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'WRITING AND WRITING IS MY HAPPINESS'
The Hindu
Feb 1, 2010
Orhan Pamuk speaks to Nirmala LakshmanonThe Museum of Innocence and
his other novels, his Turkishness, and his exploration of the human
condition.
- Photo: Vivek Bendre
Orhan Pamuk: They identify with me as a non-westerner who is writing
about 'us' and is also successful.
Orhan Pamuk, winner of the 2006 Nobel Prize for Literature, is a
writer with a formidable international reputation. Deeply rooted in a
liberal tradition that values tolerance, freedom, and a respect for
the other, this Turkish writer passionately embraces his identity
while echoing universal human values. A reluctant interpreter of
East-West relations, he prefers to see himself as a bridge between
the two worlds. A novelist whose aesthetic sensibility is rooted in
his beloved Istanbul but draws from the tradition of great Western
novelists, he delights in history, memory, and the exploration of
the human condition. An outspoken critic of those who try to abridge
free speech, he faced imprisonment in 2005 in his own country on this
account. His eight novels, which include several international best
sellers such as My Name is Red, Snow, and now The Museum of Innocence,
are a testament to his profound ingenuity as a writer as well as to
his humanity. Nirmala Lakshman recently interviewed Pamuk in Mumbai
on his life and work. Excerpts:
Nirmala Lakshman (NL): Beginning with your early books in translation,
The White Castle, The Black Book and the very popular My Name is Red
down to more recent works like Snow, Istanbul and now of course in The
Museum of Innocence, you have explored vast trajectories of history,
art, culture, the persistence of memory and tradition in our everyday
lives and the poignancy and beauty of the human experience. Your
work is also multi-layered, allusive, of multiple genres and in
many voices. You seem to want to get in as much as possible and pull
everything together. Is this your quest as a novelist?
Orhan Pamuk: Your question suggests I am an ambitious novelist who
wants to explore all the great subjects, and yes, yes, I confess I am
like that [smiles]! In My Name is Red, I wanted to create a panorama,
to look at the spirit of the nation to look at the cultural truth in
art. In The Black Book, I look at this spirit through the layers of
Istanbul and the enigmas of history. In Snow, I see the same culture
through politics.
In The Museum of Innocence, I am looking at the spirit of the nation
this time through love. Maybe it's not the whole nation but my part of
the world, the whole non-western world where all these issues of love
in a society where sex outside of marriage is problematical, and there
is the taboo of virginity. This book is very popular in China, in Spain
and in Italy, in Greece, in the whole of the Mediterranean world, and
is also being read in Germany and America. These issues are Turkish
issues but not only Turkish issues. In the end this is the story
of love in repressed societies where lovers cannot easily negotiate
their love. This has qualities of Romeo and Juliet in a postcolonial
non-western bourgeois society, and in the wake of the tradition and the
aspirations of modernity, posing as more westernised than they really
are and how to come to terms with the legacy of culture and religion.
These are the same issues as in the classical Islamic romances. Even in
the Turkey of the 1970s, among the so called upper class bourgeoisie
the space for the lovers to meet, to talk, to develop, to explore
their love was limited. In Turkey in the 1970s there were no parties
to meet the girls [laughs]! But then it's not only negatively judging
about this, but also trying to explore that once there is this kind
of suppression, the human heart's reaction to this is a sort of
sophistication of looks, of silences, raising the eyebrow and lovers
constantly test their intentions. They cannot communicate, they don't
have the opportunity to talk about love as they do in America. But
they test and try to understand each other through a language that
they develop sometimes, which is very sophisticated, through looks,
silences and little punishments, double meaning, and gestures.
Kemal's attention to Fusun is, in that sense, very typical of that
lover's attention to the beloved where there is very little real
possibility for coming eye to eye, although Kemal sees Fusun almost
every night. Yet there is no communication because they are watching
TV together and they are never left alone. The only moments alone are
when they are looking at Fusun's paintings, so instead of judging
the culture by saying well, 'unfortunately, it's such a repressed
society where lovers cannot meet and talk,' which is the truth,
I want to understand the language that they develop.
I am just showing different things, different ways, and the themes
in The Museum of Innocence, maybe somewhat melodramatically Bollywood
or Turkish Hollywood if you like, but treated my way.
