This preoccupation involves problems of dependence and independence. Indeed, influences are ever-present. Pamuk sees the conventionalising effects of language itself, of its hidden influences, as adding to the problematics of self-perception. Such awareness adds a postmodern dimension to Pamuk’s writings, drawing as they do on a range of Eastern and Western literary traditions. The reflexive element is more prominent in later works, even intrusive to some readers, making for a complex, at times convoluted narrative, though Pamuk also draws upon the murder-mystery genre.

The Black Book involves a search by a character, who is both the hunter and the hunted, to find his missing cousin, desiring to be independent of him but finally wanting to ‘become’ him. My Name Is Red, set in early Ottoman times, uses the art of ancient Eastern miniature painting to explore differences between East and West. Artists upholding strict traditions clash with others wanting to introduce change, to copy the new skill of perspective embodied in Venetian painting. Pamuk’s latest and only novel with an overtly political and contemporary setting is Snow, set in Kars, in eastern Turkey. The city, isolated in a claustrophobic snowstorm, is in turmoil. Young girls are committing suicide because they are not allowed to wear headscarves. The novel focuses on the conflict between fundamental Islamic and pro-Western liberal factions, dramatising the complexity of the situation rather than proposing solutions.

Pamuk’s latest book is Istanbul: Memories of a City, beautifully illustrated by the distinguished Turkish photographer Ara Guler. It is a stocktake, a complicated blending of personal memoir and recollections of the city, not only Pamuk’s and those of other Istanbulians but also those of foreign observers who have visited and written about it, especially the French, including de Nerval, Gautier, Flaubert and Loti. These followed in one another’s footsteps, exploiting the melancholy and exoticism of ruins, and doing more to shape the city’s external image than indigenes writing in the changing times of the past two hundred years of decline, as the seat of Ottoman Empire and the Constantinople of former glories gave way to a modern metropolis, with the cosmopolitan elements of a democratic state. Istanbul is a rich melting pot, except that ‘melting’ suggests a degree of harmony that has been latterly lacking. As Pamuk has remarked, the cliché of Istanbul as a ‘bridge’ between East and West is glib. While there is remarkable intermingling and even some ‘meeting’ of diverse elements, divisions remain. While the book maintains Pamuk’s characteristic detachment and ambivalence, to me it remains his most committed work, the best introduction to his oeuvre.

Unfortunately, political controversy arising from the Nobel award has distracted attention from Pamuk’s literary achievement. It is used as a means of attacking the current Islamic-leaning government of the Turkish democracy, leading to a simplistic view of Pamuk as a champion of freedom. Ironically, unlike distinguished Turkish literary predecessors Nazim Hikmet and Yashar Kemal, who spent time in jail, Pamuk has not involved himself in social protest in his books, where political overtones are muted, or in his life until recently, when he suddenly broke his public silence to criticise his country for not admitting to mass killings of Armenians and Kurds in 1915. Political condemnation, provoking defensive reactions and simplifying issues, will not promote understanding of Turkey. It is more constructive to celebrate Pamuk’s award as the recognition of a complex and sympathetic understanding, achieved through an original literary art.