This was genuinely incredible, didn't know the Turks had it in them.

>>24509749 (OP)
My kobo stopped loading it somewhere around 20 pages into the single sentence chapter. I took it as a sign to give up on it. Some great moments like the whorehouse, but overall I was just bored by Selim.

>>24509749 (OP)
isn't this the controversial translation that Max Lawton was whining about on twitter (despite having previously praised it)? some turkish guy and Lawton were fighting for days kek

>>24509904
Well, it's the only translation available. It did feel slightly awkward at times (most of that I chalked up to style though) but I was still completely engrossed by the whole thing, peak ''literally me'' literature, to the point it's surprising that it isn't more popular on here.

But yeah I'd love to hear from some Turkish anons how the translation compares to the original. And another translation would be awesome if Lawton ever gets to it.

>>24509749 (OP)
What phenotype is this? It does have an literary air to it

just read the first paragraph it's the tritest shit ever.

>>24510036
post it pls

>>24509976
Ron Jeremy phenotype

>>24509749 (OP)
Anyone interested in Atay should try 'Waiting for Fear' instead, the book itself isn't the masterpiece that Tutunamayanlar is, but the recent nyrb classics translation is actually readable.

>>24510069
The guy who did the Waiting for the Fear translation wants to translate Tutunamayanlar now but the Atay estate doesn't let him. Sad!

>>24509749 (OP)
>single sentence chapter
sounds too gimmicky to be an interesting read

'The Disconnected' is such a shitty translation, the literal title doesn't even try to capture the pathos of the original. Just cause you fucked the author doesn't mean you can just translate his magnum opus.

>>24510072
>estate
Pure parasites, every estate is always run by the worst people on the planet. Like the Tolkien estate.

>>24509942
sup Max

>>24510072
When an artist dies all copyright should just be given to the public. If daddy leaves you money good for you but fuck off with everything else.

Just read Orhan Pamuk.

>>24510092
Pamuk is far from the best Turkish literature has to offer, he's the token author put forth to claim your country also has literature to offer. No soul nothing of real importance to say. My name is red was fun though I'll give him that.

>>24509899
Why is Kobo Abe doing that?

>>24510084
I'm going to assign my rights before I die, so there won't be an estate.

>>24509904
Damn, it has been almost two years since that but I remember it. Who was in the wrong?
https://x.com/TheUntranslated/status/1687943173723570176

>>24510146

>>24510149

>>24510154
They were talking about this

>>24510154
Max is correct btw, the translation sucks

Max Lawton initially praised the translation btw and wanted to ripoff Atay's estate lmao

>>24509749 (OP)
>“My life was a game, but I wanted it to be taken seriously,” says Selim, the anti-hero of the novel. But the game has a terrible end with his suicide, and his friend Turgut’s quest to understand this is the story of the book. He meets friends whom Selim had kept separate from each other, he finds documents in a kaleidoscopic variety of styles, sometimes hugely funny, sometimes very moving, as Selim rails against the ugliness of his world whether in satire or in a howl of anguish, taking refuge in words and loneliness.

>Under layers of fantasy is the central concept of the Disconnected, tutunamayanlar, literally ‘those who cannot hold on’, poor souls among whom he counts himself, whose sole virtue is that they do not fit into society as it is constituted. He will be their messiah, at whose second coming they will change places with the comfortable of the world. Confronted with this Turgut sees the faultline in his conventional middle class life, and that he too is one of the Disconnected: he takes a train into Anatolia and ‘vanishes’.What could have been a bleak vision of alienation is transformed by the power of language and the imagination.

Sounds somewhat interesting. But 700 pages? I could read Moby Dick instead or the actual Ulysses instead of Turkish Ulysses lol

>>24510221
The translation is accurate enough and the translator Sevin Seydi (Atay's ex) obviously knew him well enough. But she's a completely mediocre writer, think of Nabokov's Onegin but instead of trying to be autistically accurate you only have the accuracy of an average translation. I want a Falen version of the book. Max himself likely isn't even right candidate for this (his Turkish doesn't seem up to par from what I've seen) but that's besides the point.

