My Name Is Red

I absolutely detested this novel. I hated it more with each page that I forced myself to read. I only managed about a third of the book before I opted to just quit. My decision was echoed by the other people in my book club. Each chapter was told by a different character, the first being a man who was murdered and tossed into a well. I read far enough into the novel to know that the murderer was a fellow miniaturist and that jealously was at the heart of the matter. I also know that it was about an artist's love for a woman, Another focus of the novel was the change in artistic styles. Some of the miniaturists admired the western realistic portraiture while others feared change.
The character names were confusing to say the least. There were so many of them and it was very difficult to understand their relationships to one another when the narrator shifted with every chapter. One chapter was given to a black dog, but the dumbest one was a gold coin. I am not a prude, but when the character hid the coin in his ass to avoid being robbed, the robbers raped him instead. Told from the coin point of view was enough to finish me off.

The short story:
- Orhan Pamuk's writing style is outstanding.
- His method of relating the story/plot and characters as alternating perspectives on events is refreshing.
- Outside of those interested in historical Persia, the story line itself is rather boring and once my interest is Pamuk's prose itself wore off, I lost interest in what was happening.

Although Orhan Pamuk is a well known Turkish writer I couldn't finish this book. It just didn't agree with me. Literature is, as well as the other things in life a matter of taste and this is not mine. Sorry!

A murder mystery set in 1500s Istanbul, one of the most exotic cities in the world. Each chapter is a first person narrative from a different character, the very first from the man who has just been killed, catching your attention immediately. The murderer has 2 voices, one his real identity not revealed as the culprit, and one as the killer. Dogs, trees, paintings and the devil all have a chapter or two as well making the story move along in a strong quick fascinating way, like going down a path of stepping stones towards the finish. There is a love story, and a story of the forces of traditional Islamic art facing the beginning of an invasion of Western art ideals (the angst and reactions of the characters is insight into some aspects of the depth and manner of the religion of Islam). This book is operating on many levels, all of them great. A unusual style and a great multi-level story, as if the dense intricate beautiful tile-work of the Ottomans became literature. Highest recommendations.

I love Istanbul, the Middle East and Turkey...but I could not make my way though this book. I rarely give up, but this was a book chosen by our classic book club that did not fly for the members. Two brave souls read the whole book and probably envied those of us who said, "No thanks!" after just a few pages.

Sorry, but could not get into this book. The different characters all had the same voice and the plot was not moving fast enough forward for me. Life is too short to read something that does not keep me interested in.

First published in Turkish in 1998, MY NAME IS RED is shot through with paradoxes. Superficially it's a murder mystery, but while the murderer's identity is clearly delineated, the motives for the deed remain difficult to unravel. There is no omniscient narrator to guide us through the story; hence we have to make assumptions on our own. Some of them might be erroneous, which actually subverts the entire purpose of a murder mystery. The plot proceeds in quasi-linear fashion, but because it is pluri-vocal in structure, we sometimes find it difficult to separate 'fact' from 'fiction.' Once again our expectations from a murder mystery are frustrated - surely a case needs to be solved through facts alone?

Some critics have described Pamuk as a 'postmodern' novelist in the sense that he writes decentered narratives, thereby forcing readers to come to their own conclusions about plot and character. This might be true, but the definition of 'postmodernism' used here is overtly western in focus. MY NAME IS RED doesn't really preoccupy itself with western traditions; its focus of interest instead is on the ancient tradition of miniatures and their creators. We are introduced to issues of artistic creation, and its relationship to godliness; are artist especially privileged in the sense that they can see things about humanity's relationship to the deity that others can't? And is it possible for them to reproduce (or should it be produce) the image of the deity in visual form?

Pamuk focuses on the paradoxical role of the miniaturist - occupying a privileged position at the Sultan's court because of the ability to create, yet still treated as a servant in the sense that the Sultan's word was law. The novel examines the role of the miniature, not only as a piece of propaganda, but as a form of mass education in predominantly oral cultures where distinctions between 'real' and 'fictitious' simply did not exist.

It is this spirit which governs the book's overall narrative. We hear lots of different voices, and it is not necessarily our responsibility to decide which one is more 'truthful' or more 'fictional,' but rather contemplate the ways in which representation is contested, especially in cultures placing such an emphasis on the power of the miniature. Maybe we need to rethink our conceptions: is there such a concept as 'the real,' or are we simply trusting in our western-formulated beliefs? MY NAME IS RED is not an easy novel to read, but it is a rewarding experience as a way of encouraging us to reflect on our beliefs.

This book gives the feel of Turkey viewing Italy in 1590 just as Romola by George Eliot gives the feel of Italy viewing Turkey in the same decade.

The two books also lay bare many of the religious struggles in the respective regions, including orthodoxy, blasphemy, heresy, and (more in Romola) true faith.

In Romola the activity is the gathering of ancient texts. Ironically in Europe, Aristotle had been newly recovered because the Muslims had kept it safe and Averoes brought it back to Europe. There are texts of Platonists being gathered, like Ficino and Cabalists. The priest, Savanarola is a character and so is Machiavelli.

In My Name is Red, the activity is the drawing and coloring of book illustrations. This mirrors the activity of text-gathering in Romola.

I think someone could write some good thesis papers comparing these two books.

"Butterfly, Olive, Stork, and more tell their tales"

Where does My Name Is Red rank among all the audiobooks you’ve listened to so far?

In terms of performance, once again for Turkish themed audiobooks, John Lee shines. In terms of Orhan Pamuk's works I've heard so far (this is the third), it is uneven if beguiling.

What was the most interesting aspect of this story? The least interesting?

I liked the wonderful descriptions in Chapters 28 and 58 (these may vary a bit in the format used to access this online or as a download) of manuscript illuminators' tensions and successes. The challenge to create as if one sees the world for one's self as with the Franks, or the way Allah sees the world, as with the school of Herat in Persia, intrigues.

