Six years ago, acclaimed Turkish author and Nobel laureate Orhan Pamuk faced a screenwriter’s worst nightmare: a planned TV adaptation of his cherished novel, “The Museum of Innocence,” had strayed so far from his original vision that he was left utterly dismayed upon reading the summary.
The adaptation had taken excessive liberties with his sprawling 500-page narrative, a poignant story of obsessive love set in 1970s and ’80s Istanbul. New plot twists introduced by the production company fundamentally distorted the essence of his tale.
Refusing to compromise, Pamuk took legal action, suing the producer to regain the rights to his literary creation.
From his book-lined office in the Istanbul apartment building his family constructed, where he also grew up, Pamuk recounted the ordeal. He confessed to experiencing nightmares during that time, burdened by significant legal fees and the dread of seeing his story irrevocably altered on screen. An accompanying photograph shows Pamuk seated in his office, illuminated by sunlight, with bookshelves in the background.
His persistence paid off. In 2022, Pamuk won the lawsuit. He then embarked on a new journey with a Turkish producer, establishing strict conditions to protect his narrative integrity. Four years later, his efforts culminated in success: “The Museum of Innocence” is set to premiere as a nine-part series on Netflix this Friday.
At 73, this streaming debut marks a significant milestone for Turkey’s most celebrated novelist. Pamuk’s vast body of work, encompassing fiction, memoir, essays, and photography, has been translated into countless languages, earning him the prestigious Nobel Prize in Literature in 2006.
This Netflix adaptation is poised to introduce his intricate narratives to a global audience, making his novel accessible on screens worldwide.
Pamuk candidly admits the universal desire among novelists for film adaptations, acknowledging that “Most of the time, the motivation is either money or popularity, and I carry these vices.”
Pamuk’s roots are in Nisantasi, an upscale Istanbul neighborhood renowned for its European-leaning elite, where he was born into an affluent, secular family.
Initially aspiring to be a painter, he abandoned architecture school to pursue fiction, delving into themes of Turkey’s Ottoman legacy, its Western ambitions, and the cultural conflicts that arise between them. Outside his writing, Pamuk is married to a hospital director and is a proud father to one daughter and a grandfather.
His works, including “The Black Book,” “My Name is Red,” and “Snow,” propelled him to international recognition. The Nobel committee praised his ability to create “new symbols for the clash and interlacing of cultures” upon presenting him with the world’s most prestigious literary award.
Istanbul is a central character in Pamuk’s literature, with many settings drawn directly from his personal memories. Several of his fictional figures, for instance, experienced life, work, and even death within a short stroll of his childhood home. A nearby university, he recalls, became the backdrop for both budding romance and academic failure for his characters.
During a recent walk through the area, Pamuk expressed sadness over the transformation of his old neighborhood, lamenting the replacement of its charming wooden houses with generic apartment blocks, trendy coffee shops, and bustling sidewalks. Visuals from the Nisantasi neighborhood show how much it has changed since the novel’s setting.
“It is hard to continue to love this place, this neighborhood, because of how it has changed,” he reflected, a sentiment many urban dwellers can relate to.
Even familiar landmarks have vanished; Alaaddin’s Shop, a corner store he and a character once frequented, is now a men’s clothing store. His old secondary school has been replaced by a modern shopping center.
“It’s a mall, a regular mall,” he stated plainly, adding, “Nothing interesting.”
Published in 2008, “The Museum of Innocence” vividly portrays this very neighborhood, detailing the saga of Kemal, a bourgeois bachelor who becomes infatuated with Fusun, a younger, less fortunate shop clerk. His life spirals as he dedicates years to elaborate schemes to remain close to her. A handwritten draft of the novel is even displayed at Pamuk’s Istanbul museum.
In the novel, Kemal and his mother reside in an apartment with a view of a historic mosque, located just down the street from Pamuk’s real-life office, much like the building where Kemal and Fusun’s clandestine meetings occur.
Kemal’s obsession manifests as he meticulously collects everyday objects linked to Fusun – from saltshakers and hairpins to coffee cups, shoes, a toothbrush, a half-eaten ice cream cone, and even 4,213 cigarette butts. Following the novel’s dramatic climax, these cherished items find a permanent home in a museum, lending the book its evocative title, “The Museum of Innocence.” The real-life museum houses these same objects, including thousands of discarded cigarettes, as depicted in images of its exhibits.
