An ordinary love would have ended in forgetting, but ordinary loves do not need a museum to prove they existed
Some novels begin as one thing and end up being another. They present themselves as love stories, build the illusion that what matters is the passion between two people, and then, without the reader noticing the precise moment of the turn, they become something more uncomfortable and more exact. Orhan Pamuk’s The Museum of Innocence … CONTINUE READING →