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Snow
Pamuk, Orhan
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Á¤°¡ $14.95 ¶Ç´Â 19,440₩
ÆÇ¸Å°¡ $14.95 ¶Ç´Â 19,440₩
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ÆÇÇü Paperback, 425pp.
Ãâ°£ÀÏ Jul 2005
ÃâÆÇ»ç Vintage Books USA
ISBN-13: 9780375706868
Å©±â 20.22 cm. (length) X 13.77 cm. (width) X 2.57 cm. (thickness)
¹«°Ô 336 grams
In store: 1 copies.   In warehouse: 2 copies.
Sale discount: %
About the book
From the acclaimed author of My Name is Red, comes a spellbinding tale of disparate yearnings—for love, art, power and God—set in a remote Turkish town, where stirrings of political Islamism threaten to unravel the secular order. [Edit review] [Delete review]
From the publisher
Dread, yearning, identity, intrigue, the lethal chemistry between secular doubt and Islamic fanaticism–these are the elements that Orhan Pamuk anneals in this masterful, disquieting novel. An exiled poet named Ka returns to Turkey and travels to the forlorn city of Kars. His ostensible purpose is to report on a wave of suicides among religious girls forbidden to wear their head-scarves. But Ka is also drawn by his memories of the radiant Ipek, now recently divorced.
Amid blanketing snowfall and universal suspicion, Ka finds himself pursued by figures ranging from Ipek’s ex-husband to a charismatic terrorist. A lost gift returns with ecstatic suddenness. A theatrical evening climaxes in a massacre. And finding god may be the prelude to losing everything else. Touching, slyly comic, and humming with cerebral suspense, Snow is of immense relevance to our present moment. [Edit review] [Delete review]
Excerpt
The silence of snow, thought the man sitting just behind the bus driver. If this were the beginning of a poem, he would have called the thing he felt inside him the silence of snow.

He’d boarded the bus from Erzurum to Kars with only seconds to spare. He’d just come into the station on a bus from Istanbul—a snowy, stormy, two-day journey—and was rushing up and down the dirty wet corridors with his bag in tow, looking for his connection, when someone told him the bus for Kars was leaving immediately.

He’d managed to find it, an ancient Magirus, but the conductor had just shut the luggage compartment and, being “in a hurry,” refused to open it again. That’s why our traveler had taken his bag on board with him; the big dark-red Bally valise was now wedged between his legs. He was sitting next to the window and wearing a thick charcoal coat he’d bought at a Frankfurt Kaufhof five years earlier. We should note... [More...] [Edit review] [Delete review]
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