The last two chapters of the book do not fall too far from the melancholy of earlier pages. Pamuk opens his soul to the city as to absorb fully its intense nebulous dim and rescue his own self and passion for art through his love for the city. His journey while on board of Kocatas transports him to Eastern Istanbul, as he feels it. It’s a sweet picture of the city as as much of a gift to the reader as it is to himself, in his search for something – as he acknowledges int he last chapter of the book – he was wanting.
This beautiful image of an “unspoiled East” is quickly confronted with his quarrels with his mother and her misfortunes, as well. One can sense that she, in her own way, wants to protect him from hardships and shame as a painter. Fortunately, his daily immersions in the city’s “darkness” is a powerful dosage of artistry and feelings Pamuk needed to convert his pains and joys into this beautiful literary masterpiece.
After Pamuk, I admire Istanbul; his Istanbul.