Fethiye Çetin presents “Anneannem” in Amsterdam

On Monday evening, the cultural and literary venue SPUI25 was full almost over capacity, with people waiting outside glimpsing through the glass door in the hope of spotting an empty seat. They were all there to listen to Fethiye Çetin, lawyer, writer and human rights activist from Turkey, who was in Amsterdam for the launch of the Dutch translation of her book Anneannem (My Grandmother, a Memoir published in English by Verso in 2008). She was just back from a visit to Australia as an invited guest of the Melbourne Writers' Festival.

Fethiye Çetin was born in the small town of Maden in Turkey. In Anneannem she recounts the 1915 Armenian genocide through the story of her maternal grandmother. Taken from her family, Christian-born Heranus was rescued from death by a Muslim military man who brought her up as the Muslim girl Seher.

The evening was moderated Bernard Bouwman journalist and former correspondent to the NRC and NOS in Turkey, with the support of Hanneke van der Heijden, Dutch translator of the book, who has interpreted Ms Çetin’s words to an audience mixed with Turkish and Dutch speakers. “A small book with big themes” is how Bouwman started his presentation of My Grandmother, a Memoir. Not that the number of pages of a book should ever reflect its content, he was trying to emphasize on the importance of the subject matter. When asked why she has written this book, Fethiye Çetin explained that “whenever the Armenian issue is discussed in Turkey, facts and numbers are always given in a very cold manner. The name we should give to the issue is being discussed constantly; the number of death varies from 1.5 million to 400,000 and even dropped down to 50,000! I remember a columnist who wrote ‘where do they get these number from, it can’t be more than 300,000’ as if it were no big deal, as if we were talking about things and not people.” Ms Çetin’s story is but one step to fight towards this dehumanization. “Everybody can identify with the grandmother” says Çetin, and she describes the grandmother’s daily life, how she cooks or washes the laundry, things we can all relate to. When Anneannem came out in Turkey, heavy discussions were going on in the country about the massacres of 1915, but fortunately, Çetin hasn’t been trialed for her book. “I was very cautious not to use any censurable words in the book I have to admit” says the writer. One also has to remember that Çetin is first of all a lawyer, “but I was ready to go on trial if this would have happened, I prepared myself for it when writing.”

Reactions in Turkey were quite positive, because of the character of the grandmother but also because many people had a similar hidden story within their families “Many readers started to share their own stories with me, telling me about their own grandmothers being Armenians too.” But how does it feel to discover such a secret years after, as an adult (Çetin was told the story in the beginning of the 70’s)? “It used to be more difficult in the past” says Çetin, “but nowadays, more and more people want to research their family history.” The issue was silenced until not so long ago in Turkey, and getting information isn’t always easy. “Data isn’t accessible or ‘lost’ –some are said to have burnt.” This is why, Çetin says over and over again, it is essential to tell the stories, “we need to hear the stories of our grandparents and families.” However, we can do better in learning about Turkey’s historical past, and denial is one road we can’t take anymore. Among the reasons of this national policy of “forgetting” lies the nationalism built upon the creation of the Republic of Turkey in 1923. “The population is silenced and remains silent altogether, and that is something I’ve been trying to understand throughout the story too.”

When asked if she feels a victim of history, Fethiye Çetin responds with plain honesty, “my grandmother was a victim, but I am not. I feel responsible for these events of history. I am responsible for today’s denial of 1915.” And she adds, “when I learned about my family’s past, I felt liberated from the chains of nationalism. I looked around me and saw things differently.” Through this book, Fethiye Çetin wishes we build a better future, together: “If we want to laugh together” she says, “we first need to cry together.”

Anneannem has also been published in French and Dutch
Le Livre de ma grand-mère, Éditions de l’Aube.
Het geheim van mijn grootmoeder, Uitgeverij Van Gennep.