The least interesting was as with Pamuk's other books his tendency to wander off. He gives so much detail and so many subplots that he can lose the reader or listener. Better to let this narration float on, and not to worry about the intricate details of the mystery itself herein.

What about the narrator’s performance did you like?

John Lee masterfully captures the sounds of Turkish in translation. This as it's narrated by a variety of men and women as well as a dog, a horse, Satan, a gold coin, and maybe Death is difficult to follow as a listener. But Lee does his best to remind us of the different voices.

Was this a book you wanted to listen to all in one sitting?

No, as it is far too long. As I said above, it's preferable to take this at small portions. After a while, Pamuk's flow takes you up and the plot does not matter as much as the feel of the book. John Lee is a trustworthy guide as he navigates the ebbs and flurries of the novel.

Any additional comments?

It does encourage you to reflect on the shifts from traditional to modern art. Pamuk lavishes lots of love on the manuscripts he clearly loves. His enthusiasm is contagious, and erudite. (Posted also to Audible 5-29-16)

The 1-star reviews said it best. Boring...cubed or squared it was painful. I can say I read 75% maybe and got to the boring end. If this guy won a Nobel Prize I cannot imagine what for. I add a star for the historical glossary at the end without which much would be utterly opaque to a non-Turk and for the possibility that something massive has been lost in translation..though I doubt it. The characters were flat and vapid and the incessant references to infidel Franks was frankly boring too. But the worst was Husrev and Shirin..like nothing in the history of romance and art can compare to them. Someone should count the number of times this guy goes back to the astounding story of those two unlucky lovers. I will recall little from this waste of ink but will likely not forget them. I am stunned by the number of 5 Stars for this mainly piece of drivel..or that so many even read the entire thing.

In My Name is Red, Orhan Pamuk allows the mystery of two related murders to unravel through a series of interwoven first-person narratives, including those of the victims. Simultaneously, the story explores the various reactions of sixteenth-century Istanbul and its artist community to the gradual encroachment of European painting techniques on its traditional methods.

Pamuk is a gifted storyteller so it's not surprising that the first person narratives are skillfully executed, quickly developing the wildly different voices. As ever with translations, one has to wonder what is lost to the reader in English.

Still, the tale is enveloping. Despite the aura of cold that hangs over the short period of time in Istanbul during which the story unfolds, Pamuk lets the coffee shops, the food and the art render warmth. His best writing occurs when characters briskly move from minutely describing artwork under contemplation to concisely describing an episode of violence, as if the two were utterly unrelated during the moment of action. The reader can't help but believe they are; the real violence...I'm thinking most especially of Master Osman's delicate moment...are perpetrated by the most devoted.

I can already think of an exception to the above; Pamuk makes it difficult to tease out a consistent moral center here. Indeed, I can remember thinking the same thing as I finished Snow. The great gift of this book (as well as of Snow), is that Pamuk brings the reader tantalizingly close to unlocking something deeply profound but purposely leaves the key lacking a crucial notch. Thus, the reader must go away with a needle of doubt.

I bought this book right after Pamuk won the Nobel Prize for Literature, but I’ve only just now had time to read it. I had very high expectations for this novel, but alas, it did not live up to them. First of all, I found the writing itself quite stilted and unnatural sounding. Perhaps this is the fault of the translator, rather than the author, though. I also did not like the structure of the book, which is told from shifting points of view. The different characters take turns narrating events. Sometimes they identify themselves; sometimes they don’t. Sometimes inanimate object narrate the events. This is just too fey for me. To make matters even worse, it may be that one needs to be familiar with Turkish literature. Much is made of a Turkish story in which a woman falls in love with a man’s portrait before she meets him. Perhaps the novel has more resonance for those who know this story. I think My Name is Red was supposed to have been suspenseful, but I found the whole thing quite uncompelling. I dutifully read 20 pages a day until I had finished it. I had no interest in increasing my speed because I didn’t really care what happened next. A friend told me that Pamuk’s SNOW was better, but I don’t think I’ll try it any time soon. Three stars.

"My Name Is Red" is a philosophical historical murder mystery reminiscent of Umberto Eco's "The Name of the Rose"; in both books the central philosophical issues are concerned with the clash between religious values and cultural ones. Whereas Eco's novel is a relatively straightforward first-person narrative, however, Orhan Pamuk's is told using a multiple narrator technique similar to that used in Faulkner's "As I Lay Dying". Moreover, not all of Pamuk's narrators are characters in the normal sense; there are also chapters narrated by a dead man, a dog, a horse, Satan, a coin and the colour red. (Hence the title).

The novel is set in Istanbul during the January of 1591. The Sultan, Murat III, has commissioned a magnificent book to celebrate the glories of his reign and of his empire and has ordered his miniaturists to illustrate it. He has also ordered that they should make use of artistic devices introduced to the Ottoman Empire by European painters- perspective, chiaroscuro and realistic portraiture. This suggestion, however, is highly controversial for religious reasons. According to the strictest interpretation of Islam, any pictorial representation of the world, especially of living beings, is idolatrous and therefore forbidden; artists should confine themselves to calligraphy and abstract patterns. Over the centuries, however, this stance had been softened. At the period of the story, Muslim artists, at least in Turkey, were permitted to create representational works of art, provided these were illustrations contained within a book, not freestanding works of art. They had to be executed in a highly stylised, non-realistic manner. The Sultan's commission is therefore a highly controversial one

The opening chapter is narrated by the ghost of Elegant Effendi, one of the Sultan's workshop of illustrators, who has been murdered. It is clear that the motive for his murder is connected to the dispute between traditionalist Islamic artists and those more progressive ones who accept the new innovations from the West; Elegant was one of the traditionalists and it seems that his murderer is one of the modernisers. The main suspects are three of his colleagues, normally referred to by their nicknames "Butterfly", "Olive" and "Stork". Another major character is Enishte Effendi, the painter in charge of the Sultan's book project, and another major strand in the plot concerns the romance between Enishte's daughter Shekure, a beautiful young widow, and her cousin "Black". (Presumably another nickname; we never learn his real name).

