Unrelenting Humor

The main power of Elif Shafak in The Bastard of Istanbul lies in her unique and omnipresent humor.  From the funny titles of the chapters (Cinnamon, Garbanzo Beans, Vanilla, Roasted Hazelnuts), to the hilarious names of the cats (Pasha the Third, Sultan the Fifth), facetious nicknames of characters (The Dipsomaniac Cartoonist, The Closeted Gay Columnist), to the abundance of witty lines: (the namesake of the novel calls her mom auntie, “Asya auntifies her mom to keep her at a distance. ‘What an unpardonable injustice on the part of Allah to create a daughter far less beautiful than her own mother, ’” the humor rarely lets up.

The story’s scope is vast. It is heavily populated, spans continents and centuries. The Kazanci family, composed of seven women: four sisters, their mother, their grandmother and Asya, the illegitimate daughter of one of the sisters, live in one household in Istanbul. The only brother of the four sisters, Mustafa, lives in Arizona. He is married to an American divorcee, who has a daughter, Armanoush, from her first marriage to an Armenian man who lives in San Francisco with his extended Armenian family.

Complicated? Hang in tight.

Asya, a nineteen-year-old nihilist rebellious young woman, is full of anger towards her smothering caring extended family in general, and her mother in particular, for not telling her who her father is. Armanoush, who’s been very close with her Armenian paternal grandmother, a survivor of the Armenian genocide in Turkey, wants to see the house her grandmother was born in, and find out more about the details of her family’s past. So she picks up and goes to Istanbul and stays with her step-father, Mustafa’s family.

Asya is under strict instructions from her whole family to be nice to Armanoush, her step-cousin. She grudgingly obeys. But it takes no time for the two girls, of approximately the same age, to strike a deep friendship despite their diametrically opposite temperaments. One thing follows another, and gradually light is shed on historical events, dark secrets are revealed, and unexpected developments occur.

Elif Shafak talks about the Armenian Genocide in The Bastard of Istanbul. Because of that she was prosecuted in 2006 for “insulting Turkishness”, a charge that might have landed her in prison for three years. But the charges were eventually dropped.

The novel explores various attitudes about the historical deportations and massacre of 1.5 million Armenians in 1915. The Armenian view is that it was a genocide and the government of Turkey has to apologize and pay restitutions. The Turkish views differ. Some have no idea and are not interested. Some claim that Armenians killed Turks too, so Turkey has nothing to apologize for. Some say whatever happened in the past is not our fault. Let’s move on to the future. And others say we have to examine the issue and resolve it before we can move on.

Alongside these conflicting political views, Shafak also explores the similarities between the two cultures. The family relationships and gatherings, the overbearing aunts and grandparents, and the cuisines of the Turkish Kazancis in Istanbul are practically interchangeable with those of the Armenian  Chakhmakhchians in San Francisco.

There’s no shortage of mesmerizing and beautiful, but not always positive, descriptions of Istanbul. “…it is densely dark in Istanbul. Whether along the grimy, narrow streets snaking the oldest quarters, in the modern apartment buildings cramming the newly built districts, or throughout the fancy suburbs, people are fast asleep. All but some. Some Istanbulites have, as usual, awakened earlier than others. The imams…the simit vendors…the bakers…most of them get only a few hours of sleep…the cleaning ladies…of all ages, get up early to take at least two or three different buses to arrive at the houses of the well-off, where they will scrub, clean, and polish all day long…It is dawn now. The city is a gummy, almost gelatinous entity at this moment, an amorphous shape half-liquid, half-solid.”

Something that could be confusing for the uninitiated is the plethora of unfamiliar Turkish and Armenian names. However, Shafak’s characters are recognizable by their distinct and often colorful personalities. For example it’s impossible to confuse Asya’s four aunts: the tattoo-artist in high heels and miniskirt, Auntie Zeliha, the didactic high-school history teacher, Auntie Cevriye, the schizophrenic Auntie Feride who “had a problem with making eye-contact. She was more comfortable talking to objects…she addressed her words to Zeliha’s plate,” and the headscarf-wearing Auntie Banu, the fortune teller who carries two djinns on her shoulders, good one on the right, bad one on the left.

But what is constant and delightful throughout this densely populated novel full of heavy themes is Shafak’s unrelenting humor. Even at funerals and abortions.

The Luxury of Innocence

I just finished reading Marsha Forchuk Skrypuch’s Nobody’s Child, a novel for young adults about children who survived the Armenian genocide in the early 20^th century Turkey. It has a teacher’s guide too, which means the author intended it to be taught in schools.

Being of Armenian ancestry and having graduated from an all-Armenian school, I have been taught relentlessly about the Armenian Genocide.

Not having lost a relative or forbear to the Armenian Genocide, I’ve had the luxury of keeping a cool head about it, and not being emotionally scarred by it.

Now that I’m a Canadian, have lived most of my life in Canada, and am a grandmother of three, two of them biracial, I’m faced with many questions.

Do I tell them that their forebears have been massacred by another nation, or do I let them enjoy the bliss of their ignorance? If I don’t tell them, will this omission amount to lying? If I do, will the knowledge be useful for them? Will it add anything to their lives?

In his memoir Black Dog of Fate, Pulitzer Prize winning writer and poet, Peter Balakian writes about not finding out that his grandfather and other relatives had been killed in the Armenian genocide, and his grandmother and aunt were survivors, until he was in university; and how mad he’d felt at his family for not telling him about it.

If my grandchildren should be told, when is the right time to tell them? Before they are 9 or 10, while I still have their ear? When they are 11-12, a bit older and can better understand the gravity of the crime?

Should they learn it as part of a history lesson on genocide, from a teacher who’s trained to do so effectively? What if they’re not interested in history or don’t want to take the course on genocide?

If I tell them, how should I do it?

With detachment, as one genocide among many in the 20^th century, –Jews, Armenians, Tamils, Tutsis—or should I deliver an emotional punch, to make it more memorable and personal? Should I tell them the names of people I know, whose parents/grandparents perished, and the trauma that was passed down to their children and grandchildren? Should I relate the gory details of brutalities committed against Armenian men, women and children? Show them first hand accounts, photos and movies depicting the scenes of savagery, in order to make sure I make an impression? Lest they forget.

And if I decide to do it, what are my reasons for doing it? To assuage my tribal feelings and pass on to my progeny what’s been handed down to me?

To let them know about their roots and history? After all, finding out about your ancestry through DNA testing has become quite popular these days.

To turn them into well-informed and aware citizens who oppose the building of walls between nations and vote against extreme right-wing governments and rulers, and their “us against them” policies?

To keep the memory of the millions who perished by designed and planned violence alive, because I have a responsibility to my forefathers? Or to make them join the political organizations who demand the acknowledgement of the Genocide by the Turkish government and the payment of restitution for state-sponsored violence and appropriation of considerable Armenian wealth and property?

What problem will it solve? How will that actually benefit my grandchildren?

Will they make the world a better place?

Will we learn from history and not repeat our mistakes? Didn’t Hitler know about the Armenian genocide? Didn’t Hutus know about the Holocaust? And didn’t they both go ahead with their killings?

If I’m successful with the education of my grandchildren on the Armenian Genocide, might they develop feelings of hatred and animosity against any person of Turkish origin they meet? Could it foster an obsession or bitterness in them, taking over their finite lives?

Will I have done them a favor?

Two of my grandchildren are also biracial. They will find out sooner or later through the media, about slavery, systemic discrimination against blacks, disproportionate number of black people in prisons, and so on…

Is it fair to burden them with the Armenian genocide as well?

Do I even go there? Or just let them enjoy the luxury of their innocence?