Paperback review: Silent House, By Orhan Pamuk (Trs Robert Finn)
Style and substance from a good listener
Your support helps us to tell the story
From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.
At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.
The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.
Your support makes all the difference.Whatever you think of the Nobel Prize in Literature and its obscure selection process – I'm inclined to agree with Paul Theroux, who once described it as "little more than the Swedish lottery" – it has its benefits. It seems unlikely, for instance, that this quietly involving novel from 2006 laureate Orhan Pamuk would have appeared in English had he not been accorded the Nobel imprimatur.
First published in 1983 (when Pamuk was just 30), Silent House tells of a family gathering at a decrepit mansion in a village near Istanbul. The action unfolds via a series of monologues delivered by the members of this somewhat dysfunctional clan: Fatma, an elderly widow; Recep, her late husband's illegitimate son; Fatma's grandchildren; and Recep's volatile nephew, Hasan.
Pamuk nimbly shifts between these characters as they muse on the subjects close to them – from the peculiarities of Turkish history to the disappointments of marriage – demonstrating an early mastery of technique. But Silent House is not merely a stylish literary performance: set in the lead-up to the military coup of 1980, the novel is a deeply serious commentary on Turkish politics.
Pamuk alludes to the social turmoil that enabled the junta's power-grab (Hasan becomes involved with a group of fascist thugs who target his left-leaning cousins). But in dramatising a range of different perspectives, the book stresses the importance of listening to dissenting views, especially when, as in Turkey, democracy is a fragile thing. And, as this book proves, Pamuk, with his ear for the nuances of language and dialogue, was always a fine listener.
Join our commenting forum
Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies
Comments