Although the novel deals with events which took place more than four hundred years ago, it nevertheless has implications for modern Turkish society. Although Turkey-in-Europe, a term which until the Balkan Wars of the early 1910s encompassed large parts of south-eastern Europe, is now confined to Istanbul and a small area to the north and west, the country still aspires to a European identity as well as an Islamic one, something shown by its ambition to join the EU. Although Islam is the religion of most of the population, the Turkish state has been officially secular since the 1920s, and the man who made it so, Kemal Ataturk, is regarded as a national hero. The clash between traditional Islamic values and secular Western ones remains at the heart of Turkish politics to this day, and the clear implication of Pamuk's novel is that his country's split identity is not something new. (It is perhaps significant that Sultan Murat was partly Turkish and partly European, having an Italian mother and a Ukrainian paternal grandmother). The novel itself can be seen as an expression of this dichotomy, having a historical Turkish setting but being written in a modernist European style.

The novel also deals with another dichotomy, that between religion and art. All institutionalised religion functions, to some degree at least, as a means of social control, setting or reinforcing boundaries between the permitted and the forbidden. Art seeks to cross boundaries and to explore forbidden territory, so there is always a potential tension between religious values and artistic ones, a tension which is increased when religion seeks to control not only the subject-matter of art but also the very form of artistic expression itself. The Christian clergy may have condemned certain subjects (particularly erotic ones) as immoral, but unlike Muslim preachers they never sought to stigmatise perspective or portraiture as being in themselves sacrilegious, something which may explain why art in the West was less conservative and constrained by tradition than it was in the Islamic world.

"My Name is Red" may be a story about a murder, but fans of Agatha Christie or Conan Doyle are likely to be disappointed if they approach it in the expectation that it will be a simple "whodunit" with an exotic setting. The three suspect miniaturists are not really characterised as individuals, so the investigations into which of them is in fact the murderer never generate much excitement. (The characters who do come across most strongly as individuals in their own right are the two young lovers Black and Shekure, Enishte and Master Osman, the elderly head of the Sultan's workshop). The novel works on several levels; it is more than just a crime story or a love story. It is also vivid portrayal of Turkish society at a particular point in history and a stimulating novel of ideas. A fascinating read. My one complaint is that the translator could have done more to explain points relating to Turkish and Islamic history, literature, art and thought to a Western audience.

"Contrary to what is commonly believed, all murderers are men of extreme faith rather than unbelievers." (How true in today's world, torn apart by the terrorists!) This truth uttered by Master Osman, one of the main characters of the novel, sets the tone of the plot, that beautifully dissects the minds of the master artists, caught between the urge to create something new and the obligation and fear to toe the religious line. To quote Master Osman again, "genuine artists have an instinctive desire to draw what is forbidden." And the list of what is forbidden in Islamic art is really unending. There should be no perspectives; ("....the art of perspective removes the painting from God's perspective and lowers it to the level of street dog".); no shadows; no human figure occupying centre position in the painting; no painting of portraits; no imitation of Franks (Europeans) and other infidels and so on and so forth ("...using the Frankish techniques so that the observer has the impression not of as painting but of reality, to such a degree that this image has the power to entice men to bow down before it, as with icons in churches.")

But these restrictions are nothing compared to what other strict interpreters of Islam have to impose: art should never go beyond calligraphy and ornamentation. "Painting leads to .....challenging Allah." Pretty confusing? Yes, all the major characters of the novel--most of them master artists of Istanbul in the 1590s--are oscillating along the many extreme views of Islamic art and life.

This confusion comes to a head when the ruling Sultan commissions a book , which must contain paintings that employ techniques and methods of the Franks. Elegant Effendi, master gilder and an important member of the project , undergoes tremendous mental strife. According to him the new book that uses "science of perspective and the method of the Venetians was nothing but the temptation of Satan." He goes on, "There's one final picture. In that picture Enishte (the project head) desecrates everything we believe in ." For his mental confusion he has to pay with the price of his life and the plot of the novel revolves around solving his mysterious murder.

For unraveling the truth behind the crime, the characters analyze Islamic art traditions, techniques and history threadbare. The rich treasure trove of Islamic miniature paintings is showcased in minute details to get a clue of the present crime (this is where the novel drags a bit). A romantic angle runs along this high falutin art trail, and provides periodic relief form the dim world of the miniature artists. Shekure, exquisitely beautiful daughter of Enishte, is leading a miserable life with her two sons as her soldier husband has gone missing in one of the campaigns. Black, her cousin and one time suitor, returns to Istanbul after a gap of twelve years and kindles the old flame. But, like in the world of art, things do not go smooth and the lovers undergo a plethora of bitter experiences before achieving their union, which can best be described as a ''cripple'' one.

`My Name Is Red' holds a mirror to the Islamic mind: how it is colored and controlled by bigotry and how religious faith has an all-pervasive hold over Islamic life. The Western mind, nurtured in an atmosphere of liberalism and flexibility, would do well to comprehend the Islamic view of life in its entirety and stop tinkering with it at the surface level. Only that way peaceful coexistence of the religions of the world may be ensured.

Chinmay Hota
Author of 'Hits and Misses'

Reading the backcover of this book, I thought this was a kind of Turkish The Name of the Rose. And I was wrong. Although the main idea we can get from this novel is that we are going to face a mistery novel what we find is much more. Settled in the late years of the XVIth century in Istambul it talks about a murder linked with the famous school of painting that existed in the capital of the Ottoman Empire. But although there is a mistery to investigate the main idea of this book is the concept of painting among the Ottoman artists. And specially comparing it with the different ways of West European artists who were living the end of the glorious Reinassance.

