Difficult one. I understood that this novel is about Sufism only at the surface; on a deeper level it is about Allah, about letting go of Reason and opening yourself up for the great mystery that lies beyond - a secret place so hardly accessible for the Western mind. Interestingly, Reshad Feild (or the protagonist he recreates) fails miserably in letting go of his preconceptions and he maintains a fetishistic attraction for "the mysterious" world of the dervishes. When Dede teaches him the "turn" (page 149), it hardly feels more than a simulacrum. Only at the very end, there is a moment of enlightenment, but it doesn't convice.
I felt like there's something interesting going on "in between" the lines, namely that Feild remains very (!) British in his thoughts and actions. Turkey never really ceases to be a set design for his exotism and mystical fetish. He never really lets go of his Western superiority. It is a paradox to see an adult man on his path to self-discovery displaying such a colonial attitude! Even at 100 pages and several months into his journey, he is surprised to find a 'modern' bus station in what he had imagined to be the 'very primitive' town of Konya. The buses and roads are 'uncomfortable', the meals are 'simple'. Not once did it cross his mind to maybe study some Turkish (at least soms basics, so that he could haggle with taxi drivers): "yok", he knows, means no, so when the guard of the (closed) holy tomb tells him "yok", he replies bluntly: "yok what"?
His mentor Hamid on the other hand, plays with him like a cat with a blind mouse. He sends his pupil on improbable tasks and missions and his impredictable reactions are borderline neurotic. You can never know whether he will laugh, cry, yell, slam a door, or just give a silent nod. The plans always change last minute and the pupil just has to adapt. His role made me slightly uncomfortable. Yes, the student should trust the process and "let go", but that doesn't give the teacher the privilege to behave as they please. A fair example is the car drive over the mountain to reach the temple of Apollo (a place, as so many, that they will eventually never reach). Following the advice of a local, they take a shortcut, but of course the promised road ends up being nothing more than a cart track. When they miraculously make it down the other side, the Englishman shouts "we've made it!" and in that moment they hear a tremendous crunch beneath the car. Hamid is furious and blames him that this is his fault, that he didn't trust God. "You are nothing," the teacher fulminates. "You are going to have to learn humility." I understand the logic behind this outburst, but hadn't it been nicer of Hamid to just laugh at this cosmic irony?