I’d be haggling, talking, chatting. I would know every clerk, but
it’s all changed now,” he said, referring to the somewhat touristy atmosphere
and the disappearance of characters he’d come to know, such as a manuscript
seller who doubled as a Sufi preacher.
These days, he said, “I come only once a
year.”
Mr. Pamuk was born about three and a
half miles from the market, in the prosperous Nisantasi neighborhood in 1952,
the son of a businessman who frittered away much of his fortune through a
series of bad investments.
Mr. Pamuk grew up surrounded by relatives and
servants, but quarrels between his mother and father, and the ever-present
sense of a family unraveling, cast his youth into uncertainty and periodic
sadness.
-Joshua Hammer
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