My Name Is Red
By Orphan
Pamuk
This book is
about 14th century art in Istanbul.
It is a murder mystery that blends the life stories of miniaturist … artist
that created the beautiful artwork and gold leaf edging in books of that
era. Today’s miniaturist is better known
as an illustrator of books. The author
takes a unique approach in beginning a chapter with a title “I am”. Then each chapter is told in the voice of the
name of what would follow “I am”; a first person story told by many different
first persons. The name is not
necessarily a person. It could be an
object like a coin that would then set the setting for the commerce that
crosses both Venetian or Ottoman, Christian or Muslim, of that era. There are
love dramas, conspiracies, Greek tragedies, (so apropos a term for a setting in
Istanbul), and a lot of art history in novel form. Any reader would be intrigued enough to start
fact checking and eventually planning a trip to Istanbul to discover firsthand
the art of an era so over looked by us Westerners.
The murder
and conspiracy spins around a real plot on a person’s conceit. Imagine a person of wealth having his
portrait painted and hung on the walls of his palazzo. Take it a step further and imagine a famous
scene, say a battle, and that a Doge would have himself painted in to the scene,
though having not been there. It would be a false rendering of the story. And
then imagine the concern of the miniaturists who see the betrayal of truth and
Allah himself. Remember in the 1500’s
there were no other material media for stories to get told in color. You then begin to appreciate how grave the
crime might be. Of course Hollywood does
this all the time, so one must question the sliding scale of the virtue of
man. And then weigh in on the moral
consequences in what may be a justified murder.
Or was it just for the money after all?
As the
murder plot thickens, the reader is rendered as the sleuth to figure out who
the murderer is. The information is
presented in first person of the prime character of any chapter. And the detectives are describing drawing
styles of art that could be linked to one miniaturist or another. The reader cannot help but learn to become an
art critic. The author, like in the book,
sneaks up on you with art education while distracting you with a multi faced
plot.
The 14th
century Muslim art critic’s primary objection was in defense of Allah. It was not the goal to paint a scene
objectively, but rather the painting should be rendered as though seen through
the eyes of Allah. As the plot unfolds
the objection unravels. To determine the
author you had to examine all the artists for style. Style was at that time in the Ottoman Empire
dictated by the masters of any given schools. Somehow a master artist would at
the end of his career go blind from so much dedication to Allah’s work and he
could still somehow be able to instruct his students. It was
an achievement to go blind. Somehow the
actors in the drama fail to see that Allah is really the master artist forcing
his style on his students.
The real
tragedy is the suspect artists feud with each other as they witness art from
the Venetians who capture scenes objectively.
Their feud is fueled with the competition of who would succeed their
murdered master. Poor Black who is
strapped with the job to figure out who done it so that he may earn the love
and hand of the dead master’s daughter,
finds himself being convinced, one by one by the arguments of each suspect. Every argument brings two themes. Fist is the sacrilege of their brethren
actually painting with their own style.
And second is that unique style is exactly evidence found in the murder
scene painting.
The book is
clearly poetry in prose. It is word art.
It is a Walt Whitman rant style of poetry. The only thing missing is the artwork.
