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Mehmet Murat Somer, Scandaloso omicidio a Istanbul

I saw today on the Friday of the Republic, which was published by Bompiani another book by this author referred to the case I finished reading Scandalous murder in Istanbul (Sellerio 2009) yesterday. I did not think the opportunity to talk about it but I did want to come. I state that having made the long trip to Turkey, I read several books by Turkish authors, including - unfortunately - one of my beloved Pamuk, The Black Book , which upset me out of boredom though there are wonderful things (if I find the courage I talk about it) and blocked for a long time 'because I went on a half page at a time, and daughter of Halide Edip Hadivar Istanbul, a superclass of 1935 just published by Elliott that I was reconciled with the world, and then the Somer as yellow tail return. Unlike dell'inqualificabile Bosphorus Hotel, is a yellow funny and remarkably sophisticated in Istanbul which is a real presence, off the tourist cliché-folk but convincing. The protagonist, a character that could be very risky, but it is nice and plausible: it has no name, but speaks of himself in the feminine by day works as a computer and some very skilled 'hackers (inevitable characteristic for each character detective, Sherlock Holmes today instead of chemical would be excellent hackers) in male clothes, evening dresses for women, preferably on the model Audrey Hepburn, and went to the nightclub which is co-owner, where he is not ashamed to do his share of tricks . Yearns for every male well developed and attractive, his idol John Pruitt is: I checked, a gym and glossy model. Offended if you call fennel but as a woman demands respect and attention, and if it can knock the most muscular martial arts and using simple barrel. E 'courageous, slightly ironic, tolerant with the other "girls" that count their troubles and throw in half, maybe a tad bit "different" but without the snobbery, and involved up to the end. When one of the girls, who asked for help, is killed, the fourth part in the search for truth in a way perhaps imprudent and reckless but certainly not shy. The solution of the crime, they appear mafia blackmail and a political iperconservatore, is complex and perhaps I did not understand their way down but in reality it's meant to be. The reality is complex, the world is full of deceit and double bottoms, you can not expect that justice is always done. The whole story takes place then between petty bourgeois interior (described in a very funny and insightful), night club, plenty of taxis, the city at night and the comfortable apartment of the protagonist, in a natural way. And the characters are dashed outline quickly but thoroughly, the world of transvestites is clear and devoid of any shade of opinion, unprejudiced look and also the inhabitants of Istanbul, where the male likes the company of very bluntly "girls ". Well I'm glad he was translated another adventure della serie, e la leggerò.

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Esmahan Aykol, Hotel Bosforo

Trebisonda 21/7/2010
Mi dispiace davvero per Sellerio che è un mio mito insuperato, ma questo Hotel Bosforo è uno dei libri più brutti che abbia mai letto. E soprattutto più inutili. Una trama insulsa e del tutto pretestuosa, un giallo di cui non frega niente a nessuno, men che meno all'autrice che per tre quarti del libro pensa a altro e poi alla fine telefona la soluzione giusto per scaricarsi la coscienza. E il motivo che non rivelo è quello più sfruttato nella maggior parte dei libri degli ultimi dieci-quindici anni. Il resto è una serie di cliché dei più banali, scritti nella prosa di una ragazzina di prima media poco dotata ma convinta di essere spiritosa. Si direbbe tradotto dal tedesco perché la prima edizione è di una casa editrice tedesca, ma non è chiaro leggendo, in certi punti si direbbe tradotto dal turco. Sembra un repertorio di luoghi comuni sui turchi a uso dei tedeschi, e viceversa. Tipo: i turchi fumano come turchi. Ma va'? E' come se Aykol volesse gratificare gli uni e gli altri presentandoli a volte con gli occhi di un popolo, ora dell'altro. Il risultato è che come terzi ci si sente un po' esclusi.
Si svolge in una Istanbul tutta localini furbi e gran bevute, naturalmente lontanissima dal turismo ma non per questo meno stereotipata e finta. L'insopportabile protagonista, tedesco-turco-ebrea libraia specializzata in gialli, il che per qualche ragione che non ho afferrato la qualificherebbe a risolvere delitti, incontra una vecchia amica tedesca che resta invischiata in un assassinio. Primo, non si capisce perché la tedesca ha cercato la libraia di cui aveva perso le tracce da secoli. Due, la libraia fa un paio di telefonate da scocciatrice e questo è tutto lo sviluppo della trama. In compenso tutti se la vogliono scopare, e lei non sembrerebbe maldisposta, non disdegna poliziotti né delinquenti ma alla fine la vita la premia. L'unica idea che ha in testa è andare dall'estetista, avere le unghie in ordine e mettersi elegante. Ah no, dimenticavo, anche schiaffare la madre in un ospizio alle Baleari. L'autrice è talmente cretina che crede di dare pennellate di realtà nominando un paio di Sometimes the "crisis of February" (?).
So, I wonder why this book has been translated: hoping to ride the wave of exotic yellow? But this is neither yellow nor exotic, only un'emerita crap that makes me the nerves to the wasted time reading it. And saddlery, he can do a lot better.
translation, no one knows what, Emanuela Cervini.