Literature Projects and Book Fairs

This blog has been too silent for quite some time... but if you follow me on twitter, you may have seen that I'm still active. Next to my daily job focusing on cultural relations through arts and education, I have been concentrating a lot on my literature projects.

I have finalized my short story collection in French and have managed to send it - the old-fashioned way, by post! - to a dozen Francophone publishers in Belgium and in France last week. Those of you who have been reading my short stories online (and I thank you for that) may have seen that I have deleted all my online publications recently. The reason is that I have made a lot of editing to these stories and have presented them differently in the form of a collection I called Mouvements (Movements). I am still exploring ways to publish the whole collection in a digital format. More soon...

I have also been focusing on some translation work from three very different authors and languages, two of which are now in the hands of their authors' literary agents.

While waiting for some answers from these various publishers, I have started some research on different projects focusing on contemporary Turkish Literature by women writers and on Turkish History. I hope to tell you more about these when it takes a more concrete shape.

On the more concrete side of my literary life, I will visit the Brussels Book Fair on Saturday 6 March, and the London Book Fair next month and will definitely do some posting about the different events I am planning to attend. These will include discussions about online publishing and writing in the digital space.

To be continued...

Perihan Mağden's Two Girls

I've been deeply touched by a very strong novel: İki Genç Kızın Romanı ("The novel of two girls", translated by Brendan Freely and published as Two Girls in English), by Turkish author and columnist Perihan Mağden. The novel has also been adapted to the cinema by Kutluğ Ataman. I like Mağden because she speaks/writes her mind, and in Turkey, this is not an easy task. She is of course criticized by many and has even been prosecuted by the Turkish government because of the views she expressed on mandatory military service. In this novel, Mağden depicts the lives of two teenage girls in Istanbul. The polar tone of the novel strengthens the feeling of oppression, especially for a girl in a male dominant environment. The force of Mağden's third person omniscient narration also lies in the encounter of these two characters, the angry Behiye and the naive Handan. Both girls are coming from very distinct backgrounds: Behiye is the sister of an older brother and the daughter of a conservative family she hates, and Handan is the unique daughter of a prostitute she loves. Since the very moment they meet, Behiye sees Handan as her saviour: the beautiful girl who will save her from her life, her brother, her mother who cries all the time... Behiye hates life, she doesn't like herself much either, until she finds Handan and grabs her to the core. Their bond is beyond friendship and sisterhood, it is almost amorous. The murders of boys happening all around Istanbul together with Behiye's unreasonable attitude and open hatred against the world (especially towards men) intensify the sense of danger and threat. This impossible relationship is told in an incredibly honest and down to earth language. The word plays are brilliant (and I guess a real challenge to translate). This is an excellent work of contemporary literature and I believe quite original in the current Turkish literary scene.

The cover of the Turkish edition of the novel published by Merkez Kitapçılık ve Yayıncılık (Istanbul, June 2006, 255 pages)

Elif Shafak's Journey between Languages

Most of you might know how strongly I always objected to people saying that one can only write in his or her own native or first language. I am now so relieved to read Elif Shafak's column of 17 March. For those of you who cannot read Turkish, I would like to share some of her views here. Shafak starts her article explaining how people like to ask her why she is writing in English, and even sometimes argue that by writing in English, she becomes a writer of English language literature. "It isn't so!" she says and argues that today, when so many people are living and growing up and get educated in different languages, live in different countries, move so much, we shouldn't put people into such narrow categories. Elif Shafak is writing both in English and in Turkish, not only is this important for the author, but it is for the reader. I don't feel the same when I read her work when the original version is English (like The Bastard of Istanbul or The Saint of Incipient Insanities) or Turkish (like Mahrem or Bit Palas). I always prefer to read books in their original written language, the same goes when I watch movies. Whenever possible, I prefer the original version. And in case of Elif Shafak's work, I can join her in the journey between languages because luckily, I understand both Turkish and English. I sometimes have more trouble understanding Shafak's work in Turkish because she uses a very elaborate vocabulary with many ancient Turkish words (I love to learn by the way!). And this is what I love about her work, this "journey between languages" as she likes to put it. It is also a journey for her readers, at least it is for me.

