Love's pain is indivisible
Abdullah Shibli speaks of one man and two women
The Museum of Innocence, Orhan Pamuk, Trans. Maureen Freely, Alfred A. Knopf
Nobel Prize winning novelist Orhan Pamuk's book The Museum of Innocence provides a vivid picture of the pain of love, or more accurately, the pain of losing a lover, and offers an interesting account of the narrator's efforts to get her back. In the meticulous reconstruction of a lover's anguish and despondency, Pamuk's book also provides rich details of the pleasures of Istanbul --- his home city --- its night life and restaurants, tourist attractions, the treasures hidden under the blue waters of the Sea of Bosphorus, and the cultural and social settings of this historic city. But the most captivating narrative of his latest novel is the amazingly nuanced moment by moment chronicle of a love affair: the magic of falling in love, the ecstasy of being in love, the insecurity of love and the fear of losing it, the agony and total destruction brought about by separation and the incredible journey of coping and recovery. Pamuk does not mince words when he describes the love scenes. The book opens with the author defining his mood, as the two lovers lie in bed: "It was the happiest moment of my life, though I didn't know it. Had I known, had I cherished this gift, would everything have turned out differently? Yes, if I had recognized this instant of perfect happiness, I would have held it fast and never let it slip away. It took a few seconds, perhaps, for that luminous state to enfold me, suffusing me with the deepest peace, but it seemed to last hours, even years. In that moment, on the afternoon of Monday, May 26, 1975, at about a quarter to three, just as we felt ourselves to be beyond sin and guilt so too did the world seem to have been released from gravity and time." He then goes on to describe in his inimitable style the encounter with his lover Fusun in the privacy of his apartment. Without giving away the story, let me hint that the love affair between the narrator, Kemal, the scion of a richTurkish industrialist family, and a younger woman of humbler origin, begins like any other affair of the heart but soon turns torrid as they meet secretly in his apartment near her workplace in the heart of bustling Istanbul. Although he is a few years older and is soon to be engaged to another woman from a well-established family, he finds himself lost in the arms of this young woman. During his engagement party, where he invites his lover, he promises, "No one will ever come between us ever again." Unfortunately, little did Kemal know that Fusun would break up with him and fail to show up for their pre-planned tryst the following day. What follows next is one of the best-documented literary accounts of forlorn love. Pamuk's command of the language, and his no-holds-barred description of the pain, suffering and desperation of a repentant lover, will take the reader from one realm to another, and none of the fervour is lost even in the translation from Turkish, done admirably by Maureen Freely. What grabs the attention of the reader is the break-up, and the very meticulous chronicling of Kemal's state of mind, his wanderings from one location to another as he searches for his lost love, and his struggles to overcome helplessness and despondency. One has to wonder if Pamuk is a psychotherapist or has himself ever suffered the loss of a beloved at some point in his life to be so fluent and knowledgeable of the painful world of lost love. To quote, he writes, "Life had receded from me, losing all the flavor and color I'd found in it… I felt that whatever I was doing during those days without Fusun, it was vulgar, ordinary, and meaningless. Time had not faded my memories (as I prayed to God it might), nor had it healed my wounds as it is said always to do. I began each day with the hope that the next day would be better, my recollections a little less pointed, but I would awake to the same pain." But the book is not only about Kemal's obsession with Fusun, his interactions with her, and his valiant fight to win her back. For an armchair traveler, the novel includes breath-taking views of the various quarters and lifestyles of Istanbul, the contrast between the new and the old generations, and the class divisions inherent in any ancient civilization. Pamuk also goes to extraordinary lengths to give the reader a bird's eye view of the new and the old in Turkey. For example, one of the longest chapters is entitled "The Engagement Party" and it offers glimpses of Turkish upper-middle class society, the comings and goings at the party, the tension between Kemal and his fiancé when his lover Fusun makes an appearance, and his state of mind as he is torn between the two women in his life. Each episode is rich with contextual details of different strata of Turkish society, family feud, and all other sociological nuggets that make this book so appealing to readers of different tastes. However, for those who enjoy reading love stories in the genre of Tagore's Shesher Kabita and Sharat Chandra's Pandit Mashai will find great joy in reading about Kemal's painful journey through the land of romance and love. I end this review with another memorable section on the agony and ecstasy of falling in love. "… the pain of love is indivisible. The pains of true love reside at the heart of our existence; they catch hold of our most vulnerable point, rooting themselves deeper than the root of any other pain, and branching to every part of our bodies and our lives … People whose lives have, like mine, been turned upside down by love can become convinced that all other problems will be resolved once the pain of love is gone. "
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