A review by allieeveryday
Istanbul: Memories and the City by Orhan Pamuk
2.0
I really wish I had enjoyed this more. It's a series of essays, some autobiographical, about the city of Istanbul, its culture, and the author's life there. The autobiographical essays were my favorite part. They were mostly well-written and interesting, and I enjoyed the perspective on the city. These chapters made me want to go visit Istanbul, rent a yali on the Bosphorus and count the boats.
There were also quite a few essays on the author's favorite Istanbul writers. Some of these were interesting, and some of them I ended up skimming or skipping altogether, because I don't know these writers, haven't read their work, and I wasn't personally getting anything out of an analysis of their work. I found myself getting bored. Same with some of the chapters about various Turkish artists.
So let's go back to the "Memories" part of the title. Even though I enjoyed them overall, they alone would not have made this a five-star book for me. The last chapter, in which the author has an extended (repetitive, dull) argument with his mother about why it would be a terrible idea for him to become an artist is what finally drove this three-star review into two-star territory. What drove it from a four-star to a three-star book for me was the frequent references to the author's teenage masturbatory practices. (Why do so many men think this is important information to include in their autobiographical work? It's not unique, it's not interesting, and it was completely unnecessary to mention it in like, six different chapters. WE GET IT.)
I enjoyed the descriptions of the melancholy of the city and the pictures scattered throughout. Ultimately, I think you could probably read the first half the book and put it down and not miss anything, and that's very disappointing considering how many good ratings this book got on the first page of Goodreads.
There were also quite a few essays on the author's favorite Istanbul writers. Some of these were interesting, and some of them I ended up skimming or skipping altogether, because I don't know these writers, haven't read their work, and I wasn't personally getting anything out of an analysis of their work. I found myself getting bored. Same with some of the chapters about various Turkish artists.
So let's go back to the "Memories" part of the title. Even though I enjoyed them overall, they alone would not have made this a five-star book for me. The last chapter, in which the author has an extended (repetitive, dull) argument with his mother about why it would be a terrible idea for him to become an artist is what finally drove this three-star review into two-star territory. What drove it from a four-star to a three-star book for me was the frequent references to the author's teenage masturbatory practices. (Why do so many men think this is important information to include in their autobiographical work? It's not unique, it's not interesting, and it was completely unnecessary to mention it in like, six different chapters. WE GET IT.)
I enjoyed the descriptions of the melancholy of the city and the pictures scattered throughout. Ultimately, I think you could probably read the first half the book and put it down and not miss anything, and that's very disappointing considering how many good ratings this book got on the first page of Goodreads.