Orhan Pamuk seemed to have used every major ingredient from Turky’s recent and past history in his novel “Snow“. His protagonist, Ka, on a journey back from Germany where he self-exiled for years, is traveling through a snow storm to a small town called Kars. Yet this classic telling of self discovery turns into one of loss. A poet looking for his life’s great love, inspiration to his unbridled passion for writing poems and greater meaning for his life, Ka ends up getting it all and then promptly losing it. If it wasn’t for the thread that starts his journey, his writing about a series of suicides by young women in the town of Kars, which ultimately unravels his hope for personal happiness.
Pamuk bares his protagonist’s soul, while leaving his personality entangled. Ka’s outer layers dissolve under the pen of both its story tellers. Pamuk’s clever ploy works well. He creates a duality comprised of a friend who traces Ka’s adventure in Kars. It is a writer named ‘Pamuk’. Then we have the author himself of course. This dual narrative is oddly musical. Both narrative voices hum the same tune, while using two different but complimentary voices. One one a minor while the other on a major scale. This further enhances a sense that this artfully told story may belong in a current affairs section. Pamuk debates artists, writers, journalists, atheists, religious zealots, Armenians, Europeans, Turkish europhiles, secret service agents, and young women who resist removing their head scarfs. But his conclusions are hidden away, buried inside of Ka’s bursts of inspired poetry, which we never end up reading. Ka’s ‘do good’ aspirations, his desire to be possessed by inspiration and then write its poetry, his need for love and lust, and pursuit of happiness, creates the perfect setup for his entrapment. But It is not only Ka who’s falling into a trap. We read, hope, love, desire, and grasp for the truth, through Ka. And like him we end up experiencing his undoing. Our undoing.
Turkey’s politics, social and ethnic undercurrents, and of course struggle with religion are represented through the list of his characters. What’s odd, is that some of of them are two dimensional. They are muddled archetypes. Like the revolutionary Sunay Zaim. A nationalist, actor, and secret service operative who persuades Ka to do his bidding. Kars, the town, is like a theatre play’s set design. Fine and accurate. But seems to be intentionally two dimensional. Its snow comes down as if it’s made of fake substance used in old black and white movies.
At the end, Ka gives up on everything but his desire for happiness. He longs to go back to Germany with the subject of his romantic longing. What was secondary is now serves as a background for the story’s grand themes. The story comes full circle. But does not sort itself out. It is a chapter in a wide ranging saga we read about elsewhere, every day. Snow is every news story about Turkey, writ large. It’s an extremely well written 60 Minuteslike exposè: Turkey’s Islamic party is challenged in the supreme court; Turkey’s scarf ban; Turkey’s struggle with its minorities, past and present. Ka is sacrificed by the author and then repeatedly in the minds of his readers. Along the way, there are many moments of grace and great happiness. The story is timeless, recounted by a superb craftsman.
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