No More Snow; What a Relief

I recently finished reading Snow, by Orhan Pamuk. Pamuk's an accomplished Turkish author, and Snow is one of several novels of his. Pamuk won the Nobel Prize in Literature for Snow in 2006; there must've been a weak field that year because Snow is incredibly disappointing. And unfortunately I don't think one can blame this on translation.

I really wanted to enjoy Snow. I had been looking forward to reading it for a while - it was a gift from my Dad a couple years back and it had been gathering dust on my shelf for far too long before I finally took it up. Because it was a personal gift, because it had the gold Nobel Prize sticker on the front, I had high expectations. But Pamuk's novel moves at a glacial pace, features an unconvincing central relationship, and has few bright spots to recommend it. The quality of the writing itself is very high; there are a few wonderful passages in there. But as a novel it falls far short of being enjoyable.

Snow is about a Turkish poet named Ka, who hails from the small city of Kars. He has spent the last few years living in exile in Germany but there was been a wave of suicides among teenaged girls in Kars. Forbidden to wear the head scarf according to Islamic tradition by the secular Turkish government, several of these fundamentalist religious girls have killed themselves. Ostensibly Ka returns to Kars in the guise of a reporter for a German paper to uncover the truth about these suicides, but he is also drawn to the city by the news that his previous love Ipek has left her husband.

There's a lot that's intriguing about the idea of Snow: the rash of suicides; the struggle between religion and secularism; violence as revolution sparks in Kars; a burgeoning relationship between two childhood friends. But it never becomes compelling. Finishing this novel was an absolute chore for me. It took me a long time to get into it (which I never really did) and took me a while to finally finish it. Very disappointing.

So don't read Snow. (Sorry, Laura!) I can't help but think that Pamuk's other work might be decent - he certainly has skill as a writer - but I don't think I can bring myself to try it anytime soon.

In addition, I recently discovered that my Mom couldn't finish Snow and panned it. And she's not usually so critical of novels, so...there it is.

Sorry Dad - it's the thought that counts!