NL: You are building your own museum. How is that going?
Pamuk: That's going on. Lots of people are working on it right now
in Istanbul. Architects, builders, and construction people are doing
things. I am supervising of course and like my Kemal, I am the curator
of this museum. It is so much hard work, and sometimes it is difficult
but now I am away from it for a while and resting. I am really very
happy about it.
NL: Do you believe then that the everyday objects of our lives really
signify the truths of our existence and therefore that ordinary
people's lives are important to document?
Pamuk: Yes, it is one of the points that Kemal makes at the end of the
book. This is important, particularly in non-western societies where
the idea of museums is not developed. People's collections, let's not
even call them collections, their gatherings are important. This is
important now and I come from an Islamic culture where painting is
suppressed. A museum should not just be a place for fancy paintings
but should be a place where we can communicate our lives through
our everyday objects. Museums are western inventions where the rich
and the powerful or the government and the state tend to exhibit the
signs and symbol and images of their culture. What my Kemal argues,
and I agree with him on that is that we non-western people can also
exhibit our humanity through the objects that represent our lives.
NL: It seems that The Museum of Innocence is your favourite book and
a lot of people are reading it here in India.
Pamuk: Yes, yes, I know [smiles]. When I was writing it I used to
say to my friends, 'I will be remembered by this book.' It is my
favourite in the sense I've been thinking of writing this book so
joyfully and also of making the museum. But I also wrote this book
in bad times, when there was political pressure, then there was the
Nobel Prize and so much happening, changing cities, airplanes, but it
was such happiness. If I wrote one page of this book, I was a happy
person that day. It is also one of my favourite books in the sense
that it's based on first-hand experience. I've been to the clubs and
the places that Kemal had been to, the restaurants and movie houses
and so many weddings and engagement parties at the Hilton Hotel in
Istanbul. It's all based on my life.
NL: You keep going back to Istanbul in all your novels, perhaps with
the exception of Snow, to old Istanbul and modern Istanbul and your
memoirs are also titled Istanbul. It is as if you are the keeper of
the soul of Istanbul.
Pamuk: Oh, I am. I think I am [smiles]. Up until the age of 54 I
have lived all my life there except for some few years outside. I
came across humanity in Istanbul and all I know about life comes from
Istanbul and definitely I am writing about Istanbul. I also love the
city because I live there, it has formed me, and it's me.
NL: Do you think then in that sense the authentic voice of the writer
emerges only when they write about the cultural contexts they are
rooted in? How important is it for a writer to be located in this?
Pamuk: Yes and no. The particularities, the uniqueness of any culture
is interesting in a novel but novels are more interesting if they go
deep into the culture and deeply into the universal, the eternal and
what is common to all human hearts. So I am that kind of writer. I
want to be that kind of writer in the sense that yes, you would feel,
smell and see the colours of Istanbul, but also you must recognise
that all human beings are the same everywhere in some sense, but
the cultures are different, so they behave differently. So these two
things should be visible in my stories, in my novels, and I care about
that. The particularities and what is universal. But you don't look
at them too much. You just write your story as it comes to you.
NL: In your Nobel lecture, you said that initially you did not feel
that you were at the centre of things. Do you feel differently now,
have you moved to that centre?
Pamuk: Yes. When I began writing, no one cared about Turkey, no one
knew about Turkey. In 1985 I went to America for two years and began
to write The Black Book around then. Finding that my voice was getting
stronger, I really remember thinking, 'my God these Latin American
writers are so lucky, who cares about Turkish writers or Middle
Eastern writers or Muslim or Indian or Pakistani writers?' That's
what I thought then. But the situation has changed in 25 years and
during that change my books boomed, I am happy to say that. There are
political reasons, cultural reasons, history, all of which changed
the world. And now I would say that a big writer from Turkey or the
Middle East or India is more visible. Salman Rushdie, for example,
was visible in 1981. It all began after that.
NL: In the rise of a new kind of nationalism, do you also see a rise of
intolerance, a constant attempt to undermine dissent, and an increase
in censorship? You yourself have been a victim of this.
