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saarahn's review against another edition
5.0
This was my final book of 2018, and the best read to end the year.
Pg 25 'Sometimes, now, the old life seems as remote as one read about in a book. But this afternoon it seems very close at hand, an assault of memory.'
We meet Nur, a young woman living in Constantinople- her beloved Istanbul- a city brutally overtaken by the Allied Forces. She yearns for the life she lost and is reminded daily of the changes: she sees the Allied soldiers laughing and taunting her fellow people. She is surrounded, consumed, by her justified bitterness. She knows the enemy, and judges those who refuse to see the truth, those who have accepted their great losses. But she also knows that in the face of these losses, she has tasted real freedom as well as great inequality.
Her liberation has come at a price. She is a teacher now and a child's guardian, she understands duty and responsibility. What then, when circumstances have her questioning her core values? What would her father have said? Or her little brother, who was forced to fight in his country's war? A sorrowful war changes a country forever- changes its people, can the trauma be reversed? Forgiven? Is there room for love in such a hateful sphere?
From beginning to end, this story had captured my heart. I felt broken at its end. This book will leave its mark on you: it's brave, heartbreakingly ordinary, and yet altogether timeless in its delicate exploration of a history that is not as lovely as you first think. Enjoy this: let yourself be swept away.
Lucy Foley writes with careful regard for her choice of words and it makes the story cautiously inviting. Her rich storytelling, the intricate weaving of character perspectives, but ultimately the belief and hope in humanity makes this a beautifully memorable story.
As a young Muslim woman myself, I felt a kinship with Nur. I understood her inner battle: rebel quietly or not at all? We shared similar values though I was brought up in a far more conservative and religious household. And yet, I had tasted indepemdence far earlier, I possessed the same self-confidence. But I, too, was aware of the limits my culture dictated, the expectations and I haven't always been permitted to do as I wish. I wonder, had she been raised as I was, would she have made the same choices?
I'm going to be recommending this book for a long time!
Pg 25 'Sometimes, now, the old life seems as remote as one read about in a book. But this afternoon it seems very close at hand, an assault of memory.'
We meet Nur, a young woman living in Constantinople- her beloved Istanbul- a city brutally overtaken by the Allied Forces. She yearns for the life she lost and is reminded daily of the changes: she sees the Allied soldiers laughing and taunting her fellow people. She is surrounded, consumed, by her justified bitterness. She knows the enemy, and judges those who refuse to see the truth, those who have accepted their great losses. But she also knows that in the face of these losses, she has tasted real freedom as well as great inequality.
Her liberation has come at a price. She is a teacher now and a child's guardian, she understands duty and responsibility. What then, when circumstances have her questioning her core values? What would her father have said? Or her little brother, who was forced to fight in his country's war? A sorrowful war changes a country forever- changes its people, can the trauma be reversed? Forgiven? Is there room for love in such a hateful sphere?
From beginning to end, this story had captured my heart. I felt broken at its end. This book will leave its mark on you: it's brave, heartbreakingly ordinary, and yet altogether timeless in its delicate exploration of a history that is not as lovely as you first think. Enjoy this: let yourself be swept away.
Lucy Foley writes with careful regard for her choice of words and it makes the story cautiously inviting. Her rich storytelling, the intricate weaving of character perspectives, but ultimately the belief and hope in humanity makes this a beautifully memorable story.
As a young Muslim woman myself, I felt a kinship with Nur. I understood her inner battle: rebel quietly or not at all? We shared similar values though I was brought up in a far more conservative and religious household. And yet, I had tasted indepemdence far earlier, I possessed the same self-confidence. But I, too, was aware of the limits my culture dictated, the expectations and I haven't always been permitted to do as I wish. I wonder, had she been raised as I was, would she have made the same choices?
