Bliss: A Novel by O.Z. Livaneli

Author:O.Z. Livaneli [Livaneli, O.Z.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, mobi
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2013-12-02T23:00:00+00:00

NEW GODS AND GODDESSES

The professor wished that Joseph Campbell were alive and sitting opposite him. That wise man, who had observed that humanity needed new myths, would be pleased to drink a glass of wine with him, not minding the spindrift that would wet his snow-white hair as they conducted a serious discussion of mythology.

Perhaps İrfan was pursuing a myth now. He had set out to sea to reflect on the world from a distance—as from the moon perhaps—and to observe the differences between nations disappear. Yet İrfan was not on the moon but on the sea. Perhaps he was capable of producing new myths similar to the old ones.

Drifting over the warm, lazy water, he recalled his days in Boston: a white city, cold, clean, and well cared for, full of wisdom and the reminders of an aristocratic Europe. During his first year at Harvard, he had memorized every paving stone, every corner, monument, building, and garden in Cambridge. He bought mugs, T-shirts, sweatshirts, and caps decorated with the Harvard emblem from the university bookstore. As the son of a breadline family from Izmir, studying on a scholarship, these objects made him feel proud. Once he had been to the Faculty Club to meet a professor who had invited him there. The building was like a jewel set in a well-kept garden. On the ground floor, the big hall with its huge fireplace was filled with mahogany furniture and chintz-covered armchairs. It emanated a feeling of peace. The professors read their newspapers in reverential silence, broken occasionally by the crackling of the fire or the rustle of a page.

Whenever İrfan sat on one of the seats fixed to the floor of the classroom in serried rows, he felt that this happiness would play a great part in his life. Years later when he visitied the same classrooms as a guest, he had noted that the seats seemed to have very little space between them. Reflecting that it was rather that the years had made him stouter, he had to smile. When a student at the university, of course, he had been a stringy beanpole.

While at the university, İrfan had seen his life as a straight line. He would stay in Boston, finish his master’s degree and get his doctorate, then spend the rest of his life as a Harvard professor, shuttling his way between the magnificent library and the Faculty Club.

Those dreams kept İrfan occupied until he met Aysel. She had dazzled him with her glamour and affluence. He had barely made ends meet, either when he lived with his family or at the university. Aysel went shopping in a chauffeur-driven Lincoln, wore the most fashionable designer clothes from Europe, and ate at Boston’s most luxurious restaurants, gaining the waiters’ respectful service with the enormous tips she would leave them.

At first, the regard that well-heeled Turks were given in the States had astounded İrfan, but after he married Aysel, he discovered the reason. Certain companies or individuals would give the wealthy an entrée to American high society.

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