In the previous chapters that we had read, Pamuk focuses on the melancholy of the city, as a whole. In chapters 33 and 34, he seems to open up and allow the reader to see the personal melancholy that radiates from himself. Pamuk seems to go back and forth on his opinion of himself and his true nature. He once mentions that he thinks that everyone looking at him hated him and that they had every right to do so. It seems to me like Pamuk is allowing the city to take him under and the melancholy of the city is being reflected through his own confusion and anxiety of sorts. The city seems to be split into various parts of East and West and like it can’t make its mind up between growing into something new or maintaining the essence of its own true nature.
Overall, this book was utterly beautiful and gave the reader insight as to the mysterious air about Istanbul.