The Reality of Magic

A still from Pan's Labyrinth, directed Guillermo del Toro.
One of my favourite movies for the genre -- recommended
for those who dislike its use in books.

It's easy to imagine worlds from scratch. It's easier still to see what will be, judging by how things are now. But to blend into a setting and imagine things for what they could be, but don't reveal, is what brings magic realism to life.

Our book club is reading The Bastard of Istanbul by Elif Shafaq this month. It was picked from a coffee cup that also held Flaubert's Madame Bovary and Swimming by Nicola Keegan. Two excellent titles recommended by members who have read, loved and wouldn't mind picking them up again. That's the new rule... eliminates disasters such as the last one when none of us could get beyond four pages of the first chapter. Thanks for Cloud Atlas Mr Mitchell... not really...

Admittedly, I am partial to the genre of magic realism. I don't know how to justify this affliction except to say it's because "what exists isn't, and what isn't, is". Know what I mean?

I started my affair with the genre when I read and loved Carlos Ruiz Zafon's The Shadow of the Wind. There was something so eerie about Lain Coubert's introduction in the novel that I found it hard to put down thereon. He stands in the shadows under our protagonist's house, not a a distinctive feature to be put into words, except the smell of burning books that engulf his wake. I don't think the author put it in there, but in my mind' eye, the minute it is revealed that Courbert is a character from the author, Julian Carax's book, and a sinister one no less -- the devil -- I could just picture a little red tail creeping out of his overcoat, warning you to get out of his way, or provoking you to come just a little closer.

I discovered Murakami's Kafka on the Shore a few months after The Shadow of the Wind. It wasn't an easy read at first. The multiple story-lines, parallel only if you are patient enough to get through the initial confusion, didn't appeal to me at first. But I head on the minute Nakata waltzed into conversation with a lost cat. I also found Johnny Walker quite interesting. Another character, much like Coubert, who has a sinister air about him. Do all magic realists stun their audience to attention with characters such as these? They're so psychotic you hope they aren't real. But to get into this genre you have to make a choice to believe or disbelieve, go by face value -- something that isn't easy since their faces, being of no consequence, are rarely given much character. I also think that's what defines how badly they can infest your dreams.

Lucky then, there isn't an antagonist in The Bastard of Istanbul. But there is a djinn -- the dark one, one enjoys his role as the bearer of bad news: He's called Mr Bitter. He isn't evil, nor does he have a hidden agenda. But he does have the power to tear away a layer of skin (metaphorically) to reveal that which is buried, and painful as it is, needs to be unearthed. I won't ruin this book for my fellow Caterpillars. All I can say is I hope, sincerely, that they enjoy the book as much as I did. Magic realism is for everyone. The only trick is to decide whether you're up for looking at the real world with a hint of magic.

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A Culinary Tour | The Bastard of Istanbul by Elif Shafak

This isn’t a review. It’s a rave. I loved this book so much that I didn’t want to take any chances at slipping up with spoilers. Here goes:

Someday, when I visit Turkey, I’m going to write down every dish I’ve read about in Elif Shafak’s The Bastard of Istanbul and use it as my culinary guide. I’d take the book with me but that might not be the best idea since the author was put on trial in 2006 for allegedly “denigrating Turkeshness” and I can see why.

At first, it’s an insight into present day Istanbul with the Kanzaci family, ruled by women because a mysterious curse wipes out their men at a very early age. Then through the Kchakmakhchain clan, it’s a revelation into the Armenian community in the US, weighed down by it’s turbulent past. Soon it becomes a journey of self discovery when Armanoush, a young Armenian American girl travels to the land of her ancestors hoping to understand and accept her heritage. It ends with Asya, a Turkish girl born out of wedlock, learning her true identity in grim circumstances.

With so much going on and so many realms to explore – past, present and at times, mystical – The Bastard of Istanbul deserves time, space and a really long commute to work in order to be thoroughly devoured.

Every chapter of the book is named after a flavor, fruit or nut – cinnamon, pomegranates, pine nuts -- an aspect that speaks volumes of the Turkish obsession with food. But while most of these are meant to add to the plot or symbolism of the narrative, mentions to dishes such as kofte, borek, ashure (detailed recipe for this one included in the book), make you ravenous for some Turkish culinary delights.

But references to delicious cheeses, teas poured out of samovars and desserts with coconut sprinkles on top can only enthrall you so much. At the heart of it, the book is a gripping tale of life, survival and secrets that are best left alone… unless of course, you’re the reader, and the one narrating said secrets is a bad djinni called Mr Bitter.

The first time I attempted The Bastard of Istanbul, I naively mistook it for an airplane read. It wasn’t heavy, complex or filled with big words that require a dictionary at hand. But I just couldn’t immerse myself in a world caught between the East and the West, when I myself was dangling between two time zones. So I’m glad I went back to it all these years and five catfights with my sister later, because it the kind of book you most definitely can’t read in transit. It deserves a quite corner and oblivion from your surroundings to step into a long, intriguing, tale that is a journey in itself.

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