Giannis Marinos Hall, The Friends of Music Society, Athens 5th September 2023
Christos Chomenidis
It is a great pleasure, a great honour for me to speak tonight about Zülfü Livaneli, especially at an event organized by the friends of Mikis Theodorakis.
We all had a special relationship with the Great Lion. Zülfü much longer than me. Regardless of how close and deep our personal friendship with him was, one thing is certain: we grew up in his shadow. Both here, and perhaps on the opposite shores of the Aegean. I had once seen a Cretan Turk, settled in Smyrna, who worshipped Mikis Theodorakis.
Was that shadow heavy? Unbearable on our shoulders? I would say the exact opposite. Mikis, with his work, his public presence, his company, not only did not weigh us down, did not trap us… on the contrary, he liberated us. He inspired us. Leaving his side, I felt we felt – stronger, more optimistic, more prepared to face any challenge. He infused us with his spirit, his inspirational motivation, which was both Apollonian and Dionysian. He narrated life to us as an adventure. The world as a blooming garden that we are inherently obligated to smell its fragrances, to reap its juicy fruits. And share them with others. Mikis Theodorakis, with his musical notes and phrases, grasped, unfolded reality in an exciting way. Zülfü Livaneli does the same.
This summer, amidst the heatwaves and wildfires, I re-read his books. Each and every one of them – without exception – holds something truly unique. “The Eunuch Of Constantinople ” is a multi-layered psychological portrait, and simultaneously an essay on the tragedy of power, which alienates to at the maximum extent those in fact who are in power. “Serenade” is a study of the absurdity of History, which like a ravenous monster, consumes and shatters people’s lives. It speaks of the mercilessness of Time, which – as Heraclitus first said – is a child playing with dice. In “Leyla’s House” we see how the past can illuminate and give meaning to the present…
Tonight, I will focus on what I consider to be Zülfü Livaneli’s most ambitious and grandiose novel: “Hotel Constantiniye”.
In his preface, Zülfü states that he followed the style of the old eastern narratives, known as “Sehrengiz”. In these narratives, individual stories are interwoven, characters fall in love, clash, hate, and reconcile, but the main protagonist, the central figure, is – from beginning to end – the city itself. “Sehr” means city in Turkish.
I hope Zülfü will forgive my objection. It wasn’t only the Easterners who conceived the city as a cradle and as a tomb, as a vast bed, a slaughterhouse, a stock exchange, a temple. Every writer, once he believes in his powers, attempts precisely that: to create a book that mirrors time and place. Tolstoy did it with “War and Peace”, partly also with “Anna Karenina”. Dickens with “A Tale of Two Cities”. Durrell with the “The Alexandria Quartet “, which originated from “The City”, the masterpiece poem, the only one by Cavafy that was partially set to music by Mikis… Our friends from across the Atlantic search neurotically almost every five, every ten years, the “great American novel”. In one sense, it all begins with the giant Balzac and his “Human Comedy”.
Between 2012 and 2015, Zülfü Livaneli dedicated himself to “Hotel Constantiniye”. He crafted a panorama of contemporary Istanbul, which keeps its long and turbulent past alive Roman, Byzantine, Ottoman, Kemalist, which embraces or strangles people coming from other places, from the depths of the East – damn their need or bless their boldness! He succeeded remarkably. Admirably. He gave us six hundred mouth- watering pages. Pages filled with images and emotions. Excitement, revulsion, sweetness, horror, nostalgia. Flesh-and-blood characters, bleeding – by no means made of paper, by no means intellectual constructs. Relationships that bloom and bear fruit, relationships that are violently severed before their time. Ambitions that succeed and dreams that collapse into the abyss. Light twists, playful comments, keen observations. Absolutely everything that a great novel should include.
I must, on my part, an author’s part, point out how much artistry is required to create a “Hotel Constantiniye “. It’s like composing a musical piece, with a symphony orchestra and two choirs, an adult one and a children’s one. What a sense of measure you must possess in order to maintain harmony, to prevent anyone from going off-key, to avoid dissonance, to prevent your creation from overflowing… The novelist is first and foremost a craftsman. Of words and meanings. Of crescendos and diminuendos. And pauses. Zülfü Livaneli proves to be a master and conductor of great skill.
How does your passionate love for your country manage not to dampen your criticism of its evils? How does your uncompromising, surgical look manage to be tender, sometimes even affectionate at the same time? How can you stand before even the most negative and detestable of your heroes and seek out and reveal their deeply buried truth? Or at least their mitigating factors?
Writing a novel like “Hotel Constantiniye” requires absolute clarity. And moral backbone. It also requires fun, passion, boundless creative inspiration. Many creators, from a certain age onwards, consciously or unconsciously, settle for repeating themselves. Zülfü Livaneli, on the contrary, reinvents himself, recreates himself with every book. That’s why he remains perpetually young.
I thank you, Zulfi Livaneli, for the reading pleasure you have given me. I raise my invisible yet crystal glass and drink “bottoms up!” to your health. I wish, with all my heart, continuing success. People – as you say many times at “Hotel Constantiniye” – come and go to make way for the next ones. They become an aura, a breeze that cools or burns. Books like yours will always be here. Thank you for listening to me.