Plain and simple, I can't stand the main character, the narrator. A 30-year-old Turkish man, employed in the family business, well-to-do and doted upon. He's preparing to marry an educated, beautiful Turkish woman whom he has known for a year.
He has no goals, no interests beyond his own pleasures. He speaks of soccer matches and dinners with too much alcohol. He is disinterested in the religion of his family, a faith his parents are cool to as well. He doesn't even work very hard. I am not even sure of his name.
But instead of living a life of meaning, or at least preparing to live one, he's become obsessed with a distant cousin 12 years is junior. This 18-year-old beauty has, it appears, fallen in love with him even though she knows he's engaged. She's had an ugly life surrounded by creepy men and creepy boys. She works in a shop while she studies for entrance exams for the university. And she's spending her afternoons in bed with this self-centered man. She's innocent and trusting--even if she does ask him if he's lying to her. Of course, he lies about lying.
So I'm making my way through this heavy book grossed out by the main character. Is he a hero at all?
I don't think so. But the two women who love him will keep me reading. Both are drawn sympathetically, graced with charm, compassion and sweetness. I ache for them both. I worry about them. One of them has to be hurt by this vile man. Even if he doesn't see how cruel he's being, I do. And I don't like it one bit.
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