How To Make Honeycombs On Jeans

Halldor Laxness, Gente indipendente

Trabzon, 19.07.2010
Published in two parts in Iceland in 1934-35, when the author was thirty years old and was still far from been awarded the Nobel in 1955, this novel, which is just extraordinary to define, chronicles the life and stubborn titanic defeat of Bjartur Somarhus, farmer ewes and its aspiration to independence is willing to sacrifice everything, including and especially that of the people who live around. After eighteen years service in a rich farm, managed to buy a farm on which is charged with debts, he married and began her life as a farmer master of his land, made a slave to a job which does not stop inhuman or rewards in the north of the country (we are from the late nineteenth and early twentieth century) that can not be found in agriculture his vocation. I do not make any summary of the story, read it and you will not regret. I will just make a few comments on the protagonist.
Bjartur character is a "larger than life" beautifully told without a word of description. That 's what it is and that is enough. A single idea dominates, that of being independent, not having anything to anyone. Debts confronts them but can not bear to have to say thank you to anyone. A gift for him is an affront, as understood by some episodes such as that of "housewife" Dunya me has torn my heart, for the disappointment of those expectations is a pleasure that will bring his gift, which is then rejected, is something that is unbearable to me. Tackle any denial, deprivation, sacrifice, because he did not have these, what matters is the road that follows the path of independence. What is lost do not regret it, and this is repeated several times during the novel, and the notation is more shocking to the reader. There are several characters that gradually disappear, sometimes in a terrible way, leaving a vacuum that causes a sea of \u200b\u200bquestions in the reader and even a blink in Bjartur. At least until the final disappearance, which opens a breach in his armor and save him, in a sense, in the end.
And the other aspect is shocking to the reader the tremendous effort, the harshness of life, the appalling conditions of ignorance, promiscuity, dirt, exhausting work that takes place the existence of sheep farmers in northern Iceland . Children and adults who work eighteen hours a day, eating jelly oatmeal and salt cod waste, drinking coffee, sleeping seven or eight in the same room where they cook, with equally extreme weather conditions. And the conclusion is only one: the poor are condemned, for them there is no redemption from poverty and tuberculosis, independence is a chimera, the only politicians and traders who can earn more in life. A few dreams that can go well, maybe just to escape, America down there, great land where the sheep are on their own to graze the grass.
Love does not exist, who knows the affection, the ambiguity of the relationship between Biartur Solillja Auction and one of the most beautiful bed. But it's not a depressing novel, is an epic inno alla capacità umana di seguire i propri ideali sbagliando e risbagliando senza accettare la sconfitta. La natura eccessiva e arcigna domina su tutto ma l'uomo non si lascia schiacciare, la usa e la contrasta sperando sempre di piegarla i propri voleri. E sul fondo c'è il mondo che cambia, la prima guerra mondiale, le discussioni su Dio e sull'anima, le banche, le cooperative, le donne e il loro destino spietato. Un romanzo che mi fa venire in mente solo un termine: magnifico. Non se ne esce facilmente una volta finito, e Bjartur è indimenticabile.
Si capisce bene che il pubblico islandese sia stato sconvolto da Gente indipendente che metteva a nudo miserie e arretratezze del paese, come spiega in modo interessante e esauriente Silvia Cosimini in the afterword, the author also of the wonderful translation.