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The Renovation: A Novel
A woman discovers that her bathroom has been remodeled into a prison cell—where she is an unlikely inmate—in this surreal novel of exile, grief, memory, and migration.
In Salerno, Italy, Dilara spends her days caring for her aging father and her hypochondriac husband. Since leaving her native Istanbul, she’s been unable to find a job—adrift, she becomes increasingly fixated on domestic improvement, specifically on the renovation of a second bathroom. When the work is completed, she enters and finds herself not in a bathroom but in a prison cell, and a Turkish one at that.
As she tries and fails to conceal the unfortunate discovery from her husband, she confronts the prison’s other inhabitants—the buffoonish guards who refuse to believe her conundrum; the other women who begin filling the cells beyond hers—and the strange things that drift through the smell of the Bosporus, her mother’s voice, calls to prayer . . .
Has she gone mad? Is she the victim of a terrible prank? Is it a portal, a dream, a simulation? As she burrows deeper into her cell, her life beyond it begins to fall apart—her husband disappears, her father’s grip on reality loosens, political dictatorship threatens to destroy everything worth keeping.
In his slender, disquieting first novel, Kenan Orhan tells a story of modern migration like no other. The Renovation is a tragic comedy of displacement, a story that remodels its own form to the dazzling inevitable end.
In Salerno, Italy, Dilara spends her days caring for her aging father and her hypochondriac husband. Since leaving her native Istanbul, she’s been unable to find a job—adrift, she becomes increasingly fixated on domestic improvement, specifically on the renovation of a second bathroom. When the work is completed, she enters and finds herself not in a bathroom but in a prison cell, and a Turkish one at that.
As she tries and fails to conceal the unfortunate discovery from her husband, she confronts the prison’s other inhabitants—the buffoonish guards who refuse to believe her conundrum; the other women who begin filling the cells beyond hers—and the strange things that drift through the smell of the Bosporus, her mother’s voice, calls to prayer . . .
Has she gone mad? Is she the victim of a terrible prank? Is it a portal, a dream, a simulation? As she burrows deeper into her cell, her life beyond it begins to fall apart—her husband disappears, her father’s grip on reality loosens, political dictatorship threatens to destroy everything worth keeping.
In his slender, disquieting first novel, Kenan Orhan tells a story of modern migration like no other. The Renovation is a tragic comedy of displacement, a story that remodels its own form to the dazzling inevitable end.
257 pages, Kindle Edition
Published February 10, 2026
About the author
Kenan Orhan
7 books62 followersKenan Orhan is a Turkish American writer and a recipient of the O. Henry Prize. His stories have appeared in The Paris Review, Massachusetts Review, Prairie Schooner, The Common, and elsewhere, and have been anthologized in The Best American Short Stories. Orhan received his MFA from Emerson College and lives in Kansas City. I Am My Country is his first book.
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May 8, 2026
This unusual variation on a portal fantasy is narrated by Dilara who left Turkey with her husband and father for a small Italian village. The move was prompted by her father being cast as a political dissident, a label which also cost Dilara her job. Unable to find work in Italy, Dilara’s stuck at home facing the prospect of looking after her father who has a form of Alzheimer’s that’s rapidly progressing. Now that her father’s set to move into her apartment more space is needed. But when the required building work’s completed, instead of opening onto an extra bathroom, her bedroom’s directly connected to a prison cell in Turkey’s maximum security Siliviri Prison (now Marmara Prison). The revelation startles Dilara’s husband so much, he immediately flees but Dilara’s curiously accepting of this bizarre development. In time she even comes to embrace it, providing as it does, a route back into a motherland and a culture she desperately misses.
Although there are passages of frenetic prose, Kenan Orhan’s narrative is dense and largely matter of fact. The fantasy element is little more than a device, a means of enabling an exploration of broader issues around nostalgia, memory, confinement and repression. These are split between Dilara’s everyday isolation and exhaustion caring for a parent who no longer even recognises her, and an overview of shifts in Turkish society as Erdoğan’s grip tightened. As her father’s memory falters, Dilara’s more and more caught up in recollections of her recent past. These offer up perspectives on Turkey particularly the impact of creeping authoritarianism: from the uprisings in Gezi Park to the 2016 coup attempt.
Dilara finds herself increasingly drawn to the cell, relishing hearing her own language, as well as smells and sounds that remind her of what’s lost. It becomes an unlikely refuge and even a source of community, forged from mingling with other women in her cell block. The women’s stories also provide insights into Turkey since Dilara left: the summary imprisonment of journalists and rights activists, the long stretches of pre-trial incarceration used to subdue opposition. Dilara’s gradual adjustment to possible imprisonment indirectly comments on those who tolerate life under dictatorial regimes. Those who elect to remain silent rather than risk becoming outcasts like Dilara and her family. Taken together, Dilara’s experiences form an arresting meditation on identity, the nature of exile, and what cannot easily be left behind. They’re also a poignant reminder of what it is to be a full-time carer; a role so often, so casually assigned to women, imprisoning them in domestic spaces, rendering them close to invisible. Admittedly the symbolism - and the storytelling in general - leans towards heavy-handed but overall a moving, illuminating piece.