Pamuk: Okay, let's look at this from my experience. There was heavy
pressure, they tried to put me in jail, but then they dropped it; this
is one side. But in the last ten years, Turkey has been a much more
open society, much more free. Free speech is allowed, and the army and
all the institutions are criticised. So it is not just only one way.
You cannot generalise and say the nation is growing; individuality,
distinct voices are also growing. When nationalism is growing,
most of the time postcolonial societies are getting richer. The
ruling elite, a combination of the army and the proletarian and the
bourgeoisie, is getting richer. But also the whole nation is growing,
so the individual people who are living by themselves, who disagree,
their number is also growing. Dissent and the strength of individual,
dignified voices are also growing, you cannot stop it.
It's hard to control an open society where people can print their
books. You can send these people to jail, but you can't send a whole
nation to jail! There will always be central authoritarianism. But I
am not pessimistic, and so whether it is Turkish nationalism or Hindu
nationalism, they tend to be authoritarian. But then, in that nation
there are also the individual voices of the minorities. The number of
distinct individuals who would not join the community is also growing.
How that will be balanced is interesting.
NL: Is it more the intellectual's or the writer's responsibility
to shore up this dissent and to constantly resist and critique the
attempts to suppress freedom and impose censorship?
Pamuk: We should certainly say it is a writer's duty, but also any
citizen's. If you are educated and know how the world is operating,
of course you have more responsibility. But I don't want to underline
that the fiction writer is more responsible than others to politics.
The writers, you know, previous generations of Turkish writers, were
so well-meaning. They went into politics and ended up destroying their
art - and it turned out to be bad politics too. So in that sense I'm
not political, I'm not a political person.
My first motivation is really to write a good Proustian, Nabokovian,
Borgesian, whatever you like to call it, beautiful novel rather than
think about the politics. Of course, once you live in a troubled part
of the world everyone is asking about politics anyway. But I don't
try to answer them in my novels. I try to answer them sometimes in
my interviews and those interviews always put me into trouble [laughs].
NL: What is the status now of the controversial Turkish law, Article
301, under which you were charged for 'denigrating Turkishness' when
you commented on the massacre of Kurds and Armenians on Turkish soil?
Pamuk: Now they have changed Article 301, so that coincidently or
by mistake they do not try to punish someone like me [laughs]. They
changed the Article so that you have to get permission from the
Ministry of Justice to prosecute and, if you are famous, they will
not allow it. I can get away with it, but you won't [laughs]!
NL: In a novel like Snow, through a marvellous range of characters
you have projected the possibility that truth can exist in diverse
and opposing perspectives.
Pamuk: I'm not saying there is truth in everything but it is the
novel's job to understand points of view. A novelist's job is not
to find political or diplomatic solutions to conflicting desires and
pressures. Am I trying to promote this or that in Snow? No, nothing. I
just want to see the arena of politics through the participant's point
of view, not necessarily agreeing with any of them. Blue [in Snow],
if you ask me, is not like any fundamentalist in my life. But my
job as a novelist is to make him convincing and try to see the world
through his point of view. His argument, for instance, 'why should
we non-westerners wear a necktie?' is an essential question that we
should understand, right? Why should we imitate with a necktie the
western men? It is a valid question. I am not necessarily agreeing
with his or anyone else's answer, but it is a question that one should
take seriously.
NL: The Museum of Innocence, your newest book is a brilliant, haunting
work. Are you planning some sort of sequel to this?
Pamuk: No. I have other novel projects. I'm writing a novel about a
street vendor losing his job in Istanbul in the 70s, in that period.
It is not clear yet. Then I have other novel projects. I have so many
projects in mind, and really do not look for the success or failure
of the previous projects. I already am in the middle of the next one.
I'm happy that people like this, yes; this book is very popular all
over the world. But writing a sequel, no. Yet, I confess that I might
write up one or two sequences of Fusun and Kemal that are not in the
book. Why? Because I'm also doing a museum and sometimes think that
I may write about one or two groups of objects for one episode which
is not in the book. I may write things like that. Also, to make my
museum more attractive, with new objects perhaps ten years later.
NL: In what way has the Nobel Prize changed you?
Pamuk: The Nobel Prize and the recognition did not really change my
daily life. Writing and writing and writing, that's my only happiness.
