A challenging novel (in the best sense) set in the world of palace artists in 16th c. Istanbul. Pamuk presents multiple perspectives on the purpose & meaning of art, the tension between tradition & individuality, heresy, cross-cultural exchange, and the transition from a medieval to a modern mindset. Fiction as art.

“Nothing is pure,” said Enishte Effendi. “In the realm of book arts, whenever a masterpiece is made, whenever a splendid picture makes my eyes water out of pure joy and causes a chill to run down my spine, I can be certain of the following: Two styles heretofore never brought together have come together to create something new and wondrous. We owe Bihzad and the splendor of Persian painting to the meeting of an Arabic illustrating sensibility and Mongol-Chinese painting. Shah Tahmasp’s best paintings marry Persian style with Turkmen subtleties. Today, if men cannot adequately praise the book-arts workshops of Akbar Khan in Hindustan, it’s because he urged his miniaturists to adopt the styles of the Frankish masters. To God belongs the East and the West. May he protect us from the will of the pure and unadulterated.”

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A triumph of hype over substance, I thought. I'm not sure whether this is because of Pamuk himself, or whether the astonishingly stiff and formal style of the narrative can be attributed to the translator, but I was very much underwhelmed by this. The aspects of the novel which covered the differences between Western Christian and Islamic perceptions of art and aesthetics were certainly interesting; there were also some moments of true inventiveness and creativity, such as the chapters which wer...more A triumph of hype over substance, I thought. I'm not sure whether this is because of Pamuk himself, or whether the astonishingly stiff and formal style of the narrative can be attributed to the translator, but I was very much underwhelmed by this. The aspects of the novel which covered the differences between Western Christian and Islamic perceptions of art and aesthetics were certainly interesting; there were also some moments of true inventiveness and creativity, such as the chapters which were narrated from the point of view of a sketch of a dog, or the colour red. For the most part, though, I found the characters unengaging, flat and irritating, with Pamuk liking to show off, almost, through them. It's a very uneven mix of dialogue, plot, history and theology, and while not a bad novel, per se, I really don't think I'll ever be coming back to it. ( )

Each chapter of this book is narrated by one of the characters. The book started slowly but by the time I has half way through I must have become used to the way Pamuk told the story and was interested enough in the characters and story that I wanted to know who committed the murder and what would happen to the characters. By the time I approached the end of the book I couldn't put it down. ( )

Unusual, ( )

I found this book to be too much into deception and lies to be worth my time. It wasn't like reading a good murder mystery, more like reading an autobiography of an ENRON executive.
Didn't bother to finish it. ( )