To make a comparison between a painting and this novel, the late would be like one of those wonderful illustrations that flourished in the Muslim world in this time. The representation of life through paintings is a very interesting subject in the Muslim world. Like in Jew culture the representation of human beings was forbidden and it is also curious that this novel takes place in the ancient Byzancium, where the famous iconoclast movement took place.

So what we find here is really a very interesting analysis of the object of painting. If the representation must follow an ideal, or must be attached to reality. A tree should be painted to represent the idea of a tree, or simply paint the one the painter see?. It is really a very interesting point of view, specially when we compare the philosophy of the Ottoman painters with the one the Western painters at the time had.

But also the way of writing of Pamuk is a great pleasure. His writing is fluent and the way that the novel is constructed reminds me of those subtil miniatures on Muslim books where eevry little detail is beautiful by itself but that only has meaning if you see the whole picture.Because there is a lot of secret symbols hidden, a lot of clues that speak by themselves more than words. It is a book to read slowly and tasting all the words and characters. Because here there are no villains and heroes but people. And this is another success from this writer , to present his characters like simple men and women. People of their own time, true, but also people with the same problems and acttitudes we can have today.

Crimson blood and crimson ink feature equally in this novel of dueling artistic traditions and dual murders, and both eventually merge (literally) at the scene of the crime. Pamuk's novel opens with an account from beyond the grave told by the first victim, Elegant, who has been slain by one of three fellow miniaturists; the mystery is which of his colleagues committed the crime, and Black, a man returned from exile, is engaged to unmask the culprit. By the time of the second murder, far more is at stake than just finding out who the killer is.

"My Name Is Red" is a novel that combines the medieval musings of Eco's "The Name of the Rose" with the whodunit plot of Mahfouz's "Miramar" (likewise a story of a death told from several points of view, including that of the victim). It is also a love story: of Black's formerly unrequited adoration of Sekure, daughter of the master Enishte, who has gathered a team of miniaturists and calligraphers to complete a secret book for the sultan.

This secrecy, rather than the killings, is central to the novel. Although the members of Enishte's team see only the parts of the book for which each is responsible, they all suspect the truth: that they are defying the prohibitions against "Frankish" innovations practiced by the Venetians, who "depict what the eye sees just as the eye sees it." The heresies of the Italian Renaissance are twofold: perspective and portraiture. The newfangled depth-and-shadow techniques depict "a horsefly and a mosque as if they were the same size--with the excuse that the mosque was in the background--thereby mocking the faithful who attend prayers." Likewise, the representation of individuals rather than their ideal forms is equally prohibited; it is an attempt to compete with what Allah has created, "so the observer has the impression not of a painting but of reality, to such a degree that this image has the power to entice men to bow down before it, as with icons in churches."

A particularly harrowing and memorable scene explores the lengths to which the master miniaturists will go to achieve perfection and individuality within the confines of their traditions--even if their dedication results in blindness. Equally memorable is the intricately woven passage depicting the second murder--but if you approach "My Name Is Red" with the expectation of reading detective fiction, you're sure to be disappointed.

I agree with those who complain that it's hard to tell apart the three suspects (Butterfly, Stork, and Olive); as a result, the unveiling of the perpetrator is not all that compelling--but surely that's as it should be. In Pamuk's fictional history, metaphysics trumps murder. Criminals kill for the basest of motives, but sometimes love, art, and faith are worth dying for.

"My Name is Red" is an excellently crafted and informative novel, based on an actual historical event in 16th century Istanbul, in which a murder occurs in a community of miniature painters. (By 'miniature painters' I mean that they paint miniature paintings, not that they are not midgets..) they are painting in a commisioned book to commemorate the 1,000th anniversery of Islam.

The book is also obviously about the role of art in Islamic societies and the various outside influences on that art, then and (more subtly) now. It is not easy for this Westerner to see exactly what Pamuk is saying about modern the world. What is clear is that Pamuk does not just intend to tell a historical tale, but is saying something about the role of art in Islamic culture, something that has some higher or alternative relevance than as just a mere elaboration of a moment long past.

Pamuk was trained as an architect and it shows in the structure and method of story-telling here in ways both good and bad.

The novel has a nice, gripping beginning, information is distributed in a subtle but steady, methodical stream. Pamuk makes an interesting game of establishing narrative form by having several characters (as wel as colors, coins and animals) narrate each single chapter in the first person singular, starting with the murder victim himself. Occasionally the characters are allowed to use the narrative voice to surreally leap across time and turn directly to the reader holding the book in his hand.

But Pamuk's plot slows, and the book digresses in terms of imaginative force. The final result is more impressive for the assiduous craftsmanship, than it as original, engaging, and exciting art. The characters seemed too much like characters in a painting come to life but who are still in only 2 dimensions, and only expressing what could be seen on their faces and speculated upon, beyond the roles they played in the plot and as symbols. They are well-drawn literary icons, but little more. Maybe this was due to the author intending to not assume much about the characters, since the story is based partly on actual people and events; but for example this never stopped Tolstoy from filling in the blanks of his characters' souls, even when writing about Napoleon and Kutuzov and Hadji Murad, nor Shakespeare when writing of Julius Caesar and Richard the Third and so many others. Though I'm guessing that the historical counterparts to Pamuk's characters are not as grand and well-known as the ones I just mentioned, they are nonethless capable of being drawn with a more vivid sense of their internal drama than has been done in this story.

Instead, the story goes on and on about the various miniature painters' attitudes concerning Allah's role in art (among many other things) in a way that seems nothing like art itself and more like a lecture; without progressing or making the reader feel much delight. Marcel Proust does this kind of detailed probing of the artists' aims in 'In Search of Lost Time', but with much more wit and frank psychological sophistication (and the term 'frank' has an irony here, because the digressions in this novel are often explicitly about the 'Frankish' corrupting influence on these artists attributed to the relationshiop of Istanbul to the then-Kingdom of Venice in the story's many digressions, and to Europe in general.) These influences are considered corrupt due to their portrayals in the painting of the human perspective rather than that of the Muslim god Allah, and to the idol-making perceived in European portraiture.