I'm going to be recommending this book for a long time!
leilah_'s review
challenging
dark
emotional
mysterious
reflective
sad
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.0
bernab's review against another edition
4.0
It was going so well until the last quarter of the book, then the timelines became such a chaos. But still a very good story which explores both sides of the war and the people involved in this occupation
katheastman's review against another edition
4.0
Set during the occupation of Istanbul by allied forces after the First World War, Last Letter from Istanbul tells its story from alternating viewpoints. Those of Nur, a local evicted from her family home and now living with her mother and grandmother in a far less desirable district; the young boy who has been taken in by Nur; George, the army doctor, whose hospital occupies Nur’s former home; and two unnamed characters in the Traveller and the Prisoner. It becomes clear who they are as the novel progresses.
It takes a while for these strands to come together, but once they do, the story envelops you. It’s as if one of Nur’s embroidered shawls wraps around you, bundling you into the story alongside her. Lucy Foley brings the sights, smells and sounds of Istanbul to life in her writing and evokes an impression of what it was like to be there at this moment in the city’s history; a period I didn’t know much about before reading.
It’s a time of uncertainty: there are occupation forces on the streets, refugees arriving on a daily basis and everyone’s hustling to survive. Despite that, for Nur it’s also a time of increased freedom: she can go out to work as a teacher, substituting for her brother who went off to war and hasn’t returned, and she no longer needs to wear the veil when leaving the house. But this freedom is new and not without limitations: she sees the disapproving looks as she walks the streets of her city, and knows that she can only push against long-held customs and norms so much.
This conflict between freedom and propriety swirls around Nur and comes to the fore when she finds herself asking for help. George is the enemy personified and I felt for Nur when she’s in his company because of the internal struggles she endures each time. George seems to have less of an understanding of this because he’s one of the occupying forces and a man, although he’s not without a sense of (somewhat) delayed propriety.
That Nur rescues the boy and takes risks to ensure his well-being tell you a lot about her, especially when events far from home involving another family member come to light, contrasting with her treatment and attitude. I sympathised with the boy as his backstory, and that of others like him, is revealed. But I only truly warmed to him after he makes a discovery of his own in Nur’s home. It’s fascinating how he uses what he finds as a key to the past, while adding his own contribution and ensuring its continuance.
Last Letter from Istanbul is an evocative and emotional novel: it’s a transporting story of family ties, love and sacrifice, and the noble spirit at the heart of it all, which I came to understand and admire.
It takes a while for these strands to come together, but once they do, the story envelops you. It’s as if one of Nur’s embroidered shawls wraps around you, bundling you into the story alongside her. Lucy Foley brings the sights, smells and sounds of Istanbul to life in her writing and evokes an impression of what it was like to be there at this moment in the city’s history; a period I didn’t know much about before reading.
It’s a time of uncertainty: there are occupation forces on the streets, refugees arriving on a daily basis and everyone’s hustling to survive. Despite that, for Nur it’s also a time of increased freedom: she can go out to work as a teacher, substituting for her brother who went off to war and hasn’t returned, and she no longer needs to wear the veil when leaving the house. But this freedom is new and not without limitations: she sees the disapproving looks as she walks the streets of her city, and knows that she can only push against long-held customs and norms so much.
This conflict between freedom and propriety swirls around Nur and comes to the fore when she finds herself asking for help. George is the enemy personified and I felt for Nur when she’s in his company because of the internal struggles she endures each time. George seems to have less of an understanding of this because he’s one of the occupying forces and a man, although he’s not without a sense of (somewhat) delayed propriety.
That Nur rescues the boy and takes risks to ensure his well-being tell you a lot about her, especially when events far from home involving another family member come to light, contrasting with her treatment and attitude. I sympathised with the boy as his backstory, and that of others like him, is revealed. But I only truly warmed to him after he makes a discovery of his own in Nur’s home. It’s fascinating how he uses what he finds as a key to the past, while adding his own contribution and ensuring its continuance.
