A number of short
story collections appeared on my reading list this year, an art form that is
quite popular with translated fiction publications and one that appears quite
regularly on the award lists. In 2014 “The Iraqi Christ” taking out the
Independent Foreign Fiction Prize showing the short form is highly regarded amongst
judges. This year I have reviewed thirteen collections of short stories and
today one of those collections has made my top twelve of the year, a work that
may shock a few with its inclusion as it hasn’t featured at all in “best of”
lists that are floating about in the media this time of year.
Turkey’s Sait Faik
Abasiyanik (1906-1954) wrote twelve books of short stories, two novels and a
book of poetry. Spending a lot of his early life in Europe he returned to Turkey
in his twenties, and the country’s pre-eminent short story award carries his
name. There is a museum you can visit on Burguzada
Island dedicated to celebrating the “father of Turkish short stories”. When he
died in 1954 he left his entire estate to a foundation dedicated to looking
after orphaned and disadvantaged children the Darüşşafaka School, which
maintains the museum. Dying aged 46 from cirrhosis of the liver, it has taken sixty years for his work to be brought to the attention of the English speaking world.
The collection “A Useless Man”, translated by
Maureen Freely and Alexander Dawe, contains thirty-seven stories it is
impossible to touch on each story in a review and they really do need to be
read to experience the humanity and humbleness of the characters who live on
the fringes of society.
Our book opens with
“The Samovar”, our main character dreaming in the opening and closing of the
story. It is a simple tale of an electrician who works in a factory, his mother
wakes him each morning so he can go to work. She suddenly dies:
When we are confronted with death, we become
great actors. Great actors, nothing more.
He threw his arms around her. He carried her
to his bed. He pulled the quilt over her, tried to warm her body, which had
already grown so cold. He tried to breathe life into her lifeless form. Later,
giving up, he laid her out on the sofa in the corner. No matter how hard he
tried, he couldn’t cry that day. His eyes burned and burned, but not a single
tear. He looked at himself in the mirror. At the moment of his greatest
sadness, could he not be granted a face other than the one he saw staring back
at him? It was the face of a man who had lost no more than a night of sleep.
These are stories of
simple people, stories of the masses, workers, farmers, fishermen, these are
intimate portraits, snapshots illuminating the feelings and emotions of those
on the fringes of Turkish society.
“The Silk
Handkerchief” tells the tale of a young thief at a workshop wanting to steal a
small silk handkerchief for his sweetheart. “Nightwork” a meeting in a small
tavern. In a few short sentences Sait Faik Abasiyanik manages to create the
environment where the reader can actually feel the surroundings:
Eventually, the lights came on, timidly and
one by one, but almost of their own accord, without the flick of a single
switch. With each five-watt bulb taking five or ten minutes to light up, it was
an hour before they were flickering in the darkness, casting light on Omer’s
foul temper.
Once the lights were on, the tavern took on
its usual appearance. It was, Omer thought, nosier than hell. There were
gangsters, laborers, fishermen, and Greeks and Armenians of uncertain trades;
they talked about everything, though their lips were sealed. In this tavern
even the innocent could hear thieves and pickpockets plotting their business
without fear or loathing. In the tavern’s mirrors, they could look into the
eyes of those turned away from the crowd, who were curled up, and unable to
walk, and in those eyes you could see memories of an incident, an assault, a
murder.
As the chronological
order progresses we see more and more of Sait Faik Abasiyanik celebrating the
earth, celebrating nature and his environment. The story “Papa Efendi, tells
the tale of an old man leading a simple life, worshiping the earth which
provides he needs (besides women) and he is killed by idle gossip (humanity
destroys nature). “The Last Birds” also celebrating nature, the destruction of
the island environment (the loss of the birds and the grasses) and the simple
things that have now gone missing, like enjoying the sound of a bird, walking
on grass. A simple but moving impactful tale of progress.
“Four Plusses” is a
story about the human mind, who do we seek out when we want to ask a simple
question, like directions or a light for a cigarette? It is again a simple
story of our narrator waiting and being asked a simple question. However within
that tale are our own prejudices, our own fears, and our own self-doubt:
Most of us cannot make heads or tails of
psychology or face-reading; rather, we proceed as amateurs, knowing nothing
about these sciences, lighting our cigarettes, inquiring after ferries, asking
for directions, or whatever else we need to know. Our habits take over – we
lose all sense of shame. So why is it that they’ll pick me out of a crowd of
young men? Is it because yours truly is a good man? I doubt it…They don’t chose
me because I’m a good person. They choose me because I seem to be just the
right man to ask. Does that mean I have a compelling face? What a fine thing
that would be! There must be another reason. Are we shabbily dressed? Are our
boots unpolished? Did they catch a foolish glint in our eyes? Forbearance in
our manner? A kink in our nose? Something slack about our cheeks? Or is the
knot in our tie a touch too shiny? It has to be something. It could be that I
have something of the vagabond in me. If you saw a man jumping out of a car and
dashing for the ferry – would you even think of asking him a question? If you
saw a gentleman frowning as he drew deeply on his cigarette outside a
restaurant he had evidently just left, would you even think of asking him for a
light? If you saw a traveller dripping with elegance, would you ask him
directions? Could you ever find the courage to approach a man wearing polished
boots, to ask him why the crowd?
“A Cloud in the Sky”
tells us of a silent man who speaks to nobody but his dog. He has crows feet in
his eyes, but it is from squinting at the sun, not from laughter, as hearty
laughter brings tears. He is the subject of idle gossip, which is all gathered
for this tale. “Or if I were to say, “He wakes up in the morning with a heavy
heart.’ What a ridiculous line that would be.” This story questioning story
writing, gossip as opposed to facts.
As our stories unfold
we learn more and more of Sait Faik Abasiyanik’s insecurities, the “idle
chatter” of fellow villagers becomes a theme, people discussing other’s
misfortune or hypothetical reasons for their idiosyncrasies are stories within
stories. “I Can’t Go Into Town” one of the last stories in the collection is
where our writer tells us that he is writing. He tells us he can’t go into
town, but he cannot tell us why. He tells us the possible tales that have led
to him not being able to go into town, which reveals more about the town
characters than the writer himself. He keeps reverting to the tales and them
not being true, but he won’t reveal why he can’t go into town.
One of the short story
highlights of the year (you’re going to have to tune in to my last eight posts
in this string to see if I’ve added more short story collections to my
highlights of the year) this is a wonderful expose of minor people’s lives, similar
to a number of other works I read during the year where the “ordinary man” also
has a story to tell, this work shows the fringes of society in a humane light.
For my full review
click here.
Source personal copy as part of my Archipelago Books subscription.
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