Increasingly more Turkish authors are gaining worldwide fame and acclaim, and Orhan Pamuk’s Nobel Prize for literature in 2006 has galvanized many international readers to find out more about Turkish literature.

But are things really going that well for Turkish authors and books in the world? To get an answer to this question and many others, from the feat of being able to write books in two languages to motherhood, we talked to Elif Ţafak, one of the most auspicious Turkish writers of recent times.

You were with your readers at the Frankfurt Book Fair earlier this month, where Turkey will be the guest of honor next year. Can we expect this fair to contribute to spreading the awareness of Turkish literature in the world?

The Frankfurt Book Fair is no doubt one of the most important events in world literature. We truly need more intercultural dialogue between writers and artists from both sides. It is a pity that Turkish literature is so little known in the Western world today. However, I do believe that being the guest country at Frankfurt this year can make a huge difference in terms of better presenting ourselves in Europe and blurring the boundaries among cultural and mental ghettoes. As the only country that blends Islam, Western secularism, modernity and a set of traditions, Turkey has a lot to say in contemporary world affairs. And Istanbul is an amazing source of inspiration for artists.

Your latest novel “The Bastard of Ýstanbul” was overshadowed because of the suit filed against you, but the opinions of Turkish readers did not find wide coverage in the media. Earlier you had stated that most of the feedback you got was positive. What were the reactions like? Were their comments or opinions common to most of the readers’ reactions?

I have always had a very positive experience with fiction readers in Turkey. It was the same after my latest novel. Most fiction readers in Turkey happen to be women. They are very open-minded and like genuine works. Perhaps the number of readers in my country is not as high as we would like it to be, but those who do read books are very sincere and serious readers. I have a lot of trust in the readership in Turkey, and my perception is so positive. Therefore it makes me sad that some Western journalists ended up thinking this was a radical book and that it was censured in Turkey, because it was not.

You write in both Turkish and English. You’ve once stated that writing in English changed your style, bringing out your sense of humor. Do you sometimes find yourself worrying that the gist of what you write in English might not translate exactly as you have intended for a non-English-speaking Turkish reader? How does the process differ for you when writing in each language?

Language is a passion for me. I am very attached to the Turkish language. I cherish it deeply and I lament the loss of old Ottoman words in today’s modern lexicon. They always say my Turkish is replete with “old” and “new” words. That’s because in my opinion if old words are breathing, it means they are still alive. And so many Ottoman words are still alive. They breathe in many places, starting with Sufi poetry. But the elite in Turkey are not connected with these sources.

There are certain things I’d rather write in English, certain things I’d rather write in Turkish. English, to me, is a more mathematical language; it is the language of precision. It embodies an amazing vocabulary and if you are looking for the “precise word,” it is right out there. Turkish, for me, is more sentimental, more emotional. If you are talking about the past, Turkish provides a stronger basis because it has two past tenses, unlike English. So I feel connected to the two languages in different ways. As a writer it is amazing experiment for me to try to find my literary voice in another language, in an acquired language.

The Istanbul Book Fair Advisory Board has designated this year’s theme as “Literature in the Mediterranean, the Mediterranean in Literature” for the TÜYAP book fair. Would you describe yourself as a Mediterranean author?

The Mediterranean characterizes us more than we tend to think it does, and I am glad that in this year’s fair we will have the chance to think more closely on this theme. Yes, we Turkish writers are part of Mediterranean literature. Yet at the same time we are part of European culture, and also part of Muslim culture. We have elements from the Balkans and elements from the Middle East. We are a hybrid society. All of this constitutes an amazing source of richness and depth.

More and more young writers are filling the shelves of bookstores. How do you find this new literature? Could you share some of the newer names that you find to your liking?

I am not very happy with the label “young writer.” To tell the truth I was not happy when it was used to define my work for years and years in the past. So I won’t use it to define other writers. Instead I will tell you a few names in general, old and young, whom I love to read and respect a lot, starting with Selim Ýleri, Hasan Ali Toptaţ, Feridun Zaimođlu, Ýhsan Oktay Anar and Yekta Kopan.

The Internet offers a significant opportunity for the younger generation to return to writing and literature. Even those who are not members of discussion forums, blog sites or these so-called Wiki-community-like “dictionaries” popular in Turkey, where people extensively rely on writing to exchange their own descriptions about everyday life situations, have to use writing at least to greet one another on the Internet. Do you find that all this writing contributes to the language and writing capabilities of the younger generation?

The Internet has two completely opposite aspects. On the one hand it is a wonderfully dynamic and democratic platform wherein people can share their thoughts and feelings and help to disseminate information and ideas. This really is great. Yet at the same time the Internet paradoxically contributes to the increase of ignorance and misinformation. One thing that attracts my attention is the limited vocabulary that youth employ. We really need to work more on increasing awareness and love of our mother tongue.

How has the arrival of Ţehrazat, your daughter, changed your outlook on life? In what way should we, as your readers, expect the difference to reflect in your future novels?

Becoming a mother was a huge challenge for me. This year following the birth of my daughter I suffered from a long post-natal depression that ensnared me amidst the perplexing whirl of Istanbul. For 10 months I orbited around the black sun of depression and couldn’t write anything. When it was over I wrote an autobiographical novel called “Black Milk,” and it will be out soon.

Being a new mother generates an unmatched pleasure and happiness. Yet at the same time it can trigger a profound identity crisis infused with guilt, loneliness and bewilderment. The postpartum stage can be a particularly debilitating condition for intellectual or artistic women who are used to an independent lifestyle. Today there are two seemingly different, albeit complementary attitudes toward motherhood in Turkey. On the one hand there is the view that sees motherhood as the most sacred thing that can occur to a woman. In this traditional approach motherhood is romanticized and idealized. On the other hand is the view that contemporary women can have it all; they can be perfect career women, perfect mothers, perfect everything. None of these approaches deals honestly with the multiple effects that childbearing has upon women. Despite the fact that countless women are known to suffer from some sort of depression after childbirth, this subject is widely misunderstood and ignored.

27 October 2007, Saturday

E. BARIŢ ALTINTAŢ  ÝSTANBUL

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