By Mustafa Ziyalan, Amy Spangler
<p class="MsoNormal">“[In Istanbul Noir] you get blown alongside the shore of the Bosporus within the prosperous enclave of Bebek (Feryal Tilmac’s “Hitching within the Lodos”), hustled in the course of the shadowy earlier within the bustling Aksaray (Mustafa Ziyalan’s “Black Palace”), have your brain learn within the “haven for lowlifes” that's Siskinbakkal (Algan Sezginturedi’s “Around right here, Somewhere”) and thrown at the back of bars in Sagmacilar (Yasemin Aydinoglu’s “One between Us”).-- The Lead Miami Beach
A urban right away historical and glossy, Istanbul is the quintessentially postcard-perfect city. yet don’t permit the appealing vistas idiot you. For underneath its veneer because the assembly position of cultures, religions, and ethnicities lies a center of darkness, seething with suppressed hope, boiling with frustration, and burning with a fervor for vengeance.
Brand-new tales from: Baris Mustecaplioglu, Muge Iplikci, Behcet Celik, Algan Sezginturedi, Ismail Guzelsoy, Hikmet Hukumenoglu, Lydia Lunch, Yasemin Aydinoglu, Riza Kirac, Sadik Yemni, Feryal Tilmac, Mehmet Bilal, Inan Cetin, Mustafa Ziyalan, Jessica Lutz, Tarkan Barlas, and others.
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Extra info for Istanbul Noir (Akashic Noir)
Though I couldn’t really appreciate his craft, I did derive a strange kind of pleasure from the books he bound, as if I was touching some sort of sacred relic. While working as an illusionist, he bound books of various sizes in his spare time, to keep in practice so that down the road he could teach his yet-to-be-born son the fine art, and thus keep the family trade from dying out. Most importantly, I recall him explaining that this occupation was the perfect remedy for a headache. I recall him saying to Xenia once: “Why on earth do you take those stupid painkillers?
She glanced to see if he had a ring on his left hand, but her view was blocked. Tolga’s fingers had stopped tapping and now clung to the steering wheel. If it hadn’t been so dark inside, she could have seen how white his knuckles were. Wishing she were at least ten years younger, Cavidan Hanım let out a sigh. Fortunately, it was drowned out by the sound of the radio. “Dear jazz fans, our program continues with Billie Holiday: ‘Long Gone Blues’ …” Tolga’s fingers relaxed and started tapping again.
It would be rude not to shake her hand; he realized his palms were sweaty and felt embarrassed. The car jerked and jolted, making slow progress in the bumper-to-bumper traffic. Etiler, with its colorful, bright cafés, restaurants, and stores lining the avenue, was drowning out even the noise of the lodos. ” Cavidan Hanım hopped out with the agility of a young girl, ducked into a liquor store, and returned with a black plastic bag full of beer cans. Surprised, the young man remained optimistic. Maybe she’s planning on drinking them at home tonight, he thought.