>>24510252
Not that Nabokov is a mediocre writer, what I'm trying to say is that the translation sucks because it loses out on both substance and style at the same time, have neither cake nor eating it.

>>24510252
Max Lawton was supposed to be the co-translator to Ralph Hubbell (who translated Atay's Waiting for the Fear) who's apparently the actual Turkish knower (Max only knows Turkish thanks to watching his Turkish gf facetime her grandma on Sundays). Sadly, Hubbell disappeared from the picture and deleted his twitter account. He got divorced and trooned out, apparently.

>>24509976
I think this is a better picture, this is the one they use for all his book covers. Phenotype wise he just looks Turkish to me.

He just looks super Turkish lol, anatolian plus some asian genes I think?

>>24510252
>>24510266
what or who is Falen?

>>24510276
Some anon should do it instead. I've seen the Turkish economy, not like they have anything better to do.

>>24510287
Some rando translator (I think he was a high school teacher like Spengler) that produced an absolutely gorgeous version of Eugene Onegin (super iconic book in Russia). Compared to Nabokov who also translated Eugene Onegin but his goal was to be as autistic as possible in regards to accuracy so his kinda reads like shit. I'm pretty sure Oxford prints the Falen translation if you wanna check it out.

>>24510296
Ah, that guy. Yes, I have his Eugene Onegin translation (Oxford World's Classics, like you mention). Really good from what little I could read but I haven't read it properly.

>>24510284
Handsome for an author most good authors look like shit

I've never seen a thread on Turkey on /lit/ before and now there are 2 have Turks just now found out about 4chan?

>>24510069
>I! I shouted, as loudly as I could. Then I repeated my name several times. I, the victim of a secret sect, am withering away like a houseplant. I, who don’t know how to look after a houseplant, can’t even look after myself. Accused of wanting solitude, I’ve been condemned to it. I oppose this verdict with all my strength. I can’t take the loneliness anymore, I want to be among people. One needs enemies too. (To understand the value of one’s friends.) Here I am, alone, broken-down....

>>24510092
He is a bad writer and a complete retard.

>>24510069
>I! I shouted, as loudly as I could. Then I repeated my name several times. I, the victim of a secret sect, am withering away like a houseplant. I, who don’t know how to look after a houseplant, can’t even look after myself. Accused of wanting solitude, I’ve been condemned to it. I oppose this verdict with all my strength. I can’t take the loneliness anymore, I want to be among people. One needs enemies too. (To understand the value of one’s friends.) Here I am, alone, broken-down.

>>24510369
It has the melancholic urgency of Pessoa. Where's this from?

>>24510376
Waiting for fear

If you guys want good Turkish literature try out Nazım Hikmet Ran

Oh wow the thread really got out of hand lol. But yeah for all the talk about the translation and if it sucks or not, let me post a random snippet from the book, and you guys decide based on that whether you like the prose or not. I can't compare it with the original Turkish but I didn't mind it all that much desu.