Her last novel published in Turkey and in Turkish, Ask (pronounced "Ashk", meaning "Love") is the example of such an adventurous and passionate journey. Shafak has written the novel in English and had it translated into Turkish by Kadir Yiğit Uz. Then she reworked on the Turkish version, so in a sense, Ask "has been written again". In her column, Shafak also fairly explains that it isn't an easy task for a writer to express him or herself in a different language and that it would simply be madness if one wouldn't simply love working like that. She offers a wide range of examples of writers who have been writing in different languages and in languages which aren't their first, like Nabokov, Beckett, or Conrad (whose English Virginia Woolf heavily criticized). Well yes, they are all among the best writers of the 20th century so no doubt that were successful.

I am fascinated by languages and I myself speak five. I do certainly not master them all the same way but all of them open different doors of the world to me, make me experience different cultures, teach me different visions and ways of life, and offer me such a wide range of possibilities to express myself. So I think I do know what Elif Shafak is sharing with her readers and I do applaud her for the way she shakes herself, her readers and literature to its very core.

Elif Shafak's column in the Newspaper Zaman appears twice a week.

Literature and Identities

I was just reading an article about contemporary German literature in the French newspaper Le Monde. It basically explains how much richness and diversity immigrants living in Germany and writing in German have brought to contemporary German literature. In addition to talking about immigrants, I would have added that many writers whose parents were immigrants and whose first language might be other than German, have now chosen to write in German. Anyway, I must admit that I am a bit difficult about the use of terminologies like "immigrant" or "mother tongue", so let's say it's fair enough to use it broadly in this case. But what I don't understand is the parenthesis in the following sentence, where the author reports from the Frankfurt international book fair, in which Turkey was the guest country of honor this year:

...au-delà des écrivains turcs invités, bien d'autres, qui vivent en Allemagne et ont choisi d'écrire en allemand (le pays compte 3,4 millions de musulmans dont une majorité de Turcs), occupent désormais une place de choix dans le paysage littéraire : Feridun Zaimoglu, Emine Sevgi Ozdamar ou Hatice Akyün, notamment, ont enrichi ces dernières années la littérature germanophone de leur imaginaire et de leurs trouvailles stylistiques.

When talking about the Turkish authors living in Germany and who have chosen to write in German, she feels the need to tell us that Germany counts 3.4 million Muslims, from which a majority are Turkish. Can someone explain to me what this information has to do with writing in German or being Turkish? What does it add to our understanding of contemporary writing in Germany? It doesn't even tell us how many people from Turkish origin live in the country, so it doesn't add any relevant information, except that the author is making a serious amalgam here between country of origin and religion! Personally, I don't mind being called "Turkish", because among many others, it's one of the adjectives that indeed adds relevant information to who I am. I would accept "Muslim" to some extend, but even there I might find it odd to chose it as a first way of describing myself. As for "immigrant", it is a word that certainly wouldn't help describing me. It could even be misleading because I haven't really emigrated from anywhere, my parents did. They didn't ask for my opinion when I was in my mother's belly. The only thing that being called an immigrant would do to me is, alienating me from my parents country (because I have supposedly left it) and from the place where I live, and where I am supposed to feel home. How would you like to be called then, will you say? Don't call me one thing, I am from Turkish descent, yes, and I am a Turkish citizen. I am also a Belgian citizen and a resident of the Netherlands. I am speaking five languages, and mastering writing in at least three. So no, if I am going to be published one day, supposedly in French, I would not like to be called an immigrant writer! I had enough of that. Everyday life is narrow enough to put people into boxes, so I do believe we can do better in the literary, and in any artistic and creative domains for that matter. Of course ethnic, religious and cultural frameworks can influence creativity, and it does add a lot to the overall picture, but literature gives so much more space to writers and their readers. It's an immense area where we can move beyond frontiers, go much further than everyday life.

