reviews

Yakup Kadri's _Yaban_ is the novel of the Turkish peasant who has been abandoned and forced to create his own morality inside that abandonment. It places this forgotten people, born of soil kneaded with ignorance, opposite the Turkish intellectual who watches them from a distance — two worlds of the same land, with no shared language and no shared sense of history between them. Throughout the book, the issue is not merely the ignorance or roughness of the Anatolian peasant; it is the neglect that created that ignorance, the ownerlessness that feeds that roughness.

I was disgusted by Tender Is the Flesh — and I absolutely loved it. At first, the fragmented sentences and occasionally slow pacing might make the book feel somewhat distant. But once the truly disturbing scenes begin to surface, those complaints quietly disappear. Before you know it, you are trapped inside the book until the final page. Here is my honest advice: do not read this while waiting for meat to cook in the kitchen, especially when the smell starts reaching you. Eat first. Then continue.

The New Years wasn't a series; it was the unearthing of something already lived, something buried under years of compromises, silences, delayed conversations, and the quiet violence of everyday disappointment. Rodrigo Sorogoyen doesn't simply tell a love story — he observes how love changes shape, how it survives for a while inside habit, desire, resentment, tenderness, exhaustion, and finally, how it quietly rots without ever fully disappearing.

At first glance, Richard Bach's classic appears to be a simple fable filled with life lessons and aphorisms about daring to be different. However, as the story of Jonathan unfolds, it evolves into something much sharper.

It is truly fascinating to realize that H.G. Wells penned this masterpiece in 1895, long before Einstein formalized the theory of relativity. In this seminal work, Wells offers impressive premises regarding time as the fourth dimension, wrapped in a narrative that is as entertaining as it is immersive.

Unfortunately, this captivating novel by Serkan Karaismailoğlu is not yet available in English. However, if you are a Turkish reader, "Biomortem" takes you on a mesmerizing journey between science and philosophy. While it provides a deep dive into the intricacies of our minds, it also confronts the reader with profound philosophical questions about life and death.

It was a captivating film that drew me into its scenes. The original story revolves around a retired judge who enacts unresolved desires through a young woman. While the lead actress delivered a strong performance, I found the rest of the cast less convincing, and at times, the film felt a bit slow. Nevertheless, the director’s mastery of cinematography turned it into a striking visual experience that kept me engaged. Learning afterward that it was the final installment of a trilogy made me wonder if watching the films in order would have amplified its impact.

Orhan Pamuk’s The Red-Haired Woman offers a mixed experience for readers seeking the author’s signature depth. The opening chapters showcase Pamuk’s usual fluid and immersive style, with subtle psychological insights and vivid setting descriptions. However, as the novel progresses—especially in the second part—the extended focus on father-son relationships and references to the Shahnameh and Oedipus unnecessarily slows the narrative, at times making it tedious.

Yusuf Atılgan's Motherland Hotel immerses the reader in a life woven with mental isolation, suppressed desires, and monotonous routines, creating an intensely atmospheric text.

Not looking for literary complexity or deep character studies? This book is for you. I’m only just getting around to it, and it’s a surprisingly successful story that speaks to those struggling with severe depression or even suicidal thoughts. It’s easy to read, yet delivers its message in a thoughtful, engaging way.

A warm and delightful New York film. Through the performance of an actress who truly lived her role, we step into Frances’s life, where behind the black-and-white frame she reveals to us poverty at times, hope and determination at others, and always a way of looking at life with positivity. A touching film that was a joy to watch — one that made me laugh, made me sad, and pushed me to empathize. Thank you, Frances, I love you.

A father confronting his past, a journey, a love story. A beautifully written script enriched with stunning set designs, outstanding performances, and powerful music. A film that could very well answer the questions: Why do some leave? And perhaps, is it not those who stay who are the true forsakers?

A love struggling to ignite in the midst of misery, carried by two lovers who believe life still owes them one last chance. The story unfolds with perfect musical choices, and humor that is both effective and subtle, never forced upon the audience. It’s a warm love story — not a cliché about two lovers striving to reunite, but rather an original take on it. Set in a bleak universe shaped by poverty, alcoholism, oppression, and the scars of war, the performances contribute deeply to the film’s somber atmosphere.

Our main character — brought to life with an extraordinary performance — appears to be someone who, despite coming from a wealthy family, chooses to live a simple life, while paying close attention to the smallest details within it. A minimalist figure who excels at his craft and continues his life through straightforward planning. By its nature, the film is quite slow-paced, yet with the lesson it aims to convey and the way it delivers it — combined with a remarkable lead performance — it keeps the audience engaged. Music also takes a prominent place, making it a beautifully crafted film overall.

The director made us spend 90 minutes inside the mind of a patient. It was a brilliantly constructed film. Hopkins’ extraordinary performance played a major role in making us feel as though we were truly living inside this mind. We were constantly tossed around within the decaying mind of an old father. Through its masterful use of space and seamless scene transitions, the film managed to hold us firmly in its grip at every moment. At times dramatic, at times comedic, and at times full of unexpected twists, the harmony of these elements elevates the film into a masterpiece.

Are you trying to entertain us or torment us? For the most part, the film carries the disturbing weight of Requiem for a Dream, with strong performances that make us feel like we’re part of the misery. Even though the emotional atmosphere it conveys is a deep, dark gray, the use of color within the scenes is strikingly well executed. While the film primarily stands out for its unsettling nature, the moments of humor it incorporates are presented to the audience in just the right measure. Overall, it was a powerful Scandinavian film that made me feel truly immersed in its world.

If you try to watch this film with a mindset accustomed to Hollywood cinema, the narrative structure might throw you off balance.