The ending is pretty strong, and the fact that it is based on real events (which I only found out in the historical notes that are after the end of the novel itself) add some significance and verisimilitude to the author's sense of place, characters, and his pedantic digressions in the mouths of the artists.

'My Name is Red' is an excellent achievement, but often a rather boring one. Nabokov is another author who wrote with a lot more charm and wit -- and was supposedly an influence on Pamuk. But I don't know if Nabokov could have written an intesting novel about 16th century artists, either. But as I mentioned above, Tolstoy pulled it off perfectly with his posthumous Hadji Murad (1912), in a much more interesting and focused story about the perpetually tense relationship on the cultural border of where the East meets the West.

Pamuk's 16th Century Turkey is a magical world shot through with consciousness - all physical objects, natural and artificial, are invested with self-awareness, fully aroused, senses piqued and perceptively observant. Here we have "the mind" - the perfectly knowing, self-conscious thoughts - of coins, dogs, horses, painted dervishes, trees, the color Red, Death (personified and unpersonifed), and of an exuberant cast of unforgettable characters, both living and dead, whose insistent voices effortless cross over from the other side in Pamuk's seemingly borderless world of physical and spiritual Being. (Indeed, My Name Is Red begins, like Billy Wilder's Sunset Boulevard, the narrator speaking to us from a watery grave.)

A nickel's worth of dime-store aesthetics: one function of art is to elicit - through the creation of representations, the arrangement of symbols, and the like - sensations that might otherwise be impossible. I can never experience Ottoman Istanbul in its 16th Century context. I will never see with the eyes of a court miniaturist or illuminator of manuscripts or a courtier or a rag- or liver-seller. But Pamuk convincingly recreates these myriads of worlds in all their strangeness with the imagination and skill of an ethnologist who has lived among these lives for decades. Here is a unique world, and Orhan Pamuk the ideal tour guide.

With immense subtlety, literary nuance, and historical and philosophical erudition, Pamuk has written what, at its most fundamental level, is a literary-scholarly mystery that at times is reminiscent of Eco's The Name of the Rose. Someone is murdering the great miniaturists of the Ottoman court. But why kill an official painter or calligrapher, who works largely from royal commission, and who executes his commissions in a highly formalized manner that idealizes the absence of "style"? The world of Pamuk's late 16th Century Istanbul is one in which the pace of change is accelerating and colliding with entrenched forces of jealously preserved tradition. That world is nearly as exotic to contemporary Turks as it will be to us, and Pamuk (and his translator, Erdag Goknar) has a lot of explaining to do, which he manages by carefully assembling a painterly, almost pointillistic narrative, dab by dab, stroke by stroke, giving gradual shape to the story, displaying exemplary patience and timing, advancing or withholding plot and subplot with consummate skill.

My Name Is Red is also a monumental, and monumentally odd, love story, a tangled tale involving Pamuk's hero, "Black," and Shekure, the impossibly beautiful daughter of the Court's "Head Illuminator," as well as a host of other characters. My Name Is Red is, moreover, a formidable, forbidding book, filled with strange names and places and embedded tales from esoteric lands in faraway times, requiring considerable readerly patience and attention. In return for the effrontery of have made such demands, however, the author (and publisher) is bound by honor to provide rich rewards. Happily, Pamuk closes the deal. The familiar materials of the epic novel - love, hate, friendship, rivalry, loyalty and betrayal, political machinations, the clash of great ideas, the grinding together of tectonic movements of time, in which one side or the other must give way - are spectacularly worked in the dazzling, winding, dreamlike context of the Ottoman court.

For me, one long chapter at the heart of the novel captures perfectly the pervasive sense of the numinous that Orhan Pamuk casts in this beautiful novel. Black and the head illuminator receive extraordinary permission to search for clues within the inner sanctum and holiest of holies, the Royal Treasury. Their guide is an aged dwarf who knows the treasure rooms intimately and can locate any item in the antique clutter of countless conquests, royal gifts, and opulent indulgence. Noting the awe and apprehension on the faces of the two investigators - overwhelmed by the opportunity to caress and examine objects of legendary beauty or notoriety from among the piles of paintings, tapestries, jewels and bejeweled weapons, gold plate, rare oversized books - he asks, "Frightened? . . . Everybody is frightened on their first visit. At night the spirits of these objects whisper to each other."

With its whispering spirits, sentient paintings, quirky lovers, and a lost world fully realized and recovered, My Name Is Red is an absorbing, gorgeous gift of a novel from a master artist.

(And let me conclude by singing a paean in praise of the store.com. I would never have discovered this book had I not, having read through several non-fiction works on Turkey, gone to the the store.com web-page of one and seen "Customers who bought titles like this one also bought . . ." My Name is Red. "An intriguing title," I thought. A bookworm seldom needs more. So my most hearty thanks, the store.com, Jeff Bezos and company, for having made such discoveries possible. Yes, yes, we all see the commercial motive, but - to stretch a point - the European Renaissance came out of commercial motives as well. We're all grownups here.)

