Museum of Innocence

Orhan Pamuk

So, I wrote a bit about this one before. Then I thought it’d be a good book for a bath, and on that count I was right.

As a whole though, I’m not really sure what to think of it. It’s well-written and the story is interesting, but still, towards the end I was getting a bit ‘meh’.

It may be I just require a re-read.

I couldn’t make myself to particularly like Füsun, but then, I’m not entirely sure I was meant to like her. Kemal fell in love with her even when she wasn’t the kind of girl he should have focused on in the first place, and the further the story progressed it came clear that this unsuitability was pervasive of her as a character. I’m not saying Sibel was the right one either, but I know for sure Füsun wasn’t really it.

Perhaps it is indeed this description of the madness that is love that has won the book its acclaim.

The name is also very apt. I took it first in a totally wrong sense, but the further I reflect upon it, the clearer I see the innocence that was truly in question.

Yet, despite seeing the genius within the book I can’t but think it would have benefited from some more editing. I do understand that the despair of love is one of the carrying themes of the book, but at some point you just want to grab Kemal by the lapels and shake him and yell: “Just get over it you moron, eight years mooning over a girl that’s not really that into you is just dumb!”

There are points throughout the story that let you forget the incessant obsession (or even kinda sympathize with his tortured, misunderstood soul!), but then he goes and steals something and there goes the crazy train again.

I really don’t know what else to say of it.

I sort of liked it, because of the meta story and the little gems of wisdom scattered throughout the story. Some of them are so universal and true just about anyone can agree with them.

Then again I sort of didn’t like it, and there were points that were a chore to meander through. And as I said, there’s the point where pining over long lost love just becomes pathetic (and that’s just painful to follow, in writing and in real life).

Let’s just leave it at that.

 

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