Life and Literature, Istanbul

Napoleon once said, “If the world was a single state, Istanbul would be its capital.” He wasn’t the only one who thought this. So many writers and artists from all over the world have been inspired by this city. In 1850, Gustave Flaubert visited Istanbul and, amazed by its vibrancy, predicted that in the next century it would become the capital of the world. But those who lived here then witnessed its decline instead.

Today, people from other countries seem to have forgotten that here lies what was once the capital of the greatest empires of the world, from the Roman Empire to Ottoman times. It’s sad because Istanbul, once Constantinople, is a stunning city of history and beauty and ruins. Underneath the city streets you can almost feel all of its civilizations. Even the Bosphorus seems to have a soul. The sights – the Haghia Sophia, the Basilica Cistern, the Valens Aqueducts – that still run through the city – are remnants of the past, preserved as the glorious symbols they once were and still are.

The Basilica Cistern held the city’s water. It was built by 7,000 slaves under Emperor Justinian.

Sunrise ride over Cappadocia.

For years I have read books by the Turkish novelist, Orhan Pamuk, that talk about his beloved city. As a child Pamuk had wanted to be a painter, then he studied architecture. I think these two pursuits are why his imagery is so vivid I can see the shining waters of the river and the towering minarets of the city he describes in my mind and in my dreams. And that is why I’m here now.

It started with Snow. I still remember reading the summary on the back cover – a love story set amidst Turkey’s political chaos. It just reminded me of Graham Greene’s The Quiet American. I knew nothing about this country then, so the subplots were as incomprehensible to me as the love story itself (a subject I just don’t understand even though I’ve read about it a lot). Ka is the main character, and through interviews with different people – a communist, a secularist, an Islamic extremist, a sheik among them – explores the effects of an old religion in a modern world. This theme of conflicts – secularism and religion, modernity and tradition – is prevalent in Pamuk’s works.

The Hagia Sophia was built as a Christian church for the Byzantine Empire. The minarets were added and it became a mosque under the Ottomans.

Tourists inside Hagia Sophia.

In The Silent House, there’s an emotional struggle between a conservative woman in a coastal village and her liberal fiancé turned husband who studied law in Berlin. I’ve learned that contrary to Westerners perceptions of Muslim countries, Turkey actually has one of the most progressive and secular governments in the world. In 1926, the first president, Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, instilled a democratic constitution based on the Swiss Civic Code to replace Sharia laws. Like Cyrus the Great, Ataturk’s reforms recognized freedom of religion and equality. Istanbul became a polyglot of Turkish, Greek, Armenian, English and even Spanish. Turkish poet Yahya Kemal always emphasized the city’s cultural diversity in his writings. He believed it was part of the national heritage and a lingering sign of this once vast empire.

The ruins of the Temple of Artemis, one of the seven wonders of the ancient world.

The Hierapolos in Pamukkale, an ancient holy city where one of Jesus’s apostles and Emperor Aurelius are entombed.

From Orhan Pamuk’s memoirs, Istanbul and Other Colors, I learned more of the history of this city, from the pashas’ mansions that were burnt to the ground to the 1955 riots that drove out the Greek and Armenian immigrants. In My Name is Red, his most critically-acclaimed book, he writes about the art of miniaturists under the sultans during the Ottoman Empire. Drawing ancient tales and illuminations, memorizing every stroke, these miniaturists can replicate scenes even after being blinded. I visited Topkapi Palace where some 13,000 miniatures and manuscripts are kept.

Views of the Bosphorus from Topkapi Palace.

The Bosphorus at night.

But the stories I love most are the ones that describe the city’s streets, its scents, landscapes and sounds. In The Black Book, Galip searches the city for his disappeared wife and for people who might lead him to her. And in my most favorite book, The Museum of Innocence, Kemal goes from the mansions of the Bosphorus and the chic restaurants of Nisantasi to an abandoned flat overlooking Tesvikiye for a brief affair that will consume him all his life. From here, Kemal takes us through seedy bars, dark theaters in Beyoglu, and backstreets full of decaying wooden houses of another Istanbul.

Inside The Museum of Innocence, built after the novel.

Modern Day Istanbul.

As much as Pamuk describes the imagery, he writes about the city’s sentiments as well. He addresses the spiritual void and inherent guilt he felt growing up in a modern family who did not pray. It’s hard to look at the beautiful mosques that fill the city and not be in awe. I have learned that in Turkish there is a word “huzun” that cannot be translated and is hard to define. In the Quran, the Prophet Muhammad calls the year he lost his wife as “senetull huzun” – the year of melancholy. Pamuk describes it as a deep sadness that’s ingrained in their hearts and in their history. Istanbul is full of memories of a proud past, but with a future uncertain. It is a sadness that has come from being surrounded by the ruins of lost empires. But Pamuk also finds a nostalgic beauty in this history of ruins. And Yahya Kemal drew inspirations from the crumbling walls that filled the city. It’s part of what makes their writing so touching and brilliant.

The Trojan horse was gifted to the city of Troy.

The Library of Celsus in Ephesus.

I’m here as an outsider, so I may not fully comprehend the sentiment, but as I finally see the places they wrote about, their words intertwined instantly in my mind. I saw the history of fire and ruins as I looked at today’s skyline of minarets and palaces. In his Nobel Lecture, Pamuk admitted that the stories of Istanbul he’s created in his head are as real to him as the city itself. And today I learned this too – that the real world and literature have become so inseparable in my life, I cannot imagine one without the other.