It made me more visible. I was already translated into 46 languages,
and now perhaps 56 languages. But I have millions of readers. It gave
me less time, made me more serious about myself, my time, because
I feel more responsible. Now if I say, 'I'm writing a nice novel,'
I know that it will be published in so many countries, probably 35
or so, so it's a responsibility.
Then I also feel, especially in the non-western world or postcolonial
world including Latin America, India, and China, that they also
identify with me as a non-westerner who is writing about 'us,' and is
also successful. I care about that so much that, it is such a sweet
and dear thing, so I have to be also serious about what I write,
and honour that respect and continue writing about 'us.'
NL: Does that mean that writers like you have a greater responsibility?
Pamuk: Well, look. I said responsibility of the Nobel Prize, I had
that feeling, but I do not want to undermine it. Responsibility, too
much responsibility, is not good for fiction. All of my responsible
friends went into politics but I stayed at home and wrote my novels.
Again, artistic creativity also comes from being a bit irresponsible.
NL: But in a society like India, how can we ignore the divisiveness,
the poverty?
Pamuk: You don't ignore it. It is part of the picture, but it's not the
only thing. That's how I see it. My kind of novel is about balancing
of the whole picture. Please trust the autonomy of literature, it
will give you back the whole world.
NL: Who are your favourite writers?
Pamuk: So many, you know. The greatest living writer in the world is
Garcia Marquez. If you're asking me for my favourite novelists ever,
there are four: Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Thomas Mann, and Marcel Proust.
NL: You write in Turkish and yet the beauty, the lyricism and poetry
of a book like The Museum has not been lost in translation.
Pamuk: Yes, I am a Turk. I want to write in Turkish all my life. I
learned English late in life. I write better, my qualities are better,
in Turkish. I suffered so much for 20 years. You couldn't find a
translator ... no publisher could find a reader in Turkish who could
advise if this book was publishable. I got my first book published when
I was almost 40! It was not easy! They said, 'What, a Turk, forget it!'
Oh, I'm pleased with this book and I work with the translators. You
also lose so much money working with the translators [laughs]. Those
writers who are writing in English are lucky in that it is their
language too. Being a writer is so much hard work, but I'm not
complaining.
The Hindu
Feb 1, 2010
Orhan Pamuk speaks to Nirmala LakshmanonThe Museum of Innocence and
his other novels, his Turkishness, and his exploration of the human
condition.
- Photo: Vivek Bendre
Orhan Pamuk: They identify with me as a non-westerner who is writing
about 'us' and is also successful.
Orhan Pamuk, winner of the 2006 Nobel Prize for Literature, is a
writer with a formidable international reputation. Deeply rooted in a
liberal tradition that values tolerance, freedom, and a respect for
the other, this Turkish writer passionately embraces his identity
while echoing universal human values. A reluctant interpreter of
East-West relations, he prefers to see himself as a bridge between
the two worlds. A novelist whose aesthetic sensibility is rooted in
his beloved Istanbul but draws from the tradition of great Western
novelists, he delights in history, memory, and the exploration of
the human condition. An outspoken critic of those who try to abridge
free speech, he faced imprisonment in 2005 in his own country on this
account. His eight novels, which include several international best
sellers such as My Name is Red, Snow, and now The Museum of Innocence,
are a testament to his profound ingenuity as a writer as well as to
his humanity. Nirmala Lakshman recently interviewed Pamuk in Mumbai
on his life and work. Excerpts:
Nirmala Lakshman (NL): Beginning with your early books in translation,
The White Castle, The Black Book and the very popular My Name is Red
down to more recent works like Snow, Istanbul and now of course in The
Museum of Innocence, you have explored vast trajectories of history,
art, culture, the persistence of memory and tradition in our everyday
lives and the poignancy and beauty of the human experience. Your
work is also multi-layered, allusive, of multiple genres and in
many voices. You seem to want to get in as much as possible and pull
everything together. Is this your quest as a novelist?
Orhan Pamuk: Your question suggests I am an ambitious novelist who
wants to explore all the great subjects, and yes, yes, I confess I am
like that [smiles]! In My Name is Red, I wanted to create a panorama,
to look at the spirit of the nation to look at the cultural truth in
art. In The Black Book, I look at this spirit through the layers of
Istanbul and the enigmas of history. In Snow, I see the same culture
through politics.
