"The Bastard of Istanbul" Family secrets and Turkey's dark history
By Moira Macdonald
"The Bastard of Istanbul" by Elif Shafak Viking, 360 pp., $24.95
"The
Bastard of Istanbul," the second novel written in English by Turkish
novelist Elif Shafak (following "The Saint of Incipient Insanities"), has a
story that extends beyond its pages into startling real-life news. After the
book's publication in Turkey last March, Shafak was charged by a Turkish
court with "violating Turkishness" because of comments made by several of
her fictional characters about the massacre of Armenians during World War I.
It was, Shafak would later write in The Washington Post, the first case
against a work of fiction under Turkey's Article 301; if convicted, she
could have been sentenced to up to three years in prison.Her September trial ended with a speedy acquittal (and much media attention, with a progressive Turkish paper asking, "Are we going to be the kind of country that prosecutes fictional characters?") — but that it took place at all is a startling underscore to this tale of two families: one Turkish, one Armenian-American. By itself, "The Bastard of Istanbul" is a rich and satisfying journey; placed in the context of Shafak's trial, and the recent murder of a Turkish newspaper editor who wrote about the Armenian massacres, it's a vital reminder of history's hold on us, of how the past can still control the present.
Filled with the aromas and textures of traditional Turkish food (each chapter is named for a flavor), "The Bastard of Istanbul" mingles past and present, blending the voices of its many characters in a balance as delicate as any savory dish. It's mostly a story of women, with an all-female Istanbul family at its center. The Kazancis are four generations living in one house, including free-spirited Zehila, whom we first meet on her way to an Istanbul abortion clinic, and teenage Asya, the American-music-loving daughter who shares Zehila's rebellious streak.
To the household comes a visitor: Armanoush (whose American mother emphatically calls her Amy), the Armenian-American stepdaughter of Zehila's brother Mustapha, who long ago began a new life in Arizona. She bonds with Asya, and both learn unexpected truths about their families. The past is confronted but never discarded; it flavors their lives, both sweet and bitter. And both young women's intricate connections to their families — a seemingly endless web of aunts, grandmothers, uncles and cousins — are emphasized. They're two threads in a rich, complicated tapestry.
Shafak's prose is rife with telling detail (the Kazancis, while boiling tea in a samovar and pouring it into delicate glasses, watch the Turkish version of "The Apprentice" on television) and witty description: We meet an uncle who annually "added another layer of flab to his infamous belly, like a tree trunk adding a growth ring with the passing of each year." One small but occasionally jarring misstep: the dialogue for Rose, the Kentucky-born mother of Armanoush (whose father is Armenian), doesn't ring true, as it's too similar in rhythm and syntax to that of the non-American characters.
Ultimately, the story belongs to Armanoush, a book-loving young woman determined to write the missing lines in her own narrative, despite her family's concerns. A lover of novels, she knows where their concerns lie, and yearns for it: "The path of fiction could easily mislead you into the cosmos of stories where everything was fluid, quixotic, and as open to surprises as a moonlit night in the desert."
Moira Macdonald is the movie critic for The Seattle Times.