>He was working in the supply shed at the building site, bent over his desk, examining the plans. As he stretched out his hand to pick up the ruler he heard the door open. He lifted his head and looked. A woman was standing at the door: a young woman. He dropped the ruler. He stayed where he was, in the same position, bent over the desk. He could not speak, only watch, as in a dream. If he moved the apparition would disappear. He looked without seeing. He made a vague gesture with his hand. The young woman, encouraged, took a few steps towards him. She stopped, she waited. Framed by the door as if in a painting. A pale woman with large eyes. She made a very slight movement, or did it seem so to Turgut? Yes, she was moving, she was alive. Then only he remembered to straighten up and point to a seat. Yes, she sat: she is moving. She moved her lips: she may be trying to speak. Stammering from within a small, round mouth, “I came to see you before,” she said. Turgut leaned against the desk: “I know.” Middle height, slim. Shy: as if a single word might drive her away. Turgut was afraid to talk. Long silence, broken by the young woman, moving her hands as if gathering courage: “I came to your office. I don’t know if...” She stopped. As she speaks she half-closes her eyes, the corners of her mouth turn down. Her nervous, bony, long fingers fiddle with her handbag. Suddenly, forcing herself to be brave, she said: “Maybe you know...” Yes, I know, no, I don’t know. I have forgotten everything. That’s good: I have forgotten everything. I have just been born; a little while ago. Before you came in I was on the point of being born. She is speaking again: “Selim talked to me about you, and maybe to you...?” Now she is tired; her hands hang down by her sides. Speaking does not come to her easily. She is approaching it with courage. She means to say, Please talk, and then perhaps you will make me talk as well. Turgut spoke, without taking notice of what he was saying: “No, he did not mention you to me. I first heard of you when I got your note. I thought you would not come again. That’s why I am a bit confused. I don’t know what to say. You are like someone from another world, a world I don’t know. How does one talk to you?” Then, embarrassed, he added: “I am sorry. I don’t even know your name.” “Günseli... Günseli Ediz.” Turgut felt like apologizing for something or other. Why apologize? He didn’t know. He said: “I’m sorry. Lately he had stopped talking about his life. Anyway, he did not like introducing his friends to each other. You know that. So l am meeting his friends only now.” He was silent. He had been about to say ‘...after his death.’ “I am just finding out who his friends were. No one seems to know what he was doing during the last few months.” He looked at the young woman’s face, waiting for her to say something. I have forgotten everything.

>(continued) I want to learn everything from you. Already I might have learned to listen to you. An important advance. Günseli spoke hurriedly: “Yes, I know. With me too, a very short time... But we did see each other often. A brief, painful time. How can I tell you? A dark, hopeless, tense sort of time...”
She wept a little. Then she talked to him in short, broken sentences; hesitant, disjointed. Turgut listened to her without interrupting, without asking questions. Her mind seemed to be in such disarray that he feared the slightest touch would make it crumble to pieces and she would never find her balance again. Turgut was in such a state of fear and excitement that he did not dare move. The slightest movement might break the magic. She stared at the floor as she spoke, and her voice was feeble and tremulous.
She had met Selim about a year before his death. A friend from her office had asked her to join herself and others for a Sunday in the countryside. That’s where she had seen Selim for the first time. She thought he looked interesting. He never smiled, and he looked uncomfortable. He did not speak to anyone, and looked as if he had been dragged there against his will. And that was what in fact had happened: an office friend was teasing Selim, saying that he had forced him out of his den. “You really must mix with people,” he said.

>Günseli went on: “There was no need to hear these words to realise that he had no interest in these people or such outings, that he found it difficult to join in the games, or that his inability to fit in made him desperately unhappy. He could not hide his misery. Without realising it he was looking for someone to save him. I wanted to help him overcome his timidity. I approached him, making a long face like his, and I started to speak to him. ‘Since, unlike me, you have not come to this do by mistake,’ he said, ‘I cannot imagine that you will understand me.’ He looked at the ground as he spoke. He did not have the courage to look at me. He suddenly lifted his head, and said: ‘For years I have been imagining all the bitterness and sarcasm I would put into my words when a young girl approached me and talked to me. You could not possibly be able to bear the weight of it all. Anyway, when I talk I immediately regret it. The best thing is not to talk. Look, there are plenty of lively and cheerful young men here. They would be much better at amusing you.’ I sulked, and said that it was with him that I wanted to talk. He told me he did not like the role of a young man in need of consolation. ‘I don’t see that you are,’ I said. ‘I believe you are as alive as anyone can be.’ ‘With women, one...’ He stopped. Then he asked me, ‘Have you read Bernard Shaw?’ We walked on the grass for a while without speaking. Then, meeting my eyes for the first time, ‘I was expecting myself to do better in a situation like this,’ he said. ‘I am disappointing myself.’ He began to ask me questions: Which paper did I read? What books did I read? Which of them did I particularly like? Did my family approve of my independent way of life? Why had I come on this outing? Wasn’t there a man I was interested in among those here? Did I have a job because I wanted to prove my emancipation? Questions followed one another. I knew I mustn’t be offended: after all, he had warned me. He suddenly stopped his questions and said: ‘I am sure I have offended you enough. You won’t even look at me for the rest of the day.’ He was on the point of leaving. ‘By now you must have realised that I don’t put on a sulky air in order to seem attractive to girls.’ I was looking at him. ‘What do you still expect?’ he asked. I laughed and said: ‘I was expecting you to be exactly as you are.’ He made a face like a child whose toy has been taken away. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘You want to be amused. All right, come then.’ He held my hand and took me to the others, who were playing handball. Until the evening, he had fun, like a child. On the way back he looked at the flowers on my lap and asked me which book I intended to use to dry them. ‘Please, please let it not be one of my favorite books,’ he said. He laughed, he told funny stories, he joined in the singing. He held my arm; with a blade of straw he wrote his name on the sunburnt skin.

