By Mario Levi
A massive paintings of up to date Turkish literature, Istanbul used to be a Fairy story tells the tales of 3 generations of a Jewish relations from the Nineteen Twenties to the Nineteen Eighties. Istanbul is their basically domestic, and but they stay in a nation of alienation, separating themselves from the area round them. As witness, observer, and protagonist, the narrator—at as soon as inside and out of his story—records their many stories, in addition to these in their neighbors and acquaintances, developing an expansive mosaic of characters, each one doing their most sensible to outlive the 20 th century.
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Additional resources for Istanbul Was a Fairy Tale
He always squawks a name which isn't yours. Doesn't it annoy you, to hear that parrot screaming every time you reach the seventh heaven: "Canavaro! " Don't you ever feel like taking him by the neck and wringing it? It's high time you taught him to shout: "Zorba! ' Zorba cried, stopping his ears with his great hands. 'Wring his neck, you say? But I love to hear him shout that name! At night the old sinner hangs him up over the bed and the little devil's got an eye he 85 can see with in the dark, and scarcely have you got started having it out together than he begins shouting: "Canavaro!
And when I tell you how it happened, you'll be amazed. ' He crossed himself and, in a soft voice and gentle manner, began to tell his tale. Tn those days, then, a rich Turkish woman lived in our village - damn her soul! One fine day the wretch became big with child and the time came for her to give birth. They laid her on the trestle-bed and she stayed there bellowing like a heifer for three days and nights. But the child wouldn't come. So a friend of hers - damn her soul, too! gave her some advice.
He pulled a few chestnuts out of the fire, shelled them, and we clinked glasses. We stayed a long time drinking and 86 slowly munching like two great rabbits, and we could hear the roaring of the sea. VII w e stayed silent by the brazier until far into the night. I felt once more how simple and frugal a thing is happiness: a glass of wine, a roast chestnut, a wretched little brazier, the sound of the sea. Nothing else. And all that is required to feel that here and now is happiness is a simple, frugal heart.
Istanbul Was a Fairy Tale by Mario Levi