Gülsoy’s latest is a novel of delirium, a novel about possibilities and invisible yet indelible moments, in which the boundaries of the individual melt away in slumber and dreams. The novel’s protagonist is an obsessive writer who lives with his dog Kıtmir. He still hasn’t gotten over his old flame, Asena. And then the police come along and question him about Asena: her brother’s in trouble and Asena’s gone missing. This chain of events only serves to bury our protagonist further into the past, and to remind him of another past love, Zuhal. And then, one day while out walking Kıtmir, he meets Merve and her dog Robin. Soon walking their dogs together becomes part of their daily routine. At this point, he begins to struggle with his ability to perceive reality—because nothing is certain, everything is possible. Or, it’s all imaginary. After all, ‘any moment left to its own devices is doomed to remain incomplete.’

In trademark Gülsoy fashion, The Father, the Son, and the Holy Novel is a multilayered text, a work in the making, a novel that, virtually, writes itself.

Murat Gülsoy is known for his explorations of narrative techniques, and his outstanding novel A Week of Kindness in Istanbul is no exception. In the seven chapters of the novel, seven pictures taken from Max Ernst’s collage novel Une Semaine de Bonte (A Week of Kindness) are delivered to seven people, on the seven days of the week, by a fictive author who asks them to look at the pictures and write whatever comes to mind. Through their reading and interpretation of the collages, Murat Gülsoy’s seven Istanbulite protagonists reveal their inner selves, opening up seven different windows for the reader into today’s Istanbul. The black and white surrealist pictures come to life in the lives and imaginations of these characters, who are each linked to the fictive author in some way, and who each write in their own unique literary style.

A Pale Moment

“Deciding to do what everyone else does—is that really deciding?”

Taner lives his life according the mandate that the safest thing to do, is what everyone else does. Though he occasionally dreams of going against the grain, at the end of the day, Taner follows in the footsteps of the crowd. Hence his marriage to Yasemin, and their child together. But when it comes to the next step, a typical affair on the threshold of a mid-life crisis, Taner finds himself drawn to the impossible. He begins to experience a growing obsession with his wife’s friend Esra—for all the obvious reasons:

“How typical, how common everything was. No matter which way you shook it, it was exactly like millions of others. And now he’d reached that age; in fact, you might even say he was lagging behind. It was inevitable that some woman would come along and remind him of something he’d forgotten, or perhaps never known. He saw Esra more than he saw any other woman, except for Yasemin, of course. He was bound to get infatuated with some woman or another, and if hadn’t been Esra, it would have been one of the young women at work. But wasn’t it obvious why he preferred Esra? Because she was safe. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t possibly take things further; she was his wife’s best friend. Even if he did lose his wits and insinuate something or other, or even dare to scream it at the top of his lungs, Esra wouldn’t want to go there. If he’d gotten hung up on some gal at work though, he could have found a way, one way or another.”

Taner’s apathy often disguises a storm—always brewing, never raging. When he does lash out, it is at himself. And though he occasionally breaks his silence, for the most part, his is an internal, conflicted monologue. Shaped by a past he cannot shed, no matter how many times he tries to shrug it off, Taner plods forward, weighed down by his history, and dragged along by a pathetic figment of romance. Unsure of what he feels, he withers away, his life consumed by one big pale moment…

 “There’s a connection between action and pain. You take a step, and you’re pricked by a thorn; that’s pain. But what hurts when you’re standing still isn’t pain; if anything, it’s decay.”

Ahmet Büke was born in Gördes, Manisa in 1970. His debut collection Đzmir Postasının Adamları (The Men of the Izmir Post; 2004) was followed by the collections Çiğdem Külahı (A Cone of Sunflower Seeds; 2006), Alnı Mavide (Brows in the Blue; 2008), for which the author was awarded the Oğuz Atay Short Story Prize, Kumrunun Gördüğü (What the Pigeon Saw, 2010), for which Büke received the prestigious Sait Faik Short Story Award, and most recently Ekmek ve Zeytin (Bread and Olives, 2011). His short story 'Time Decay' has been published in English translation in Transcript Review. For the complete translation: http://www.transcript-review.org/en/issue/transcript-32-new-prose-fiction-from-turkey/ahmet-buke

The film adaptation of Our Grand Despair was a huge critical success, winning the People’s Choice Award and Special Prize at the Istanbul International Film Festival, and receiving a Golden Berlin Bear nomination in 2011.

Please see the link for details: http://www.ourgranddespair.com/kategori/26/trailer

Bıçakçı’s new novel The Mosquito Bite Scribe is out now!