Orhan Pamuk's Nobel Prize

Turkey is a country where translations from all languages are abundantly produced and read, yet it fails to achieve the same standard when it comes to producing works that appeal to other languages.

We have a vibrant publishing sector that finds and brings to Turkish readers whatever is noteworthy in any language—be it English, French, German, Arabic, Persian, Hindi, Urdu, or Russian. Thanks to this sector, it would not be an exaggeration to describe Turkey as a complete translation paradise.

This has been the case since the late 19th century. Books by thinkers such as Durkheim, Pareto, Rousseau, Montesquieu, Mill, and many others, which do not even have modern Turkish translations today, were translated and published in Ottoman Turkish during that period. The translation initiative undertaken during Hasan Ali Yücel's tenure as Minister of National Education left behind a very rich corpus of translations. Translations stimulate interest in a certain intellectual or literary accumulation; thus, one translation inevitably invites another.

It is quite intriguing that a country so keen on translating from other languages fails to produce works to be translated into other languages—or if it does, these works find no resonance in other tongues. You can read many works by numerous contemporary authors from Arabic or Persian in Turkish, but only very rarely can you find a book by a Turkish author in Arabic or Persian.

In Turkey, the number of figures who are passionately read by a wide audience at home yet manage to extend that same success beyond the country's borders is virtually nonexistent. In my view, attributing this to the world's indifference toward Turkey would be sheer intellectual laziness. Writers and scholars in Turkey generally do not write with the possibility of being read abroad in mind. A significant portion of our authors whose books break sales records and are followed with admiration in Turkish may mean nothing at all in other languages. What is written in Turkey is composed very much to remain in Turkey; no one concerns themselves with whether what is said carries any meaning for a global readership, or more specifically for an English, German, or Arabic reader. This is a handicap in Turkish intellectual life that warrants serious reflection.

If what is said finds a sufficient clientele within Turkey, the Turkish author takes this as a sign proving their own justification. In this respect, the Turkish author is very contented; they consider the approval and favor of the Turkish reader a sufficient reward. With the feedback (and sometimes egging on) received from the Turkish reader, the Turkish author further reinforces their convictions, and the secret alliance between the author and the reader continues to reproduce itself within its own boundaries without needing any other arduous quest.

Of course, this situation does not make Turkish literature particularly interesting from the standpoint of broader interest. It would probably be too much to expect others to listen to someone who has no concern for telling others anything. Classic works, beyond their immediate addressees, also appeal to the interests of people in other places or times who perceive and feel the world differently.

In this sense, one must reflect on the fact that there is no other name besides Jalal al-Din Rumi who emerged from Turkey and managed to be read throughout the world. This should serve as a starting point for the analysis and critique of Turkish thought or literature.

Whether making oneself read by a global audience as a top priority is sufficient to render a work a classic is undoubtedly a separate matter for debate. After all, one must not forget that the subjects of works considered classics and seen to have captured a universal language are often very specific, historical, and extremely simple events.

Everyone knew that Orhan Pamuk had long targeted the Nobel Prize in Literature and meticulously tailored all his works and rhetoric to achieve this goal. Whatever the content of his writings or the quality of his literature might be, his efforts in this regard achieved visible success. Say what you will, Pamuk succeeded in becoming the most widely read Turk outside of Turkey. Even if he had not received the Nobel Prize, he was perhaps the first Turkish man of letters who managed to be read simultaneously by Pakistani, Indian, Moroccan, American, and German readers. Undoubtedly, the Nobel served as a meaningful reward for this achievement.

Orhan Pamuk (perhaps along with Elif Shafak) is certainly an "extant" example for evaluating the conditions of Turkish literature's inward closure or outward opening.