>Fearing someone might notice I pushed his hand away. He was sad. I smiled at him to show him he had done nothing wrong. His face lightened immediately. ‘Do you like tangos in Turkish?’ he asked. ‘What do you take me for?’ I replied. He sulked. ‘This is the end of me,’ he said. ‘Women have learnt how to parry a question.” All the way back he sang tangos in Turkish to me, changing all the words.
“After that day I did not hear from him for a month. Every day, I longed for him to ring me at the office. I thought he had forgotten me. Then one day he rang. His voice was timid as he asked if it was all right for him to call me. I asked why he had not rung earlier. He must have been surprised; he was silent for a moment. ‘You mean you expected me to call? I had never thought of that.’ I laughed: 'How imperceptive you are.’ ‘I was going to say... mmm, Günseli... can we meet at once?’ I did not want to disappoint him.”
Turgut was anxious when Günseli stopped talking. “Please go on,” he begged. “Please don’t stop. If you are fed up with this place let’s go somewhere else, and you can talk on the way there. Tell me everything. If you only knew what a state I am in.” He stopped, then, laughing, he asked: “What would Selim have said if he heard me now?” Günseli opened wide her large eyes, and said, with childish pride: ‘“If I knew the state you were in I wouldn’t be able to hold back my tears.’ Isn’t that it?” Turgut said: “You see, you shouldn’t have any secrets from me.” “True,” said Günseli; “I am so lonely.” They went out to eat together.
Turgut felt childishly happy. Aha, Selim, at last you are caught in the act. Don’t be vulgar, Turgut. You are right, Selim. I forgot myself for a minute; I reverted to my true nature. Enough, enough. Happiness has derailed me: but, Selim, you must accept that you are caught. Selim, naughty brother, I shall tell your mother. Did you tell her everything? Did you tell her our nursery rhymes and all that? So I too have to learn everything about Günseli. I have the right, in my turn. Idiot, ask her what you like: there she is, walking beside you. “Did you see him often?” Yes, she did see him often. She looked sad. So that’s why you kept running away from me, Selim. Everyone else wants someone to talk to. What kind of a Selim were you? Why could I not have been told? Did your hands sweat then? Did your attention wander when you were with her? It is not enough to listen: I should have been with you. It is not enough to be told: I should have lived it with you. The three of us could have walked far into the fields. I would have turned away the moment my presence embarrassed you. It would have been as if I did not exist. I would not have reminded you of your previous words on the subject of love. Are you mad? Why were you scared?
I suppose you were frightened of marriage.