Indeed, “The Museum of Innocence” has grown into a multi-faceted project. In 2012, Pamuk himself established a physical Museum of Innocence in Istanbul, housing the very objects described in his novel. He further enriched the experience with a museum manifesto and a detailed catalog. In 2015, he even took part in a related documentary.
His ambition to see his story on screen led him to sign a contract in 2019 with an unnamed Hollywood production company. However, their proposed vision included significant deviations, like Kemal impregnating Fusun – a twist Pamuk found entirely unacceptable.
“Too much change,” he firmly declared. “Once you do that, the rest of the book is not my book at all.”
The battle to terminate this contract proved lengthy and costly, taking two and a half years and incurring substantial legal fees.
With the rights finally restored, Pamuk initiated discussions with Turkish production company Ay Yapim to develop the series.
This time, Pamuk approached the adaptation process with a meticulousness reminiscent of Kemal, his novel’s obsessive protagonist.
To ensure complete creative fidelity, he forewent any advance payment and refused to sign a contract until the script was fully finalized, thereby preventing any unauthorized alterations by the producer.
He also insisted that the credits acknowledge not only his book but also his Istanbul museum, parts of which served as filming locations.
Furthermore, to preserve the narrative’s integrity, he decreed there would be no second season, regardless of the series’ success, ensuring the story’s original ending remained untouched.
Pamuk engaged deeply in the creative process, holding numerous meetings with the scriptwriter and Kerem Catay, the head of Ay Yapim. He meticulously reviewed every episode draft, offering precise suggestions for revisions.
Once the script reached its final form, both Pamuk and Catay signed off on every single page of all nine episodes. Pamuk then formally attached the signed script to the contract, solidifying his creative vision.
“Once the script was produced like this and we were assured that if they don’t shoot this, they’ll end up in Siberia or hang, then I was reassured,” Pamuk quipped with a grin, highlighting his satisfaction and the stringent oversight.
Kerem Catay corroborated Pamuk’s profound involvement, describing the scripting process as unprecedented. He noted that the series took an astounding four years to complete – the longest of any project in his 19-year career. A photo depicts Pamuk with an open-mouthed expression, capturing his earnest discussion about the adaptation.
“Orhan Bey has high standards,” Catay remarked, using a Turkish honorific for the esteemed author. He admitted that the “page-by-page” collaboration between writer, producer, and the novel’s creator was far from easy.
Catay revealed his surprise two years into production when he realized they still lacked a formal contract. This meant Pamuk could have withdrawn at any point, potentially nullifying all their work.
Ay Yapim meticulously recreated 1970s Nisantasi on a dedicated set. They cast Selahattin Pasali, a popular Turkish actor, as Kemal, and the emerging talent Eylül Kandemir as Fusun – a choice Pamuk endorsed, expressing hopes for her future fame. A scene from “The Museum of Innocence” shows actors Selahattin Pasali and Eylül Kandemir in a wood-furnished living room.
Notably, the company hired Zeynep Gunay, a female director, in line with Pamuk’s specific preference.
Pamuk noted that after the novel’s initial publication, he faced criticism from Turkish feminists who felt the narrative was too heavily focused on the male protagonist’s viewpoint.
“Although I tried to avoid the common misconceptions or prejudices of Middle Eastern men, unfortunately I am a Middle Eastern man and I accept all feminist criticism completely,” he stated, reflecting on his own cultural lens.
He believes that a female director brought a crucial additional layer to the series by emphasizing the heroine’s perspective.
Upon completion, Pamuk watched all nine episodes, after which Catay anxiously called for his feedback.
Catay confessed to being nervous, anticipating the novelist’s reaction.
“He was so happy,” Catay recalled with relief. “He said he liked it.”
Pamuk hopes the series will be regarded as a “distinguished film” and attract more visitors to his unique Istanbul museum. The production, filmed in Turkish, is available with English and other language dubs and subtitles.
Adding another unexpected achievement to his career, Pamuk makes his acting debut in the series, portraying himself in a few scenes where Kemal, his protagonist, narrates his story directly to the famous author.
Despite the excitement, Pamuk, who admits he isn’t keen on lavish launch parties, modestly downplayed his onscreen debut.
“You can’t call it acting because I’m playing myself,” he explained.
When asked about Pamuk’s performance, Catay diplomatically stated that it “served its purpose.”
“He’s OK,” Catay concluded with a chuckle, adding, “But he’s a better writer.”
Additional reporting by Safak Timur from Istanbul.