Lara was supposed to have breakfast with Selin, a friend from middle school who had a long layover in Paris. It was eight thirty, and Lara was frustrated not to have the morning to herself before teaching in the afternoon. She loved the early, luxurious hours when she was free to do anything she wanted, which often meant making coffee and going back to bed to read.
These gatherings belong to the tangible world: of objects and foods, furniture and books, the bag of extra scarves Beth brings for all of us when the season turns.
When a young writer goes on a literary walk with Paul Muldoon, she expects it to change her life. It does, though not in the ways she expects.
From unwritten poems, to uncompleted palaces, to the eternity we'll never grasp, Aysegul Savas weaves together Wordsworth, Borges, Coleridge, and Kubla Khan.
On the sweet sadness of Turkish gatherings and Soviet cartoons. When I was eight and my brother nine years old, we moved from Ankara to London where we awaited clearance for our father’s work in Copenhagen. Our parents were both thirty-thr…
Through wider labyrinths of lamplighted city. —Robert Louis Stevenson, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde Of the ten thousand books in the library of Ottoman Sultan Abdülhamid II, two thousand were detective novels. Abdülhamid …
We call her Upstairs; she calls us Downstairs. From our ground-floor apartment in Paris, my husband and I can look across the courtyard to her apartment on the top floor, with its large, curved windows. “Downstairs,” she writes, “be…
We’re away until January 3, but we’re reposting some of our favorite pieces from 2017. Enjoy your holiday!We arrive at the hospital at seven in the morning. It is still dark, and the air is heavy with exhaust. Patches of muddy snow dot the street…
While her father lies on an operating table in Ankara, Aysegul Savas unravels eight thousand years of history. We arrive at the hospital at seven in the morning. It is still dark, and the air is heavy with exhaust. Patches of muddy snow dot the s…