"The Objects of the Exercise
IN ISTANBUL, one hot, sun-soaked day this past summer, the novelist Orhan Pamuk leaned back in his chair, a writerly throne in an overfull study, and looked out the window. He trained his eyes on the unblemished vista before him, where the Bosphorus, the Sea of Marmara and the Golden Horn run into one another and emerge as a perfect muddle of turquoise. Today, he announced, he was depressed. “I am a writer. I have books to write. What am I doing building a museum?” His voice rose in a crescendo to escape being drowned out by folkloric music coming from a passing cruise ship. A stuffed bird, perched to his left, peered down at the bookish debris below, giving the impression that the writer was addressing the handsome, ill-fated gull. "
More:Which Came First -- Orhan Pamuk's Museum or His New Novel? - NYTimes.com