Öykünün yırtılıverdiği yer;
This text has been automatically translated from Turkish. Show Original
The book consists of 1 story and 13 tales. It starts with Göçmüş Kediler Bahçesi, which gives the book its name, 3 pages. When you wonder how it's over, a fairy tale greets you. It's actually a story that continues chapter by chapter, interspersed among 13 tales. You are reading a story that has no connection or intersection with other fairy tales, and each tale is a separate world in itself, just like days are divided into hours.
Subject: There is a common thing in all stories and fairy tales: the "theme of death".
"The dead know everything; the way to learn is to die. The one who dies and disappears, who mixes with the dead, who goes under the ground and water and receives advice from them, who goes up to the sky and beyond that, takes the light, illumination and wisdom from there like a flower and brings the scattered parts of his body together again." "He is the one who returns to the earth as if he was refreshed and reborn and mixes with people, and he knows everything there is to know." The Tale of the One Who Takes His Prey - page:25
In fairy tales, the Orfinoz swallowing the fisherman's arm, the man trying to reach the Sazandere, a strange medieval man, praise to the porcupine, the revenge of the crab, the story of a man obsessed with the sun, the sad deaths of tightrope walkers, Alsemender, don't hurt me are waiting for you.
It was a rich reading for me, where the theme of death was deeply felt, the tales were penetrated in a fantastic way with all the figures of nature, and fiction and reality were intricately intertwined. And as I feel every time I read a good book, I caught myself wondering why I was late. And I said to myself that it's a good thing I haven't met the author before. Because I was still raw, I needed to be cooked and progressed in order to combine literature and philosophy in the same sentence.
Because Philosophy is a fabric. Thick, full, valuable, thread by thread... Philosophical Literature is a thread drawn from that fabric. And I loved the pen that raises the bar in the story, grows longer as you pull the end of the thread of the fabric, and becomes a path and opens paths. It drags the mind into movements.
Bilge Karasu ya;
With Love and Condolence..
