On the Passage of Books: In the Reader’s Market of Galatasaray


If Turkey is loved Second-hand bookstores, known locally as the press, Where the books go into oblivion, and then there is one aisle dedicated to their stores, in a kind of indoor shopping mall by Galatasaray High School. This passage may be seen as an extension of the book purgatory, a parallel world to writers, book lovers, readers, bookworms, poets, scribes, writers, and even urban wanderers who are completely nostalgic, lost, and feet back, one page at a time .

It is a world within worlds, like a book about books, an ideal land for anyone emerging from the weave of the past where piles of dust have accumulated within the lanes of lanes called Aslıhan Pasajı, a marketplace that sells the press books you love. The books are stacked and stacked next to and on top of each other, to be abandoned, overwhelmingly like the wild thoughts of an overthinking neurotic on a day especially filled with anxiety.

Aslıhan Pasajı’s newspaper book sellers are as varied and whimsical as the books they hold, however messy, in piles that look more like the waves of a stormy ocean than any thought organization of rectangular things. The stores themselves overlap, seeming to share shelves at certain points, and even the screens outside of the wardrobe-like storefronts end indiscriminately as the next set of thorns begins.

However, by its interwoven mass of papers, although it is often nicely identified according to subject and language, there is not much for the contemporary English reader to find that it may remain relevant to the cultural moment. This, after all, is not the point of these journalism markets, offering, instead, an occasional, century-old curiosity, or amusement, and bizarre reviews across outdated trends in popular commercial publishing.

In a segmented box, the intolerable headlines of pharmacy paper books sparkle with their pink, downright colouration, and sparkle with lines that convey wordplay titles and forgotten names attributed to efforts that have emerged with trivial validity and banal as themes whose stories and characters are paraphrased. But given the very bad situation there are redemptive discoveries that will go unnoticed by the more knowledgeable and fluid browsers.

The clip is a book sanitizer, as they may someday be discovered by book lovers.  (Photography by Matt Hanson)
The clip is a book sanitizer, as they may someday be discovered by book lovers. (Photography by Matt Hanson)

Books for all seasons

Between a light fictional novel and a general autobiography is the collection of stories of Margaret, Queen of Navarre that dates back to the 16th century after her death, better known by her name, “Heptamron,” which, after Greek, refers to the seven-day period in which 70 tales of the Renaissance queen were compiled. The late. Not far from Penguin’s Balinese version, also in English, there is a collection of poems written by the famous Anglophone poet Robert Browning.

Aslıhan Pasajı is a marketplace that sells newspaper books that are stacked next to and on top of each other, like their books.  (Photography by Matt Hanson)
Aslıhan Pasajı is a marketplace that sells newspaper books that are stacked next to and on top of each other, like their books. (Photography by Matt Hanson)

For Turkish readers, Aslıhan Pasajı’s opening shops contain interesting examples of translation spanning a wide range of 20th-century writings from Turkey as they transported themselves into the world, and made a comeback. The late writer, Maurice Farahi, from Ankara, spent his life after attaining university in London, where he became a novelist who believed in Turkish modernity as an authentic source of global humanity.

Farahi’s penultimate novel, “A Certain Man”, appears with its boldly presented cover at Aslıhan Pasajı sahaf in Turkish as “Atanmış Erkek”. It is a bittersweet tale of rivalries in the Balkans, from a gender equality perspective. The fact that Farahi, a Turkish writer, wrote novels only in English, and that his books are being sold in Turkey, in Turkish, indicates the intercultural nature of literature as a dynasty following a common history of translation.

Although it may not necessarily be tied to the headlines themselves, journalism is a place where the work of independent publishers permeates the nooks and crannies of obscure readers, and they truly appreciate their discovery at the end of a special project. Such is the case with Sub Press, a classified footprint that deals in all things Beat-related, and counterculture.

A Sub Press publication by American composer Mark Opsasnick shows Jim Morrison’s shaky irony on the cover of “Coffee and Poetry” in Turkish, a collection of writings on the lost history of coffeehouse culture in the late 20th century. His location, near a pile of magazines, “Life”, in English, with the second issue of 1962 in the foreground, illustrates the contradictions characteristic of society prevailing during Morrison’s early years.

Morrison himself is said to have read variously the collections of the Istanbul press, from Plutarch to Arthur Rimbaud, Albert Camus to Jacques Kerouac. In fact, in the particularly aesthetically pleasing classic Sahaf Square down the hall from the entrance to Aslıhan Pasaj is Kozmos, where Turkish translations of the 1958 Kerouac classics, Dharma Bums are side by side under one of his best biographies, by his ex-girlfriend Joyce Johnson .

Parallel nostalgia

In the Istanbul press, as it abounds in Aslıhan Pasajı, there is not only the history of Turkish literature readers from the last hundred years or more, but every culture that has ever come across the great international, historical and multicultural crossroads. Grand Gate. Little wonder, then, that American literary history is broadcast alongside the momentum of earlier English books, not only as gates to the imagination, but as mementos.

In Cosmos there is a well-preserved bookcase, displayed at the entrance, squeezed among many other, antique English, French and German books, many of which are translations from one of these languages ​​to another. They are generally tied like the illustrated paperbacks, though valuable as collectible, including works by Mikhail Lermontov, Stephan Zweig, and Mark Twain.

Among these dusty, worn out volumes, a collection of literary and critical essays by the English poet Matthew Arnold caught my attention. It was a reprint, from 1911, and on the back of its cover was a charming note, in pen, from a loving daughter named Elizabeth, who in the winter of 1913, gave this book to her father for Christmas. Can only be speculated by how wild some benefit she fell out of family ownership. Now, it is 50 TL.

Unlike many other press libraries around Istanbul, which I cleared Tiles to me KadikoyAnd the Besiktas to me Princes’ IslandsAuthenticity of Sartre Basagi has preserved a distinctive variety of books in foreign languages ​​that are more rare than those produced mostly by the European publishing market, such as a Dutch version of Sartre’s stunning biography of American art critic and writer Annie Cohen Sallal.

And the more adventurous, in both stories from the adjacent and adjacent second-hand bookstores of Aslıhan Pasajı, even in the cold, relatively air-free borders of the shops inside the stores inside the well-lit indoor market, many newspaper book sellers seem to inhabit the hidden dimensions of the human mind. One eccentric bookseller can be found in his office under a banner that says, Destine, navigating into Latin canyons, flanked by books that seem to have transported instantaneously from other times, countries and imaginations.

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