>Yes, I remember, one day we were on the bus, standing, and a couple of women touched us as they passed. I should have realised when you asked me, ‘What would you think, Turgut, if I got married one day?’ You were afraid that if you were married you would not be comfortable any more looking at women. You were afraid that you would not be able to fantasies when women touched you as they passed. You should have told me. All right, I did not understand you. We had made such a hero of you in our minds, as if you were apart, untouchable. And you in turn would touch no one.
She is afraid to pick up a fork. A timid creature. She hardly eats. She drank a little, which gave her courage. She goes on with her story.
“The day we first met he quoted Nazim Hikmet’s poetry to me. That was when he dared to hold my hand.” He was a hero from a saga who never turned to look at a woman as she passed. Does the touch of the hand shatter the myth, Olric? No, Sir. The world must have a hero. To give courage to those who live all alone. That he should continue always to be what he was would comfort them. But would it not be a lie? How could it be, Sir? It is true. “We went somewhere to have a drink. Then he told me about his father. He told me how his father depressed him, how he was always scolding his mother. His ears, he said, were always full of his father’s mutterings. One day he had looked in the mirror, when he was just starting to grow a moustache; it was as if he saw his father’s reflexion, his father’s face in photographs from his youth. He was terrified. He moaned, ‘I am sure to end up looking like him.’ Necati admired him. ‘I never caught you looking at a woman,’ he said, like everyone else.’ He would say, ‘I have to consult my friends - we discuss all our relationships.’”
“He didn’t mean us. He meant his intellectual friends. He must have talked to Burhan.”
“I also met Burhan. Selim introduced us in the street; he seemed ashamed.”
“Ashamed of whom? Of Burhan? Of you? Of himself?”
“It was not clear what he was ashamed of.” He was ashamed of living. He was letting life down. He wanted to live ten, a hundred, a thousand things at once. Whichever he embraced, it seemed to him that he was letting the others down. But how many parts could he split himself into? Why didn’t he push to one side all these feelings of shame? Why didn’t he try to live his life? Why didn’t he try to lift his head and look up? He had sworn never to be a man-who-meets-a-girl-at-a-café-and-tells-her-the-story-of-his- life-while-looking-into-her-eyes sort of man. Better not to live than to be inauthentic, Turgut. We all betrayed him. “On our second day he quarreled with me, when I said I had to go. My aunt was staying with me. It was getting dark. ‘Maybe you’d rather not see me again.’ he said.” I did not have much time left, Turgut. She did not understand, I had waited so long.

>The beginning and end of my life were obvious; I did not want to miss living the middle of it.
I had no time to lose. I had to quote to her all the poems I had learnt by heart, I had to quarrel all my quarrels, I had to air all my anxieties. Perhaps a man would have understood you, Selim. How can that be? We were all so ferociously competitive. A woman would not fight. I did not want any more opposition. I wanted to gallop at breakneck speed.

I think that's about enough to get a feel for the book.

>>24509749 (OP)
Reading this made me feel like shit for weeks

>>24510149
The Untranslated guy is a pseud.
>basing the difficulty of a novel on how "difficult" the words are
Literal grade school reading level.

>>24510536
He was defending his boyfriend Max Lawton at all costs.

>>24509749 (OP)
quite an okay novel.
I got published because of him more or less..

>>24510092
Pamuk is a hard-working novelist, but in terms of style they are different. Pamuk is easier to translate as style and substance are not as intertwined as they are with Atay's work.

Theme is the same in most Turkish good novels (i.e. republican literature). The search for a (national) identity.

>>24510606
>I got published because of him more or less..
Do tell

>>24510634
I had written a few novels back when I was young, then at uni my then-girlfriend (both studying literature at that time) introduced me to his work. I really liked it, read all his books, I enjoyed the humorous tone, and applied it to my own next attempt at novel-writing.

Submitted it to a publisher. Met them at their office. first words by the publisher: you're trying to carve the next Selim Işık (one of the characters in the Disconnected) I smiled. got published.

Adam Smith's turkish translation of his Wealth of Nations and this book is where I got my 'style' basically.

