• Time Decay, by Ahmet Büke

    Bump… I opened my eyes. My ears filled with the sound of a murmuring engine. Followed by shadows, and then light. Then again short and subtle shadows. I felt the breeze. Inhaled the smell of filthy leather. I wanted to reach out to the darkness covering my eyes. I couldn't lift my arms. I felt them under my body. Pain ran down my shoulders. I couldn't force them any further. I held my breath. And then let go. I tried to twitch my fingers. My right arm felt more comfortable. I touched my right wrist. Cold iron.

  • Excerpt from the novel Dünyanın Uğultusu (The Drone of the World), by Behçet Çelik

    Maybe that’s what she sensed, that he was doing things he didn’t used to do. Of course, it was crystal clear. But he was so prepossessed with the lack inside of him that he was oblivious to it all – to Özlem, to what was going on around him, to everything. You’re bound to screw it all up, Ahmet, if you get so obsessed; you start poking around in some tiny hole, barely enough to fit your finger in, and next thing you know, you’ve ripped it wide open.

  • Excerpt from A Week of Kindness in Istanbul, by Murat Gülsoy

    I think I am the best person to understand the roots of your interest in experimental work. I remember the kinds of narrative plots we concocted when we were getting started… All kinds of ideas, all kinds of inventions including writing a Hüseyin Rahmi pastiche infiltrated by various Shakespeare characters, rewriting a Sait Faik story replacing what happens there with stories we would collect from people we knew by recording their conversations secretly, or fooling magazine editors into publishing translations we would do from obscure foreign writers under fake names…



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