I would like to end with a quote from 2000 Nobel Laureate for Literature Gao Xingjian, from a speech given at the inauguration of the last edition of Kosmopolis, an international Literature festival held from 22 to 26 October in Barcelona:

"When literature becomes a hymn of praise for a country, the flag of a nation, the voice of a political party or mouthpiece of a class or group, it can be used as a powerful and crushing instrument of propaganda, but it loses its intrinsic nature ..."

An Ode to Women

After her internationally acclaimed The Bastard of Istanbul, Elif Shafak is back in the book shelves since the end of November 2007 with a new work in Turkish: Siyah Süt. It has not been translated yet but I am sure it will in a short while. And if no editor has already thought about publishing an English or French version, I can hereby state that I am very much open to work on it in French.

Siyah Süt -Turkish for "Black Milk"- is Shafak's first autobiographical novel, as clearly stated on the cover (see right side bottom). It subtitle says: "Yeni baslayanlar için Postpartum depresyon" -Postpartum depression for beginners. At first view, it wasn't a book for me I thought. I am not a mother and I have no wish to be one, even though I stay open to change my current vision on my life is baby-less. But then I really like Elif Shafak's work, especially her English written novels The Saint of Incipient Insanities and The Bastard of Istanbul - I have to be honest, I have difficulty reading the language she uses in her Turkish novels. I wanted to know more about this writer, because I was sure, no matter what, that she was going to tell her readers about her writing and not about her baby splitting on her nightgown only. And I have been impressed, even more than expected. Black Milk is a brilliant work. During 200 pages and even more, Shafak specifically writes about herself and the many voices inside of her before her pregnancy, enabling her readers to really understand the postnatal depression she went through. Inviting her readers to reflection, Shafak tells about her fears, her wishes, her doubts and moves to the wider theme of being a woman in society. She describes women writer's lives and vision on motherhood and feminism, making parallels with her own states of mind. She gives voice to the different women within her, and talks to herself through these six different characters throughout her story. Artist Latif Demirci's drawings also add another dimension to her storytelling, allowing an outside eye to draw the author's experience.

Shafak thought that she could never write again, but she intelligently and movingly transforms her black-turned maternity milk into ink. However, she wants this ink to be ephemeral as she tells her readers right from the beginning that this book has been written so it could be forgotten as soon as it has been read. "Suya yazi yazar gibi..." - as if you would write on water.
I don't know if it had been designed on purpose, but the ink of the title on the cover of my book has vanished after I read the novel... No matter what, I will not forget this book because for me, it is above all an ode to women.

Elif Safak
Siyah Süt
Dogan Kitapçilik
303 pages
Published November 2007 in Turkish

From Istanbul with love

After a very long month of July spent in very bad Belgian weather (rain rain rain...), I'm finally enjoying summer... in Turkey! Starting with a few days in Istanbul.
I used to hate Istanbul in the summer, imagine New York under 40°C, well, Istanbul is not so different. It is hot, quite unbearable sometimes, but I feel good here. Watching the sunset on the Bosphorus is breathtaking. One quickly forgets about the traffic, the crowded streets, the noise and the heat. Istanbul in the summer, you can both love it and hate it.

My summer in Istanbul begins with some contemporary Turkish literature. I'm discovering new names, good stuff. Not only Orhan Pamuk or Elif Shafak, I am now in search of names unknown to non-Turkish readers. I will work on it, in parallel to my own project (by the way, I've received a confirmation from La fureur de lire competition that they've received my short story... I'm number 549!). I'm already busy with one author. After having read more of his work, I'll be able to know if I could translate it... So many new things to discover, think about, create... I feel like there won't be enough time, even on holiday! I can feel my brain boiling with ideas (and let's be honest, also because of the heat)... Also, enjoying it with an espresso bean is even more delightful!