still enjoyed the gripping story and truly felt the thriller genre this book inscribes itself in.
'My Name Is Red' is definitely not for people who do not enjoy lengthy descriptions over more that 600 pages, and is definitely for those who enjoy diving fully into a world (in this case old Istanbul) they are unfamiliar or already familiar with.
In a nutshell, you may lose yourself completely when reading it. I recommend.