Subitled Remzi Unal's First Case, this novel by Celil Oker (1952-2019) appeared in 1999. I read the German translation by Ute Birgi-Knellessen (who was born in 1938, and is still going strong as far as I can tell).

Remzi used to be a pilot with Turkish Airlines. The reason he is no longer so remains opaque in the book, but an interview with the author suggests that Remzi had problems with alcohol... Anyway, he has set himself up as a private detective, a field that occupied a nebulous legal space in Turkey at that time (and still did in 2015). As Remzi puts it: "I represent a completely new profession with extremely unclear competencies. I work on the basis of a recently enacted, shaky law, in an industry that the authorities aren't quite sure how to classify and therefore don't particularly like." This sense of vulnerability is mentioned more than once.

He is tasked with finding a missing young man, but of course the plot instantly thickens to involve drugs, porn, double-crossing clients, and unexpected heavies.

Remzi is a really likeable character. He doesn't take himself too seriously; he's modest; he's not a type who always wins every fight (Oker says in an interview that he wanted to make his hero a counter-figure to the invulnerable, womanizing, Bond-type characters prevalent in spy fiction). But Remzi is astute and quick-witted. If he doesn't always win, he doesn't always lose either (and you particularly enjoy the way he draws on his aikido classes to dispatch some would-be young toughs). He has a good memory, and he's good at putting clues together. Curiously, he doesn't totally mind what happens once he's solved the case: "The last thing I intend is to interfere in people's lives. But sometimes I can't avoid it. It just happens."



It's a good story. But it's also interesting for the insight it offers into Turkish life and ways of doing things.

Evident, for example, is a distrust of the police... In an interview, Oker says: "The Turkish police have long had a reputation for solving their cases not by following leads to a suspect, but by first getting the suspect to confess and then collecting the appropriate clues." He does admit, however, that this state of affairs is changing.

Some disillusionment with politics is also apparent. Conducting investigations at Bosphorus University, for example, Remzi is told: "The folks in this canteen particularly distrust any stranger who is no longer exactly young... They think that whatever that person is doing involves politics."

And Bosphorus University (the author's alma mater) is portrayed as untouchable: "They're all children of rich parents, so the narcotics squad is particularly careful... If you're even a little bit sane, stay away from the university... There is something like a hidden hand that protects us... Only successes are reported, nothing but successes... So anyone who pulls off [an activity like drug-pushing] has to be either an unworldly idiot, or to have the protection of a strong hand, inside or outside."

Interesting for me, having just been there, were the references to the topography of Istanbul. He talks about the towers of Rumelihisari, and about Bebek... And if you've been there, you can easily understand how Remzi can enter a front door, go down two flights of stairs, and yet emerge at a room that has a window...



My edition contained several interviews with the author, all insightful.

Istanbul he sees as his co-author: "I have the feeling that half of my books is written by the city." In general, in fact, he writes what he knows. That's why he doesn't focus too much on the police and their work. And that's why he set part of the action at Bosphorus University, which he knows from his own studies.

Oker has enjoyed crime stories since childhood. Indeed, Turkey as a whole has long had an affection for this type of fiction. The last of the Ottoman rulers, Sultan Abdulhamid II (1842-1918), loved this kind of literature, and of the 10,000 books in his library, one fifth were detective novels... Initially the Turks' predilections were catered for by translations, but eventually local productions started to emerge.

Why so comparatively late? Well, in Turkey in the past, Oker explains, people used to confess, partly for reasons of honour, and partly because they would be given reduced sentences... When this law was changed, people chose to hide things. Hence the need for someone to uncover the truth... Additionally, he says, the accumulation of money in certain hands has led to a "mafia phenomenon". This is not great for the country, but it offers rich pickings to the crime writer.



One final point. Asked whether he feels European, Oker replies: "I was born with a very natural European perspective. I worked, wrote, and lived from that perspective. Still, I don't deny visiting the Anatolian side of my soul quite often."

Ah, Turkey, always on the faultline...