The setting for the fairy tale is the Gökova Gulf of the Aegean Sea between Bodrum and Datça Peninsulas in south-west Turkey, also known as Kerme or Cova Gulf. The protagonist is an outstanding woman in her sixties, originally from Istanbul, who quit the city life more than two decades ago, and has lived like a modern-time feminist Sisyphus by building a garden of her own. She started by purchasing a challenging piece of land with no power or water resources, and transformed it into a rich garden of liberty, carefully listening and talking to the nature, each and every plant, eventually becoming one with them. Feel free to romanticize it by imagining her as Turkish witch of wisdom with shamanistic roots although the author (which needs to be separated from the persona in the book) may not necessarily like it. Nevertheless, the book will take you to multiple journeys in time and place, and instruct from all directions, be it a reference to a book from the Ottoman Period to the Gezi Park protests.
Ceylan Orhun’s book is hard to categorize but the umbrella genre of “life writing” meets my expectations or anyone’s urge to classify it. It is also a delightful example of auto-ethnography of a gardener due to the author’s emphasis on (inter)cultural analysis and interpretation of her thoughts, inspirations, and experiences in relation to others in society. This relational existence comes with gems of knowledge. For instance, Orhun tracks the name and journey of the South African plant Strelitzia reginea to London’s Kew Botanical Gardens in the seventeenth century, and the reader finds out that Strelitz was the maiden name of British Queen Charlotte, the consort and the wife of George III. Among the gems of knowledge are the Ottoman gardening chronicles of bulb growers in the seventeenth century, Leonardo da Vinci's orangerie design, Voltaire’s famous political allegory in Candide’s final lines, "Cultivate your gardens, ...", the still-life star flower, Calla Lily (originally from the muddy slums of Nile River) featuring bold and proud in the works of avant-garde women artists such as Frida Kahlo and Georgia O'Keeffe. Hold on tight though, Orhun’s imagination in garden design flash-forwards the reader to a contemporary reference, Lars von Trier’s Dogville and its bare minimum film set. Hopefully, you are convinced by now that “relational existence with gems of knowledge” is more than my fancy words!
The healing powers of the nature and the concept of Unity (found in most religions whenever one digs into their mystical branches) stand out in the narrative as empowering elements. Orhun’s perseverance bonds with a constant gratitude for life. Her witnessing a native Californian plant blooming for the first time in her garden or watching the sunset on the patio with her dogs after a fierce storm remind us the serendipity and beauty that can be come upon in simplicity.
Based on the chapter structure, the book is composed in the form of a diary (each month marking a new chapter) but due to its impressive temporal and spatial journeys, the narrative offers the reader more than a gardener's diary or memoirs. With a touch of humor here and there (a Skype meeting with Aphrodite and Eros on Calla Lily!), it is also informative, and definitely not self-focused; hence, the auto-ethnography.
Binbir Bahçe Masalları should be translated into English to take its place next to its predecessors such as The Gardener's Year (1929) by Karel Capek and Green Thoughts - A Writer in the Garden (1981) by Eleanor Perenyi. Until then, feel free to drop a line or two, share your questions or experiences with Mother Nature, and she will respond at the earliest opportunity (herana.ceylan@gmail.com).
Nevertheless, I am very glad that the book filled a void in Turkish literature by its unique content and structure.
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