If for nothing else, this book deserves my highest rating
just for the wonderful and tormenting description
of death, spoken from the first perspective by one
of the victims.
Now back to the book.
Another great book by Orhan Pamuk!
If you have read all of his books so far,
you will find this book somehow different in style.
The most noticably, as previously mentioned, is the
angle of narration.
The story is told by all participants that have to do
something with the story - be they humans, animals, objects
like coins or materials like paint.
At first, it is hard to grasp the angles, and to catch up
with the development of the story.
Characters in this book are larger then life in their envy,
passion, talent, greed, and other natural gifts.
Yes, there is a murder mistery, but I am not really sure that it is the point in any way, except to amplify redness of the passions involved. Murder here comes more as a driver that keeps all the characters tunneled.
I almost feel like Pamuk threw the murder in the story to get more interests from the "historical mistery" audience.
Let me be honest with you - this is not
a "Da Vinci Code". This is a difficult, complex
master piece of the modern European and Turkish literature
that does not compromise with too many "historical"
elements. History here is invested rather then
described.
The book is actually a page turner, but with delayed ignition.
This is now it worked for me:
It took me several weeks to go through the first half of the book,
and then it took me 2 days to finish the second half of the book.
For the ones familiar with Orhan Pamuk's works - you will not
be disappointed. At first, it feels a bit different then his previous novels,
but soon you get his common themes intervoven (such as Turkey between East and West)
in the story.

The year is 1591. Sultan Murat III rules an empire that stretches from the Danube to the Nile, from the Barbary Coast of Algeria to the headwaters of the Tigris and Euphrates. As a patron of the arts, the Sultan commissions an illuminated manuscript that comes close to violating the Koran's ban on the depiction of living creatures.
At the Last Judgment, those who have depicted men and animals will be required by Allah to bring them to life. As they cannot but fail to usurp this function of the Creator, they are cast into hell for their mimicry of His divine powers.
The tight world of those few artists who are executing the Sultan's commission glance fearfully over their shoulders as a fundamentalist cleric, the Nusret Hoja of Erzurum, mounts an increasingly violent campaign against the "blasphemers" and "heretics." When the body of Elegant Effendi, the well-known gilder of manuscripts is found dead in a well, the artists decide to take action.
It is the second death, that of Enishte Effendi, that finally results in action. The miniaturist (as these artists are referred to throughout the book) known as Black is enlisted by Enishte's daughter Shekure to find the killer. Black had loved Shekure for many years unrequited, but with Enishte gone, Shekure promises to marry him if he succeeds.
In his novel THE BLACK BOOK, the author writes: "... the only way to be one's self is by becoming another or by losing one's way in another's tales." Orhan Pamuk in this novel tells his story through the mouths of twenty narrators, ranging from the main characters to the corpse of Elegant Effendi, the color red, a dog, a horse, Satan, Death, a tree, an unnamed woman, and so on. Where this technique could be expected to fragment the tale so that it becomes difficult to follow, here it succeeds brilliantly. The story passes from one narrator to the other almost seamlessly, and the trail is never lost.
One result of this technique is an incredible feeling of density and richness. Sixteenth century Istanbul is depicted here from its beggars to its coffee shops and wandering clothing merchants. From the Sultan's palace to an eerie abandoned dervish lodge, we see the gamut of Turkish society at the height of its power -- and at a point where it was beginning to be influenced by its old enemy, Christendom.
In the afterlife, Enishte hazards to ask Allah a question:
"Over the last twenty years of my life, I've been influenced by the infidel illustrations that I saw in Venice. There was even a time when I wanted my own portrait painted in that method and style, but I was afraid. Instead, I later had Your World, Your Subjects and Our Sultan, Your Shadow on Earth, depicted in the manner of the infidel Franks."
Enishte does not recall the deity's voice, but the answer comes through loud and clear:
"East and West belong to me."
He hazards one more question, about the meaning of it all. This time, the one word answer sounds like "mystery" or "mercy" -- he is not sure which.
This is a great novel that deserves to be read by anyone who seeks by understanding to bridge the widening rift between our civilizations.

This story takes place at the end of Sixteenth Century when the competiton between the Ottoman Empire and Western Europe was reaching its climax. Soon, the Ottoman State would begin its steady and long winded decline. In "My Name is Red", Orhan Pamuk examines this contest of civilizations through the prism of painting. This struggle pits the conversative East with its stress on tradition against the more dynamic West with its emphasis on perspective and individual style.

It is very difficult to place "My Name is Red" within the borders of any one genre. The novel is one part murder mystery and another part love story. However, if there is any one characteristic that dominates this novel, it is the literary brilliance of the Nobel Prize winner, Orhan Pamuk. He is one of the world's great novelists and his talent elevates a historical mystery novel to another level. "My Names is Red" is a complex novel that requires a high level of commitment from a reader. Reading this novel takes special effort but in the end this extra effort is well rewarded. Highly recommended.

Make no mistake, this is not the easiest or quickest book you will read this year - but the payoff is well worth it. This is one of the most intricate stories I have ever read, but the author, Orhan Pamuk, handles the intricacy with such aplomb that you won't be able to put the book down.

What I loved most about this book was the way that Pamuk is able to weave the disparate voices of the people telling the story together in a way that enhances and shades the tale, instead of just moving the plot along. Hearing the events of the story interpreted by so many different voices (all of them deftly and impressively crafted) gives a panoramic view of the story and of the time and place the story is set in. I found the chapters written by inanimate objects to be both charming and instructive - if you've ever wondered what it's like to be a "fly on the wall," take a look at a painting or vase sometime and think about what that object may have seen in it's lifespan. That's what Pamuk tries to impart. The characters are carefully crafted, and instead of painting one person as the good guy or the bad guy from the beginning, Pamuk takes time to let the characters develop almost organically. You realize, as you read on, that you don't know certain characters as well as you thought you did, and many parts of the book come as a surprise - not just the big "reveal" at the end.

The book is rich with textural detail but the overall feel is stark - this was an interesting time to be alive in that part of the world, and Pamuk deals with the cultural issues deftly. It made me wish I could visit some of the old Ottoman empire and look at the architecture and artwork myself, but unfortunately current world politics make that a dicey proposition. The book does move a little slowly at times, and sometimes you wonder if the pages-long narratives about art or history have a point - they do. I reread this book after I finished it and realized that there are many details that I overlooked in the first reading that mean a lot to the story.

Overall, this book is an absorbing, engaging read. It both tells and interesting story and captures the feeling of what it must have been like to live that life at that time in that place, which I think is what most great books do. I am looking forward to reading other books by Pamuk.