In The Museum of Innocence, I am looking at the spirit of the nation
this time through love. Maybe it's not the whole nation but my part of
the world, the whole non-western world where all these issues of love
in a society where sex outside of marriage is problematical, and there
is the taboo of virginity. This book is very popular in China, in Spain
and in Italy, in Greece, in the whole of the Mediterranean world, and
is also being read in Germany and America. These issues are Turkish
issues but not only Turkish issues. In the end this is the story
of love in repressed societies where lovers cannot easily negotiate
their love. This has qualities of Romeo and Juliet in a postcolonial
non-western bourgeois society, and in the wake of the tradition and the
aspirations of modernity, posing as more westernised than they really
are and how to come to terms with the legacy of culture and religion.
These are the same issues as in the classical Islamic romances. Even in
the Turkey of the 1970s, among the so called upper class bourgeoisie
the space for the lovers to meet, to talk, to develop, to explore
their love was limited. In Turkey in the 1970s there were no parties
to meet the girls [laughs]! But then it's not only negatively judging
about this, but also trying to explore that once there is this kind
of suppression, the human heart's reaction to this is a sort of
sophistication of looks, of silences, raising the eyebrow and lovers
constantly test their intentions. They cannot communicate, they don't
have the opportunity to talk about love as they do in America. But
they test and try to understand each other through a language that
they develop sometimes, which is very sophisticated, through looks,
silences and little punishments, double meaning, and gestures.
Kemal's attention to Fusun is, in that sense, very typical of that
lover's attention to the beloved where there is very little real
possibility for coming eye to eye, although Kemal sees Fusun almost
every night. Yet there is no communication because they are watching
TV together and they are never left alone. The only moments alone are
when they are looking at Fusun's paintings, so instead of judging
the culture by saying well, 'unfortunately, it's such a repressed
society where lovers cannot meet and talk,' which is the truth,
I want to understand the language that they develop.
I am just showing different things, different ways, and the themes
in The Museum of Innocence, maybe somewhat melodramatically Bollywood
or Turkish Hollywood if you like, but treated my way.
NL: You are building your own museum. How is that going?
Pamuk: That's going on. Lots of people are working on it right now
in Istanbul. Architects, builders, and construction people are doing
things. I am supervising of course and like my Kemal, I am the curator
of this museum. It is so much hard work, and sometimes it is difficult
but now I am away from it for a while and resting. I am really very
happy about it.
NL: Do you believe then that the everyday objects of our lives really
signify the truths of our existence and therefore that ordinary
people's lives are important to document?
Pamuk: Yes, it is one of the points that Kemal makes at the end of the
book. This is important, particularly in non-western societies where
the idea of museums is not developed. People's collections, let's not
even call them collections, their gatherings are important. This is
important now and I come from an Islamic culture where painting is
suppressed. A museum should not just be a place for fancy paintings
but should be a place where we can communicate our lives through
our everyday objects. Museums are western inventions where the rich
and the powerful or the government and the state tend to exhibit the
signs and symbol and images of their culture. What my Kemal argues,
and I agree with him on that is that we non-western people can also
exhibit our humanity through the objects that represent our lives.
NL: It seems that The Museum of Innocence is your favourite book and
a lot of people are reading it here in India.
Pamuk: Yes, yes, I know [smiles]. When I was writing it I used to
say to my friends, 'I will be remembered by this book.' It is my
favourite in the sense I've been thinking of writing this book so
joyfully and also of making the museum. But I also wrote this book
in bad times, when there was political pressure, then there was the
Nobel Prize and so much happening, changing cities, airplanes, but it
was such happiness. If I wrote one page of this book, I was a happy
person that day. It is also one of my favourite books in the sense
that it's based on first-hand experience. I've been to the clubs and
the places that Kemal had been to, the restaurants and movie houses
and so many weddings and engagement parties at the Hilton Hotel in
Istanbul. It's all based on my life.
NL: You keep going back to Istanbul in all your novels, perhaps with
the exception of Snow, to old Istanbul and modern Istanbul and your
memoirs are also titled Istanbul. It is as if you are the keeper of
the soul of Istanbul.
