KIRKUS REVIEW Kaya tells a tale of revenge as a way of life, and how it can eat away at a man. Ramzi Ozcomert lived his first 14 years in northeastern Turkey. In the middle of the 20th century, it is a place that feels much older, obsessed with the idea of honor—family honor, blood honor and revenge. Ramzi’s father embodies the code and instills it in his son. As drawn by Kaya, the elder Ozcomert is radiant, but not altogether good. He is scarily unflinching, as only those who do not wrestle with doubt can be. Then revenge rears its head to shatter Ramzi’s curiously fascinating, feudal world—he must flee or be taken victim by the same wrath that wiped out his family. Kaya fashions this world with exactingness—the vendettas, enemies everywhere, the artful social dance one had to comply with, or live constantly looking over their shoulder. Young Ramzi is put on a train to Istanbul where he has a delightfully Hitchcockian encounter with a small group of enigmatic souls debating the rift in Turkish society: “We are men of conscience. If someone violates one’s honor, murder is justified,” says one, while another responds, “Our republic is supposed to be a democracy, but our people still think in the old ways.” Any uncertainties about Ramzi’s inclinations are put to rest when, in one of the book’s mildly disconcerting jumps, readers next find him in London. It is 13 years later, and he is in love and studying engineering, but unfinished business back home lurks in the background. As a successful businessman in Los Angeles, some 20 years later still, revenge consumes him. “Coward, Coward,” says the voice in his head. Apparently you can take the village, but not the code, out of the man. Kaya is a dramatist and his love scenes are chromatic and ecstatic before revenge lowers the skies, and everything goes dark and edgy. “Vengeance only destroys,” says Ramzi’s friend in the end. And how. Highly atmospheric, transporting account of an ancient custom alive in a modern world.
Posted on: Fri, 09 Jan 2015 07:12:27 +0000