Winter 1590: in Istanbul a violent murder has been perpetrated. It is the same victim, a miniaturist, who tells the story of his death, describing as well his deep sorrow for the loss of the pleasures of life and his puzzlement for his curious new state of unrest.
But this is not a police story.
In the following chapters a gold coin, a dog, two dervishes, a tree will tell new stories... new murders will happen ... until the violent end of the killer that "restore" the equilibrium.
If not a police story, what kind of novel is this?
Well, it has been likened to Eco's "Name of The Rose" and the writer has been likened to Borges for his visionary and metaphysical imagination, but I believe there's much more: a kind of melancholy for the passing of time and its irreparable loss, the fascination for books and painting, the clashing of two different worlds (not only the East and the west, but also inside the Islamic faith), and far above, below and inside, the sense of life, flowing of life, of passion, love and delicate all-pervasive compassion and humanity, painted with such a craftsmanship to leave you open-mouthed.
So, if I must liken this book to something, it his the famous painting "The Tempest" of Giorgione who first come to mind. Not the description in itself his important here, but the whole portrait, the "sense of life" that delicately comes out from the many layers of painting.
On a purely literary level, I was amazed at the ability of the writer in mastering story and style: there are parts in which the expert reader can identify a portrait in the style of Dostoevskij... but loo... only for few pages ... only a hint of colour, because the writer is now changing again and using irony, and he seems to softly challenge you.
This is one of those rare books (rare indeed) in which you deeply regret, the more you proceed in reading, that inevitably the novel will reach an end.
I'm a passionate reader. If you have suggestion for further readings, you don't agree with what I write, or just want to say hallo... feel free to write.

There are already too many excellent reviews here, so I won't try to repeat what's already written. My impression upon reading "My Name Is Red" is that of being drawn through a bazaar by the author, who has me by the arm, at times supporting me and at other times pulling me off balance. In the beginning, the book reads as if you are on the edge of a vortex; as you travel through the novel, you will recognize that you've come full circle and are back where you began, except that with each iteration you've learned a little more, and better understand, what's happening around you. Each orbit comes more quickly, culminating in a swirling vortex of resolution at the very end of the novel. I am very pleased with the writing of this novel and I thank the author for the education I've brought away from it. Novels that enrich your life and expand your awareness are rare: "My Name Is Red" is one such book. If you're a fan of early Eco and Rushdie you'll be quite comfortable here, in that you know going in that this is not going to be an "easy" read; you are going to have to think, make connections for yourself, and be patient while the author teases out the subtleties of the story. Many will begin this literary journey, and as you can see from the scattered "one-star" reviews some will not finish. If you love a great plot, excellent characters, rich settings, a taunting mystery, and if you love to learn... this book is for you.

Orhan Pamuk was born in Istanbul in 1952 and grew up in a large family. As Orhan Pamuk writes in his autobiographical book Istanbul, from his childhood until the age of 22 he devoted himself largely to painting and dreamed of becoming an artist. After graduating from the secular American Robert College in Istanbul, Orhan Pamuk studied architecture at Istanbul Technical University for three years, but abandoned the course when he gave up his ambition to become an architect and artist. Thankfully for his many readers he decided that his first love was writing and now has several excellent books to his name.

It is the late 1590's the great city of Istanbul, where east meets west is a thriving multi cultural metropolis, the gateway to Asia and all the delights unknown to the people of the west. The Sultan secretly commissions a great book, a book that is to be a celebration of his own life and his mighty empire. He wishes the book to be illuminated by the best artists of the day, but in the European manner. But when one of the artists goes missing and it is feared that he may well have been murdered, their master seeks help in solving the mystery.

This book is essentially a murder mystery, but by its very existence it gives the reader a powerful insight into one of the oldest and certainly one of the most beautiful cites in the world. A place that on one hand can compete with other modern cities in both its architecture and culture and on the other hand stays dreamily unchanged through the centuries. The book also raises the tensions between east and west that have simmered over time.

I lost myself in the beautiful description of Medieval book illuminations...Which is somehow appropriate in a book about the obsessions of a group of book illustrators. Yes, there is a love story and a murder - or two...but the things that stay with you are the pictures that speak and the world that completely revolves around art and books...

I like the technique of many first persons introducing and revealing themselves and giving their perspective on the others. The highlights are the human narratives, and not those by red, the dog, coins etc. Pamuk kept my interest on "who dun it" such that the deeper I got into it, the more I became impatient with the fables and the harkenings back to the Masters of Herat, etc. I expect that many westerners lost patience with the fables long before I did and did not finish the book.

One reviewer says that the female characters are one dimensional. I disagree. Shekure is well aware of her options, and knows that she is not free to pursue them on her own. Her power is in her beauty, (but I'm not sure how this is well known, since presumably she is covered in public) which she uses to motivate Black to help her. She lays out the plan for him, and knows when and how to leave. Esther, being Jewish, has more freedom of movement. She can deliver messages to men, walk freely at night, knock on doors, etc. She is strong and savvy about people and what they will and will not do. There are only two female characters, which would be appropriate since women in this period were not "players", but both are strong.

Most of the Sultan's miniaturist artists revere paintings and styles that they have never seen. If they've seen them, the looks are merely glimpses that loom in their minds as sacred and ultraworldly. They spend their lives trying to equal them, and feel honored to be blinded in the process. They also accept as an act of love what were described as quite severe beatings, believing them a necessary component of their training. (This reminded me of some 8th graders I taught in Egypt in 1996/7 who said that the American teachers should beat them like the Egyptian teachers did, because they were bad and could not learn otherwise.)

