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(April 19, 2002)


Jeremy's journal

Even now, I persist in believing that these black marks on white paper bear the greatest significance, that if I keep writing I might be able to catch the rainbow of consciousness in a jar.

Jeffrey Eugenides

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🦋 Jelal's columns written by Galip

In part II of The Black Book, Galip writes three columns in the style of Jelal and delivers them to Milliyet. Which of the columns that are reprinted in the book are by Galip? Certainly chapter 31, "The Story Goes Through the Looking Glass," is; and I thought chapter 29, "I Turned Out to be the Hero" might be as well.

It was fun to read "The Story Goes Through the Looking Glass" this evening right after I had read Victoria Rowe Holbrook's introduction to Love and Beauty, and understand more of the references. I expect I will need to read the book yet another time...

posted Tuesday evening: Respond
➳ More posts about The Black Book

Sunday the 4th

🦋 Nawfal

It seems clear that the story of Layla and Majnun is understood as an allegory for the believer's unquenchable thirst for God. But I'm having trouble getting this line of meaning out of the story itself... I'm about midway through, and Majnun's friend Nawfal has led his army against Layla's tribe, seeking to capture her and lay waste--

Like lion’s claws the spears tore breasts and limbs, the arrows drank the sap of life with wide open beaks like birds of prey; and proud heroes, heads severed from trunks, lay down for the sleep of eternity.
Majnun renounces the quest a few pages later but Nawfal is about to go on the attack again, mustering up reserves... and I'm thinking, how the hell does this fit into the allegory? The gore is nice and vivid in an epic-poetry sort of way.

"Love is Fire and I am Wood" makes no mention of Nawfal, it seems strange to me to ignore such a central character.

Update turns out my confusion was based on a confusion between Nizami's epic romance and the underlying story. (See comments.)

posted morning of the 4th: 2 responses
➳ More posts about Orhan Pamuk

Saturday the third

🦋 A couple of Sufi links

While I am reading The Black Book I'm developing something of an interest in Rumi and by extension in Sufi. Here are a couple of links I've tracked down that seem like worthwhile further reading.

More as I find it.

Also -- I updated the Pamuk Bibliography with link to an essay by Saniye Çancı Çalışaneller, "Doppelgänger in Orhan Pamuk’s The Black Book".

posted afternoon of the third: 2 responses
➳ More posts about Readings

when it clicks: Orhan Pamuk is the author who taught me to identify with his narrator! (A lesson which has turned out to be really valuable in general as a way of reading.) This is exactly the story that he's telling about Galip's experience in The Black Book.

posted morning of the third: Respond
➳ More posts about Identification

Monday, January 29th

🦋 #tagyourself #itsme

...[A]ny Turk who passionately loves a masterpiece from the West which remains unread by his compatriots begins after a while to believe in all sincerity that not only does he love reading the book, but that he has written it himself.

--The Black Book

posted evening of January 29th: Respond

Sunday, January 28th

🦋 Galip / Jelal

I decided to make a second try at reading Pamuk's The Black Book. I'm reading Güneli Gün's translation this time. (Thanks for the recommendation go to Badger of the lamented Orbis Quintus and also to Michael McGaha.)

It's been a long enough time that I have forgotten the text and the story in all but the very broadest strokes, from time to time I am recognizing a passage. I ought to review my notes from last time. I remember finding it difficult to wade through, and am not having that experience now, which can probably be taken (broadly) as evidence in support of Gün's translation being a better one...

I've started trying to read the chapters which are written by Jelal* as if I were in Galip's head, in the course of the story -- I think that is the intent, when for example the narrator says,

Working in the taxi's top light, Galip marked Jelal's column all over with numbers, signs, and letters, but he still didn't get anywhere.
The idea is that the reader should carry this image and others like it into reading the next chapter, which will be a column of Jelal's (viz. "The Kiss"). Is this asking much of the reader? I don't think I noticed this pattern last time I read the book.

Don't quite understand Galip's thinking that Jelal's columns (which he knows are reprints of old columns) would contain a clue abut Rüya's present whereabouts. (If I'm understanding right that that's why he's poring over the column and marking it up.)

In the middle of reading the previous Jelal column ("The Eye", which I think is one of the columns Galip had borrowed out of his cousin's collection of clips), I had the thought that the older relative (forget now which) who in a previous chapter criticized Jelal's columns as too long had a real point, that that could have been edited pretty brutally without losing much of value.

* Prefer this spelling, which Gün is using, to Celâl; Freely's rendering while accurate made me double-take "selal/jelal" every time I ran across it.

posted morning of January 28th: 1 response

Tuesday, January 16th

🦋 ¡Hagamos idioma!

Cuentista, son tus palabras
El idioma y nada más.
Cuentista, no hay idioma,
Se hace idioma al contar.
Al contar se hace el idioma,
Y al recordar las pasajes contadas
Se oye el relato que nunca
Se ha de volver a narrar.
Cuentista no hay idioma
Sino espuma sobre las aguas.

posted evening of January 16th: 1 response
➳ More posts about Poetry

Monday, January 15th

🦋 las alturas de Machu Picchu

¡Subiré a nacer contigo, herman@ poeta!

posted afternoon of January 15th: Respond
➳ More posts about Pablo Neruda

Sunday, January 14th

🦋 Prophesy: Laura's dream

In the dream it was a sunny morning after a night of heavy rain. Everyone was nervy because of an ancient prophesy: The morning sun sparkling on the waters of River X (which had been dry for all of recorded time -- the river had a name but I've forgotten it) would portend the end of days. So we walked down to and along the bed of the river, at every waystation I was pointing out to my friends how it was dry, nothing to worry about. We passed a concrete embankment with a light rill of water running down it, the sunlight sparkling. Beyond that was an ocean, where none had been before; its vastness was dumbfounding. Thousands were gathered there, standing on the shore, gawking.

posted morning of January 14th: Respond
➳ More posts about Dreams

Sunday, January 7th

🦋 Meh... What's up, doc?


posted afternoon of January 7th: Respond
➳ More posts about Pretty Pictures

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