A Conversation with Orhan Pamuk


>

>

>

The other night, Orhan Pamuk was in Houston, reading at Zilkha Hall, and I was asked by Inprint, the premiere arts organization of the city, to interview him onstage. A fascinating man, Pamuk had many unusual and thought-provoking things to say about writing. Below, I've paraphrased three of his answers.
>

 
>

I started by remarking on the fact that his novels--Snow, My Name is Red, Black Book, Museum of Innocence--are each very different. I asked if this is intentional, if he believes that it is important for a writer to do something new each time.  Pamuk responded that yes, he believes this to be extremely important for a writer's growth, and also it enriches the reader's experience. Otherwise the reader's experience becomes formulaic--and this is what we see in commercial fiction. Pamuk doesn't want his readers to "know" ahead of time how to read his books. He wants them to "discover" it anew each time.
>

 
>

In his Norton lectures, delivered at Harvard some time back, Pamuk spoke of the novel having a "secret center" that the readers must search for via clues in the narrative. When I asked him to explain, he said that a good book deepens and changes as it goes along and becomes, in some way, about something more than what we thought it to be at first. For example, Moby Dick might seem to be a social novel about whale hunters; but after a while, a reader realizes that it is more--it is a psychological novel about a particular, deeply obsessed character. Still later, he realizes that it is a cosmic novel--about humanity and our relationship with Nature and perhaps God.

>

 
>

I asked him about the part Istanbul plays in his works--it is central to each of his novels, though it may be portrayed as a contemporary, historical, or magical city, depending on the text. Pamuk replied that the city is important to him because he grew up in it and it is part of him. He writes of it as an insider, and therefore to him it is a city filled with memory, association & the attendant emotions. (He pointed out that one can also write effectively about a city as an outsider, in which case one focuses on the things that are different--& thus strange or exotic--from one's home.) He also pointed out that there are two kinds of writers, primarily visual and primarily verbal. (He classifies himself as the first). The books of the former -think Proust & Tolstoy--are filled with details and colors and gestures the reader remembers vividly. The books of the latter--Pamuk places Dostoevsky in this group--are filled with ideas, tone and emotions that remain with us.
>

 
>

Pamuk had many other valuable things to say, of interest to not only writers but readers as well. Let me know if you would like  another entry on this subject.

>

Beginning All Over Again

The new semester started this week at the University of Houston, where I teach, and yesterday I met my first class, a Master Fiction Workshop. Often, the Master Workshop is the final class that our graduate students take before they do their thesis/dissertation defense, and by this point most of them are mature writers with a draft of their novel or short story collection. This year all the students have novels, so we will also be reading, side by side, published novels that I have assigned them based on their interests and their projects. We will start with Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby and Hesse's Siddhartha, novels that I love for different reasons, and analyze the way in which the writers have structured chapters. Along with the students, I know I will learn a great deal from this re-examination.

I feel very fortunate to be teaching. Teaching certainly has its challenges, but there is such a sense of renewal to it. Each semester I begin all over again. Each semester I have the opportunity to touch the lives of young writers and learn from them. At the end of the semester, there is a sense of closure as I turn in grades and the students go on to the next stage of their lives. It is a unique relationship. I am very fond of my students. We have (I think!) a lot of fun together as we learn. We are in a great enterprise together, the creation of art, and through it, the examination of humanity and this amazing universe we live in. Yet at the end of the semester I can let them go without a pang--because that's the way it's supposed to be. (But often I'm surprised and delighted by students who come back--maybe years later-- to let me know of their achievements).

I wish I could achieve this equanimity in other areas of my life!

P.S. I'm very interested in how people feel about their jobs, the challenges and satisfactions. Please do write your thoughts about what you do.