There is a larger cultural portrait here, that affects this region 400 years later. These artists have an understanding that their way of painting is fated. While they have a chance through the Sultan and Enishte Effende to embrace new ways they do not see an opportunity and in response condemn the "Frankish" ways. Some dialog betrays deeper feelings that they will never measure up and that the Venetians will laugh at them. They do not see change as liberating them from the constraints that impede the natural tendancy towards a personal style (that must be beaten out of them), but as a threat to a hallowed past and all they have sacrificed to preserve it. In their defence, how could they embrace this freedom? They have never had it in their artistic nor their personal lives.

What a fascinating book. A discertation on the impact of western ideas upon traditional islamic values wrapped up in a murder mystery.
At its simplest "My name is Red" is a murder mystery set in Istanbul at the end of the the sixteenth century. A clerk named "Black" who has recently returned from a exile of over a decade is asked by his old master to investigate the murder of a gilder who was in the masters employ. A murder which may have arisen as a result of the illustrations that were being prepared for the Sultan to present as a gift to the Venetians.
On a deeper philosophical level, "My name is Red" is an investigation of the impact on Islamic throughts and traditions of the Western "Frankish" society, with specific emphasis on the art of the illustrator/minaturist. A style of art in which the standard of perfection has been established, where varying from that style, where the addition of your own touch, your own signature on an image established centuries before by a master is tantamount to heresy.

From the very first page, this novel is captivating, different and, just my humble opinion, a literature milestone. I felt like really being in the streets of Istambul, inside the houses and even in the workrooms of the miniaturists of 5 centuries ago. Every character is so intense that I felt like really having a conversation with each of them and at every page of the book.

Three unique points why I loved reading this book:

1. A history and philosophy lesson. Pamuk uses a real moment in history, when by the end of the XVI century, the miniaturists, painters who pictured the books writings during the Ottoman empire, faced the dilemma of individualism, that was against their beliefs and always hidden in their art. Mistery that makes you walk the novel is around two situations that are closely connected: First situation is that one of the most important miniaturists dissapears, and the need to discover the murderer becomes key. Second situation is built around Shekure, daughter of another master miniaturist, mother of two, and wife of a warrior long gone to war from whom nobody has heard any news in years.

2. I felt like inside the novel. The book is highly experimental. Every chapter is written in first person by a different character, 12 in total, plus a dog, a gold coin, a tree and the red color. Every chapter is a complete and unique circle with characters giving you signals on what's next. Characters talk to you at two levels, the first has to do with discovering the murderer. The second level has to do with life, and beliefs, and love of art even if it takes you to death.

3. Enjoyment. As the book beautifully describes in detail the work of miniaturists and their paintings, I felt like I was watching a painting.

Orhan Pamuk makes a beautiful novel out of a very complicated history. One of the best readings I've ever had.

An extremely interesting, illuminating and erudite account of Ottoman days and how they were lived by miniaturists. Pamuk masterfully intertwins the tales of lovers, miniaturists, Ottoman bureaucracies, a murderer, even as inanimate as a coin, the color red, a tree, a horse and death as true characters. The story rolls on as a first-person narrative consisiting of the monologues of these and many other characters, unravelling the psyche of each individuals. This way the writer makes the reader read the intimate thoughts of the characters. Its also a thriller where it unlocks the secret of the death of two gifted artists. Pamuk surely had done years of hardwork on miniaturists and their ways of the art and put all of it into this book. An absolutely sumptuous reading from a Nobel Laureate master writer.

A murder mystery infused with a scandalous love story set in 16th century Istanbul; the only clues lie in the paintings and professed "style", or lack there-of, of the murderer. The cover teaser hints at a good read and was enough in itself to justify my purchasing it. Sadly, It never fulfilled my expectations. We're introduced to characters in their current state and learn little more. Dialogue frequently veered off into tangents in which frankly, their significance was lost on me. The plot is weak, and the prose drags on like a 16th century beet farmer with his plow.

Mr. Pamuk is two stars down, these faults in mind. But I, the couch surfing literary critic found many redeeming qualities to our Nobel Laureate. I certainly FELT as if I were roaming the streets of 16th century Istanbul which is a challenging feeling to bestow upon 20th century readers by a 20th century writer. Interactions between characters felt genuine to the time period, which is odd because I honestly haven't a clue how modern Turks interact any more that 16th century ones do. Color is integral to plot, and Mr Pamuk writes vibrantly in this regard; painting pictures with words.

That said, for those interested in period Islamic art and its cultural standing, this book will entertain. I, somewhat anecdotally, found little use for it.

Arguably the best novel of Orhan Pamuk. Set in Istanbul during the height of Ottoman power, this novel is a tribute to the art of painting as well as a fascinating murder mystery (literary not trash) which will keep you hooked till the end. The unusual narrative is felt with full force right from the start - as you read the first chapter, starting with the voice of a corpse at the bottom of the well wondering who was the wretched man that killed him. Then ensues a beautiful exploration of the 16th century Istanbul's art scene, its many rivalries, and in between breaths a heartfelt love story that keeps the main protagonist on his heels, as he finds his way through the internecine politics at home and at court. This story is a fascinating example of the possibilities of modern global novel. Must read.

My Name is Red delves even further into the influence of the West during the 16th-century Ottoman Empire, discussing at length the influence of western portrait art as a symbol of the growth of individualism, and its conflict with Ottoman illumination style which supposedly negated individual style. I say supposedly, because even those artists and characters in the book that seek to keep out western artistic influences, can upon close examination find out which artists illuminated each manuscript, that even though the artistic conventions of the period frowned upon individualism, there was no way to completely snuff it out, even among those most devoutly adhering to traditional artistic practices. But at the same time, My Name is Red is an in depth history of Islamic illumination and manuscript art, from the days of the glory of Baghdad through Safavid Iran to Herat and Afghanistan to Mogul India and Ottoman Istanbul. What he shows is a complex and growing artistic tradition that was far from static, as perceived by many in the West, but indeed ever evolving, much as art was evolving in the Europe. Ottoman Turkey was far from being `backward' as many in the West believed then and now, but on its own path toward modernity.