Published in 2013, written in German, and not translated into English as far as I know, this is the first in Su Torhan's "Inspector Pasha" series. The hero, the eponymous Zeki, was born in Turkey, but accompanied his parents to Germany at the age of 12. He was not enthusiastic about the move: "Anything better than his home city of Istanbul, and Fatih, his part of town, he simply couldn't imagine."

Zeki has just been put in charge of a new police unit, with a remit to cover capital offences involving perpetrators or victims who have some sort of migrant background.


Istanbul, our temporary home right now



The lot of the Turk in Germany -- even the longstanding, culturally acclimatized, educated, and professional Turk -- is shown to be very uncomfortable at times. An old lady whom Zeki tries to help reacts with xenophobic terror and aggression, which makes him angry: "He had known this anger ever since he came to Germany. Again and again his origins caught up with him. But he was tired of justifying himself, and clarifying that there were two worlds within him. Sometimes the Turk inside him claimed his due, sometimes it was the Munich resident who won the upper hand."

Even Inspector Pius Leipold, a colleague who ends up joining Zeki's team as punishment for a misdemeanour, has his fair share of prejudices, at least initially: "They are everywhere, the foreigners, he had come to realize recently." Pius distrusts people who can readily switch from one language to another, and although he's happy enough to encounter Turks working at the discount baker's, he wonders whether it's appropriate for a Turk to be leading a department in the police force... In fairness, as the novel progresses, Pius seems to jettison these suspicions, and becomes a loyal, supportive, and humorous colleague.

Presumably, the author knows all about this stuff. A film director and screenwriter as well as a novelist, Su (Suleyman) Turhan was born in Istanbul, and lives in Munich. Asked whether he's a Bavarian Turk or a Turkish Bavarian, he replies: "That depends on the situation I'm in. Basically, both cultural identities are united in me and have their place. That is precisely what is beautiful and enriching. Both go very well together. Sometimes the Bavarian side has the upper hand, sometimes the Turkish. Or the other way around. Or both at the same time -- that is also possible, and I consciously experience it."

Zeki, too, feels that part of him longs to be in Istanbul, even while Munich is his home.





The characters are likeable. Zeki is short-fused, unpredictable, and a little overbearing at times, but basically kind. With two marriages behind him, he's now at a bit of a personal loose end. His new team, apart from the accidental Pius, consists of Isabel Vierkant, with her big bag, her notebook, and her earnest manner; and Jale Cengis, unintimidated by anything, and a little too headstrong for her own good. Jale is another ethnic Turk. When Zeki asks her how it is that she speaks such good Turkish, given that she was born and raised in Germany, she replies, with her customary straightforwardness: "Do you seriously think that German is what you learn in Berlin-Kreuzberg?"

The novel is certainly open to accusations of cliche... The lead Turkish protagonists run kebab chains; there's a seedy "wellness paradise" called the Sultan's Harem; there's a Turkish hitman known as "the German", who owns a small wooden villa in Uskudar, overlooking the Bosphorus, and loves roses; and the importance of female virginity on marriage is a major plot driver.

Equally, the wrap-up is simultaneously a little over-dramatic and a little pat.

But the story canters along nicely, and I found it an enjoyable read.

And there's enough Turkish culture to connect it with other things I'm reading at the moment. Melancholy, for example:

As he prepares for his Munich mission, the hitman thinks: "Beset by the melancholy that seizes every Istanbulite when he has to leave his city, he decided to spend a little longer in his beloved garden." And Zeki muses: "Drinking to forget. That is best done with Turks, who don't just see raki as alcohol. The aniseed liquor helped along the melancholy that is firmly anchored in the Turkish soul."

Sezen Aksu, a recent discovery of mine, also gets a couple of mentions...

I would read another.