The New Life
Remarkable
Complex
Erratic

The New Life

Orhan Pamuk1998
A parable about love, literature and fanaticism. A young university student becomes obsessed with a magical book that delves into the dangerous natures of love and self. Abandoning his studies and his family, he goes with the beautiful Janan on a search for the meaning of the book's darker secrets.
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Reviews

Photo of Aske Dørge
Aske Dørge@aske
5 stars
May 31, 2021

Mevlut the story’s protagonist reads a book that end up having profound consequences for the rest of his life. Somewhere between dreams and madness he goes on a quest to find the meaning of the book, to win the girl of his dreams, and to make sense of the world. The traditional Turkey is fading away around him, in a malstrom of westernization, paranoia, love, madness, repetitions, endless melancholy, and so many fine little details, it feels like you’re watching static on the TV that leaves behind the impressions of a tormented soul. If you’re prone to melancholic thoughts, this book will eat you up. Highly recommended.

+4
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Moonchild@thecyberm0onchild
2 stars
May 31, 2024
Photo of Daniel Voicu
Daniel Voicu@danielvoicu
3 stars
Apr 2, 2024
Photo of Magdalena Schreiber
Magdalena Schreiber@magxda
4 stars
May 16, 2023
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Hellboy TCR@hellboytcr009
3 stars
Oct 18, 2022
Photo of Oguzhan Cakmak
Oguzhan Cakmak@omc345
3 stars
Oct 4, 2022
Photo of Deniz Erkaradağ
Deniz Erkaradağ@denizerkaradag
5 stars
May 21, 2022
Photo of Savas Yazici
Savas Yazici@savas
1 star
Feb 28, 2022
Photo of Natalie Stenson
Natalie Stenson@natalies
2 stars
Jan 13, 2022
Photo of Gwen Chodur
Gwen Chodur@gwenchodur
5 stars
Dec 23, 2021
Photo of Moon Child
Moon Child@them0onchild
2 stars
Oct 25, 2021

Highlights

Photo of Aske Dørge
Aske Dørge@aske

Back where I left the unfortunate bus on the spot where it had rammed with all its might into a cement truck, a cloud of cement dust hung like a miraculous umbrella over the dying. A Hapless passengers who were still alive and others who would not stay alive much longer were coming out the rear exit, cautiously as if stepping on the surface of a strange planet. Mom, Mom, you're still in there, butI got out. Mom, Mom, blood is filling my pockets like coins. I wished to communicate with them, with the avuncular man crawling along the ground, his hat on his head, a plastic bag in his hand; the fastidious soldier who was bent over carefully examining the rip in his trousers; the old lady who had abandoned herself to jubilant chatter now that she had been granted the chance to address God directly. I wished to impart the significance of this unique and impeccable time to the virulent insurance agent who was counting the stars, to the dumbfounded daughter of the mother who was pleading with the dead driver, to the men with mustaches who were strangers to each other yet holding hands and dancing for the joy of being alive, swaying gently like people who have fallen in love at first sight. I wished I could tell them that this unique moment was a felicity granted all too rarely to God's creatures like us, saying that you, O Angel, would appear only once in a lifetime in this wondrous time beneath the miraculous umbrella of cement dust, and ask them why it was that now we were all so very happy. You, mother and son clutching each other hard like a pair of dauntless lovers and freely weeping for the first time in your lives, you, the sweet woman who has discovered that blood is redder than lipstick and death kinder than life, you, the spared child standing over your dead father clutching your doll and watching the stars, I ask you: Who was it that oranted us this fulfillment. this contentment. this happiness? The voice inside me gave one word as an answer: Departure ... departure ... But I had already understood I was not yet to die.

Orhan has a way of describing scenes in this slow, magically poetic way: time freezes as he guides the readers inner eye around his little dioramas.

This book appears on the shelf Romance

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