Last Letter from Istanbul is an evocative and emotional novel: it’s a transporting story of family ties, love and sacrifice, and the noble spirit at the heart of it all, which I came to understand and admire.
katheastman's review
4.0
Set during the occupation of Istanbul by allied forces after the First World War, Last Letter from Istanbul tells its story from alternating viewpoints. Those of Nur, a local evicted from her family home and now living with her mother and grandmother in a far less desirable district; the young boy who has been taken in by Nur; George, the army doctor, whose hospital occupies Nur’s former home; and two unnamed characters in the Traveller and the Prisoner. It becomes clear who they are as the novel progresses.
It takes a while for these strands to come together, but once they do, the story envelops you. It’s as if one of Nur’s embroidered shawls wraps around you, bundling you into the story alongside her. Lucy Foley brings the sights, smells and sounds of Istanbul to life in her writing and evokes an impression of what it was like to be there at this moment in the city’s history; a period I didn’t know much about before reading.
It’s a time of uncertainty: there are occupation forces on the streets, refugees arriving on a daily basis and everyone’s hustling to survive. Despite that, for Nur it’s also a time of increased freedom: she can go out to work as a teacher, substituting for her brother who went off to war and hasn’t returned, and she no longer needs to wear the veil when leaving the house. But this freedom is new and not without limitations: she sees the disapproving looks as she walks the streets of her city, and knows that she can only push against long-held customs and norms so much.
This conflict between freedom and propriety swirls around Nur and comes to the fore when she finds herself asking for help. George is the enemy personified and I felt for Nur when she’s in his company because of the internal struggles she endures each time. George seems to have less of an understanding of this because he’s one of the occupying forces and a man, although he’s not without a sense of (somewhat) delayed propriety.
That Nur rescues the boy and takes risks to ensure his well-being tell you a lot about her, especially when events far from home involving another family member come to light, contrasting with her treatment and attitude. I sympathised with the boy as his backstory, and that of others like him, is revealed. But I only truly warmed to him after he makes a discovery of his own in Nur’s home. It’s fascinating how he uses what he finds as a key to the past, while adding his own contribution and ensuring its continuance.
Last Letter from Istanbul is an evocative and emotional novel: it’s a transporting story of family ties, love and sacrifice, and the noble spirit at the heart of it all, which I came to understand and admire.
It takes a while for these strands to come together, but once they do, the story envelops you. It’s as if one of Nur’s embroidered shawls wraps around you, bundling you into the story alongside her. Lucy Foley brings the sights, smells and sounds of Istanbul to life in her writing and evokes an impression of what it was like to be there at this moment in the city’s history; a period I didn’t know much about before reading.
It’s a time of uncertainty: there are occupation forces on the streets, refugees arriving on a daily basis and everyone’s hustling to survive. Despite that, for Nur it’s also a time of increased freedom: she can go out to work as a teacher, substituting for her brother who went off to war and hasn’t returned, and she no longer needs to wear the veil when leaving the house. But this freedom is new and not without limitations: she sees the disapproving looks as she walks the streets of her city, and knows that she can only push against long-held customs and norms so much.
This conflict between freedom and propriety swirls around Nur and comes to the fore when she finds herself asking for help. George is the enemy personified and I felt for Nur when she’s in his company because of the internal struggles she endures each time. George seems to have less of an understanding of this because he’s one of the occupying forces and a man, although he’s not without a sense of (somewhat) delayed propriety.
That Nur rescues the boy and takes risks to ensure his well-being tell you a lot about her, especially when events far from home involving another family member come to light, contrasting with her treatment and attitude. I sympathised with the boy as his backstory, and that of others like him, is revealed. But I only truly warmed to him after he makes a discovery of his own in Nur’s home. It’s fascinating how he uses what he finds as a key to the past, while adding his own contribution and ensuring its continuance.
Last Letter from Istanbul is an evocative and emotional novel: it’s a transporting story of family ties, love and sacrifice, and the noble spirit at the heart of it all, which I came to understand and admire.
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