>>24510653
a non-failson on /lit/? incredible. post your work anon

>>24510653
How is life after getting published? What do you do day to day? You seem like you'd be into music

>>24510701
My day job is teaching at a uni. I gave up writing novels for a long time (10+ years) basically around the time I got published. Mostly because I realised that this attempt at communication was futile, basically.

After a long hiatus I'm slowly trying to get back into it, complete an unfinished draft I had waiting for a loooooong time. One more in the same style, then I hope to outgrow it (by reading a lot).

>>24510689
It's in Turkish, so.

>>24510653
>my then-girlfriend
why didn't you marry her?

>>24510722
Because I was a fool. She moved abroad after we broke up.

>>24510227
In other words, it's Turkish 13 Reasons Why

>>24510711
>It's in Turkish, so.
I do speak Turkish. I'd be interested in reading something by a countryman whose horizon goes further than the usual Turkish scenery.

>>24511685
Seems more like notes from underground

>>24511565
Seems more like notes from underground

Turkish authors actually worth reading:

Oğuz Atay: Tutunmayanlar (the disconencted), Korkuyu Beklerken (waiting for fear), and his greatest book: Tehlikeli Oyunlar, which sadly has no translation at all. It's unfinished (and has no translation) but Eylembilim is also really good.

Nazım Hikmet Ran: Memleketimden İnsan Manzaraları (human landscapes from my country)

Necati Tosuner: No translations at all sadly, but Turkish anons should check him out

Other than that: I've read Kutadgu Bilig (translated as: wisdom of royal glory) which was written for a prince by a vizier/philosopher, I thought it was quite fun. Kürk Mantolu Madonna (madonna in a fur coat) seems to be popular with foreigners. There's also some religious/sufi stuff which is good, Nihal Atsız would be popular among chuds if he ever got translated. I haven't read any Ottoman literature/poetry but I've heard it's good stuff.

>>24511742
+there are a lot of classics and famous authors a lot of it I haven't gone through but from what I've read I didn't enjoy any of it all too much.

>>24510107
both the black book and and the white castle were great imo and his book on istanbul made me wanna visit

>>24509749 (OP)
Sabahattin Ali

He is the "literally me" Turkish writer. He is Dostoevsky-like with most of his stories having a melancholic atmosphere.
His prose is smooth and easy to read while also having an artistic tone.
If I had to suggest a Turkish writer, It is him and Fuzuli for poetry.

>>24512734
Forgot pic

>>24512734
P.S: Most Turkish writers born after the 80s are shit. With exceptions of course.
Even if they aren't shit, they are mostly not worth reading. I dont know honestly why people promote them.

>>24512734
>Sabahattin Ali
What should I read by him?

>>24512747
>Turkish writers born after the 80s are shit
What is worth reading before the 80s, if you could pick one ''masterpiece'' to recommend. What's the greatest thing ever written by a Turk?

>>24510091
>hollywood should have a financial incentive to suicide authors

>>24513124
Isn't it the complete opposite? Imagine if idk Batman was public domain? Or anything really. Copyright would only exist as long as the author is alive and with their death become public domain, which is something hollywood obviously wouldn't want.

>>24513134
So there'd be no copyright fuckery, Nintendo wouldn't have copyright over Mario the moment idk Miyamoto dies (the exact details of it would be worked out so that no serious loophole exists)

>>24513137
So it'd belong to the public and not to an estate nor any company. This way (together with a lot of other reforms) you can still keep copyright but make it art friendly instead of corpo friendly

>>24513134
>Isn't it the complete opposite?
Would Hollywood have a financial incentive to keep authors alive so they would need to pay them to adapt their works? No, I don't believe it so.
>hollywood obviously wouldn't want
I didn't claim that Hollywood would want it.

>>24513076
I would suggest "Madonna in fur coat" as a good start. It's tone is very much like "White Nights"

>>24509749 (OP)
Turks are infidels

>>24514391
in what way?

>>24513952
gayest melodrama I've ever read
so yea, just like Dosto

>>24514413
They're not christian?