Pamuk: Oh, I am. I think I am [smiles]. Up until the age of 54 I
have lived all my life there except for some few years outside. I
came across humanity in Istanbul and all I know about life comes from
Istanbul and definitely I am writing about Istanbul. I also love the
city because I live there, it has formed me, and it's me.
NL: Do you think then in that sense the authentic voice of the writer
emerges only when they write about the cultural contexts they are
rooted in? How important is it for a writer to be located in this?
Pamuk: Yes and no. The particularities, the uniqueness of any culture
is interesting in a novel but novels are more interesting if they go
deep into the culture and deeply into the universal, the eternal and
what is common to all human hearts. So I am that kind of writer. I
want to be that kind of writer in the sense that yes, you would feel,
smell and see the colours of Istanbul, but also you must recognise
that all human beings are the same everywhere in some sense, but
the cultures are different, so they behave differently. So these two
things should be visible in my stories, in my novels, and I care about
that. The particularities and what is universal. But you don't look
at them too much. You just write your story as it comes to you.
NL: In your Nobel lecture, you said that initially you did not feel
that you were at the centre of things. Do you feel differently now,
have you moved to that centre?
Pamuk: Yes. When I began writing, no one cared about Turkey, no one
knew about Turkey. In 1985 I went to America for two years and began
to write The Black Book around then. Finding that my voice was getting
stronger, I really remember thinking, 'my God these Latin American
writers are so lucky, who cares about Turkish writers or Middle
Eastern writers or Muslim or Indian or Pakistani writers?' That's
what I thought then. But the situation has changed in 25 years and
during that change my books boomed, I am happy to say that. There are
political reasons, cultural reasons, history, all of which changed
the world. And now I would say that a big writer from Turkey or the
Middle East or India is more visible. Salman Rushdie, for example,
was visible in 1981. It all began after that.
NL: In the rise of a new kind of nationalism, do you also see a rise of
intolerance, a constant attempt to undermine dissent, and an increase
in censorship? You yourself have been a victim of this.
Pamuk: Okay, let's look at this from my experience. There was heavy
pressure, they tried to put me in jail, but then they dropped it; this
is one side. But in the last ten years, Turkey has been a much more
open society, much more free. Free speech is allowed, and the army and
all the institutions are criticised. So it is not just only one way.
You cannot generalise and say the nation is growing; individuality,
distinct voices are also growing. When nationalism is growing,
most of the time postcolonial societies are getting richer. The
ruling elite, a combination of the army and the proletarian and the
bourgeoisie, is getting richer. But also the whole nation is growing,
so the individual people who are living by themselves, who disagree,
their number is also growing. Dissent and the strength of individual,
dignified voices are also growing, you cannot stop it.
It's hard to control an open society where people can print their
books. You can send these people to jail, but you can't send a whole
nation to jail! There will always be central authoritarianism. But I
am not pessimistic, and so whether it is Turkish nationalism or Hindu
nationalism, they tend to be authoritarian. But then, in that nation
there are also the individual voices of the minorities. The number of
distinct individuals who would not join the community is also growing.
How that will be balanced is interesting.
NL: Is it more the intellectual's or the writer's responsibility
to shore up this dissent and to constantly resist and critique the
attempts to suppress freedom and impose censorship?
Pamuk: We should certainly say it is a writer's duty, but also any
citizen's. If you are educated and know how the world is operating,
of course you have more responsibility. But I don't want to underline
that the fiction writer is more responsible than others to politics.
The writers, you know, previous generations of Turkish writers, were
so well-meaning. They went into politics and ended up destroying their
art - and it turned out to be bad politics too. So in that sense I'm
not political, I'm not a political person.
My first motivation is really to write a good Proustian, Nabokovian,
Borgesian, whatever you like to call it, beautiful novel rather than
think about the politics. Of course, once you live in a troubled part
of the world everyone is asking about politics anyway. But I don't
try to answer them in my novels. I try to answer them sometimes in
my interviews and those interviews always put me into trouble [laughs].
NL: What is the status now of the controversial Turkish law, Article
301, under which you were charged for 'denigrating Turkishness' when
you commented on the massacre of Kurds and Armenians on Turkish soil?
