My Name Is Red

⚖The case for it

Chapters are narrated by a corpse, a dog, a tree, a gold coin and the colour red, and readers describe the effect as a camera panning a room rather than as a gimmick. The subject underneath is the miniaturist tradition set against Venetian portraiture, and readers say it explained the way Ottoman painting looks better than a museum did. Istanbul in the 1590s comes through in workshops and coffeehouses and guild hierarchy. The clueing is careful enough that readers backtrack to reweigh who was speaking. “A poem in prose, a chant to the art of painting.”

— the honest librarian

✕The case against

Readers stall around page ninety, and “I would have put down the book before reaching page 100” recurs. The miniaturist suspects are barely distinguishable, which a critic confirms: “suspects are insufficiently differentiated.” The book runs on introspection and description rather than scene, so it reads airless. Shekure is thin next to the painters, and “she’s clearly written by a man.” Some find the translation “cumbersome and a task to wade through.” Readers who came for a thriller find “the plot of the book is devoid of interest.”

— the honest librarian

9h

honest hours

13

sittings