Friday Arts Diary

Our cultural picks for the week ahead.

Film

I Am Breathing, directed by Emma Davie and Morag Mckinnon, cinemas nationwide, Friday 21st June

This documentary charts the final days of Scottish architect Neil Platt, who was diagnosed with Motor Neuron Disease in 2008. In a caption at the beginning of the film, Platt promises ‘a tale of fun and laughs with a smattering of upset and devastation’ and he isn’t lying; as well as deeply poignant moments, there is also a fair amount of dark humour. Recently, there have been several films of a similar theme, but critics have called I am Breathing “by far the most honest and poignant”.

Exhibition

Dieter Roth: Diaries, Camden Arts Centre, 22nd June-14th July

In the year leading up to his death, artist Dieter Roth went through the meticulous and gargantuan process of recording his entire existence, using a vast range of media. One of the more dominant pieces in the exhibition is the ‘solo scenes’ - 128 video tapes replaying the everyday actions which constitute our lives. Installations, books, sculpture, drawing and assemblages are also used to create “a record of his relentless and impassioned engagement with life”.

Concert

Die Antwoord, O2 Academy Brixton, Saturday 22nd June

The talented, albeit controversial South-African hip-hop trio are bringing their electro beats and intelligent lyrics to the O2 Academy Brixton this weekend. Described by some as “futuristic rap-rave”, Die Antwoord’s music breaks the mould of generic, popular electronic music, associated with such music artists as David Guetta, and introduces the genre to a level of talent with which it is seldom associated.

TV

Andy Murray: The Man Behind the Racquet, BBC 1, 22:25, Sunday 23rd June

With Wimbledon kicking off on Monday 24th June, this documentary will provide a glimpse into the life of one of Britain’s most prominent sporting figures, promising to reveal “just what it takes to be a global sports star”. Murray suggested recently that he intentionally comes across as dull in press conferences to avoid the brutal scrutiny of media attention. Can it be then that, behind the expressionless face and monotonous voice, Andy Murray lives a wild celebrity lifestyle? Probably not, but this documentary may prove to be an interesting appetizer in the lead up to Wimbledon.

Festival

Night + Day, Hatfield House, Saturday 22nd June

The “enigmatic and artfully moody” electro-pop stars, The XX, have put together this festival on the outskirts of London. From early afternoon, their own favourite artists (Solange, Polica, Kindness, Mount Kimbie and many more) will perform across two stages, culminating in a performance from the organizers themselves. The show debuted at a 16th century defence tower in Lisbon before stopping off at an abandoned amusement park in Berlin on its way to London, leaving very impressed critics in its wake.

Die Antwoord's lead vocalist, Ninja, performs at Outside Lands music festival in 2012.
Photo: Getty
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Orhan Pamuk's The Red-Haired Woman is playful and unsettling

At times, the novel seems to owe as much to Dostoevsky as to the epics of the long-distant past.

When cultures collide or begin to merge, what happens to their myths? In Orhan Pamuk’s psychodramatic and psychogeographic tale of fathers and sons, the protagonist Cem mentally collects versions of the Oedipus story from across Europe – Ingres’s painting of Oedipus and the Sphinx hanging in the Louvre, Gustave Moreau’s work of the same name, painted 50 years later, Pasolini’s film adaptation, Oedipus Rex. But he also fixates on the epic poem “Shahnameh”, written by the Persian poet Ferdowsi; and in particular the story of Rostam and Sohrab, a reversal of the Oedipus story in which father kills son rather than vice versa. As Cem and his wife travel the world’s libraries to inspect copies, what they learn is “how ephemeral all those ancient lives had been”.

Nor is Cem immune to the act of readerly projection. “Like all educated Turks of my father’s generation,” Cem tells us, “what I really hoped to find on these trips wandering the shops, the cinemas, and the museums of the Western world was an idea, an object, a painting – anything at all – that might transform and illuminate my own life.”

Cem has more reason than many to seek clarification: his own father has been absent – whether for reasons of underground political activity or romantic complications is, for a long time, unclear – for most of his childhood; he and his mother become impoverished and, as he tells us at the very beginning of the novel, his dream of becoming a writer yields to a life as a building contractor. But these matter-of-fact bare bones are deceptive, for what unfolds is a far more fabular account of a life gone awry.

Even beyond his father’s departure, Cem’s life is shaped by his teenage apprenticeship to Master Mahmut, a well-digger of great renown. It removes him from his protective mother’s sphere of influence and immerses him in a world at once simple – long hours of physical labour – and highly skilled. As his and Master Mahmut’s quest for water on a patch of land slated for development runs into difficulties, so their relationship – boss and employee, craftsman and disciple, quasi father and son – becomes antagonistic, beset by undercurrents of rivalry and rebellion. Before too long (and avoiding spoilers) matters come to a head.

Throughout, their story gestures toward the fairytale, as underlined by Cem’s irresistible attraction to a travelling theatre troupe performing satirical sketches and classical scenes in the town near their excavation, and to the red-haired woman of the title. But Pamuk, in the style that characterises much of his work, fuses this material with political and social commentary. Over the three or four decades covered by the narrative, which takes place from the mid-1980s to the present day, the landscape of Istanbul and its surrounding areas literally changes shape. Residential and commercial developments spring up everywhere, many of them courtesy of Cem and his wife Aye, who have named their business after Shahnameh’s murdered son, Sohrab. Water shortages belie the sophisticated nature of these new suburbs, which eventually begin to form an amorphous mass.

Cem is preoccupied by the differences between Turkey and Iran, the latter seeming to him more alive to its cultural past. Turks, he decides, “had become so Westernised that we’d forgotten our old poets and myths”. While in Tehran, he sees numerous depictions of Rostam and Sohrab, and finds himself stirred:

I felt frustrated and uneasy, as if a fearful memory I refused to acknowledge consciously might suddenly well up and make me miserable. The image was like some wicked thought that keeps intruding on your mind no matter how much you yearn to be rid of it.

The extent to which individuals and societies suffer by not keeping their mythic past in mind is Pamuk’s subject, but it becomes more ambiguous when different stories are brought into play. What is the significance of a son who kills his father in innocence rather than a father who kills his son? Which is the more transgressive and ultimately damaging act and should both killers be regarded as guiltless because they knew not what they did?

But, as its title is perhaps designed to suggest, these accounts of fathers and sons omit a key element of the family drama: if paternity becomes a focus to the exclusion of all else, maternal energy must find an alternative outlet. As this strange, shifting novel edges to its conclusion – becoming, in its final act, a noir thriller – that energy makes a dramatic return, changing not only the story but the entire narrative paradigm.

The Red-Haired Woman is a puzzling novel; its intentions are often concealed, and oblique. At times, it seems to owe as much to Dostoevsky as to the epics of the long-distant past; it moves forward by indirection, swapping modes and registers at will. Playful and unsettling, it reprises some of Pamuk’s favourite themes – the clash between the past and the erasures of modernity, so charged in a Turkish context, and the effect on the individual’s psyche – without quite reaching the expansive heights of some of his previous novels. It is, nonetheless, an intriguing addition to his body of work. 

The Red-Haired Woman
Orhan Pamuk. Translated by Ekin Oklap
Faber & Faber, 253pp, £16.99

This article first appeared in the 14 September 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The German problem