Pamuk: Now they have changed Article 301, so that coincidently or
by mistake they do not try to punish someone like me [laughs]. They
changed the Article so that you have to get permission from the
Ministry of Justice to prosecute and, if you are famous, they will
not allow it. I can get away with it, but you won't [laughs]!
NL: In a novel like Snow, through a marvellous range of characters
you have projected the possibility that truth can exist in diverse
and opposing perspectives.
Pamuk: I'm not saying there is truth in everything but it is the
novel's job to understand points of view. A novelist's job is not
to find political or diplomatic solutions to conflicting desires and
pressures. Am I trying to promote this or that in Snow? No, nothing. I
just want to see the arena of politics through the participant's point
of view, not necessarily agreeing with any of them. Blue [in Snow],
if you ask me, is not like any fundamentalist in my life. But my
job as a novelist is to make him convincing and try to see the world
through his point of view. His argument, for instance, 'why should
we non-westerners wear a necktie?' is an essential question that we
should understand, right? Why should we imitate with a necktie the
western men? It is a valid question. I am not necessarily agreeing
with his or anyone else's answer, but it is a question that one should
take seriously.
NL: The Museum of Innocence, your newest book is a brilliant, haunting
work. Are you planning some sort of sequel to this?
Pamuk: No. I have other novel projects. I'm writing a novel about a
street vendor losing his job in Istanbul in the 70s, in that period.
It is not clear yet. Then I have other novel projects. I have so many
projects in mind, and really do not look for the success or failure
of the previous projects. I already am in the middle of the next one.
I'm happy that people like this, yes; this book is very popular all
over the world. But writing a sequel, no. Yet, I confess that I might
write up one or two sequences of Fusun and Kemal that are not in the
book. Why? Because I'm also doing a museum and sometimes think that
I may write about one or two groups of objects for one episode which
is not in the book. I may write things like that. Also, to make my
museum more attractive, with new objects perhaps ten years later.
NL: In what way has the Nobel Prize changed you?
Pamuk: The Nobel Prize and the recognition did not really change my
daily life. Writing and writing and writing, that's my only happiness.
It made me more visible. I was already translated into 46 languages,
and now perhaps 56 languages. But I have millions of readers. It gave
me less time, made me more serious about myself, my time, because
I feel more responsible. Now if I say, 'I'm writing a nice novel,'
I know that it will be published in so many countries, probably 35
or so, so it's a responsibility.
Then I also feel, especially in the non-western world or postcolonial
world including Latin America, India, and China, that they also
identify with me as a non-westerner who is writing about 'us,' and is
also successful. I care about that so much that, it is such a sweet
and dear thing, so I have to be also serious about what I write,
and honour that respect and continue writing about 'us.'
NL: Does that mean that writers like you have a greater responsibility?
Pamuk: Well, look. I said responsibility of the Nobel Prize, I had
that feeling, but I do not want to undermine it. Responsibility, too
much responsibility, is not good for fiction. All of my responsible
friends went into politics but I stayed at home and wrote my novels.
Again, artistic creativity also comes from being a bit irresponsible.
NL: But in a society like India, how can we ignore the divisiveness,
the poverty?
Pamuk: You don't ignore it. It is part of the picture, but it's not the
only thing. That's how I see it. My kind of novel is about balancing
of the whole picture. Please trust the autonomy of literature, it
will give you back the whole world.
NL: Who are your favourite writers?
Pamuk: So many, you know. The greatest living writer in the world is
Garcia Marquez. If you're asking me for my favourite novelists ever,
there are four: Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Thomas Mann, and Marcel Proust.
NL: You write in Turkish and yet the beauty, the lyricism and poetry
of a book like The Museum has not been lost in translation.
Pamuk: Yes, I am a Turk. I want to write in Turkish all my life. I
learned English late in life. I write better, my qualities are better,
in Turkish. I suffered so much for 20 years. You couldn't find a
translator ... no publisher could find a reader in Turkish who could
advise if this book was publishable. I got my first book published when
I was almost 40! It was not easy! They said, 'What, a Turk, forget it!'
Oh, I'm pleased with this book and I work with the translators. You
also lose so much money working with the translators [laughs]. Those
writers who are writing in English are lucky in that it is their
language too. Being a writer is so much hard work, but I'm not
complaining.