Thanks to Netgalley and publisher Hamish Hamilton for an ARC
Rating: 3.5
Although there are passages of frenetic prose, Kenan Orhan’s narrative is dense and largely matter of fact. The fantasy element is little more than a device, a means of enabling an exploration of broader issues around nostalgia, memory, confinement and repression. These are split between Dilara’s everyday isolation and exhaustion caring for a parent who no longer even recognises her, and an overview of shifts in Turkish society as Erdoğan’s grip tightened. As her father’s memory falters, Dilara’s more and more caught up in recollections of her recent past. These offer up perspectives on Turkey particularly the impact of creeping authoritarianism: from the uprisings in Gezi Park to the 2016 coup attempt.
Dilara finds herself increasingly drawn to the cell, relishing hearing her own language, as well as smells and sounds that remind her of what’s lost. It becomes an unlikely refuge and even a source of community, forged from mingling with other women in her cell block. The women’s stories also provide insights into Turkey since Dilara left: the summary imprisonment of journalists and rights activists, the long stretches of pre-trial incarceration used to subdue opposition. Dilara’s gradual adjustment to possible imprisonment indirectly comments on those who tolerate life under dictatorial regimes. Those who elect to remain silent rather than risk becoming outcasts like Dilara and her family. Taken together, Dilara’s experiences form an arresting meditation on identity, the nature of exile, and what cannot easily be left behind. They’re also a poignant reminder of what it is to be a full-time carer; a role so often, so casually assigned to women, imprisoning them in domestic spaces, rendering them close to invisible. Admittedly the symbolism - and the storytelling in general - leans towards heavy-handed but overall a moving, illuminating piece.
Thanks to Netgalley and publisher Hamish Hamilton for an ARC
Rating: 3.5
August 2, 2026
Booker long listed 2026!
Hope is a symptom of the strangeness of life. Who was I to say what is and isn't possible while I hid in a prison in my bathroom?"
"When there is something missing from you, how do you fill the space? Do you describe the boundary of the void obsessively, or simply cover its shapelessness with a veil?"
Is it too early to identify a Booker nominee for 2026?
The Renovation by Kenan Orhan is a book that requires attention.
Dilara with her husband and father are exiles. They have moved to a village near Salerno in Italy to escape the persecution of her father in Turkey- an outspoken opponent of the Erdogan administration. Leaving behind the control of a government and the rise of political prisoners. However, life changes when the request for a new bathroom is turned upside down when the builders install a Turkish prison cell. and Dilara's father life changes as the shadow of Alzheimers deepens and he closes in on himself.
Dilara finds herself bewitched by this room - she hears the voices of female prisoners, the orders of guards and the aromas of a past life. She is drawn to the cell as a place of escape.
The metaphorical comparison of living in a new country with no friends to feeling imprisoned is evident; the decline of her father as his world closes down and he withdraws into his own solitary existence( a personal cell); the continual fear of persecution and potential repercussions echo through Dilara's mind especially as she reflects upon the turmoil caused in their lives in Turkey and subsequent "escape". as well as the isolation of being away from family and a past life. Dilara finds solace in a cell.
This is a story of millions fleeing wars, political conflicts and regimes and the internal struggles and the cells that people find themselves living within longing to be free in their homelands.
Powerful, haunting, captivating - a book that will leave you unsettled but equally makes us reflect upon the harsh realities of life.
Hope is a symptom of the strangeness of life. Who was I to say what is and isn't possible while I hid in a prison in my bathroom?"
"When there is something missing from you, how do you fill the space? Do you describe the boundary of the void obsessively, or simply cover its shapelessness with a veil?"
Is it too early to identify a Booker nominee for 2026?
The Renovation by Kenan Orhan is a book that requires attention.
Dilara with her husband and father are exiles. They have moved to a village near Salerno in Italy to escape the persecution of her father in Turkey- an outspoken opponent of the Erdogan administration. Leaving behind the control of a government and the rise of political prisoners. However, life changes when the request for a new bathroom is turned upside down when the builders install a Turkish prison cell. and Dilara's father life changes as the shadow of Alzheimers deepens and he closes in on himself.
Dilara finds herself bewitched by this room - she hears the voices of female prisoners, the orders of guards and the aromas of a past life. She is drawn to the cell as a place of escape.
The metaphorical comparison of living in a new country with no friends to feeling imprisoned is evident; the decline of her father as his world closes down and he withdraws into his own solitary existence( a personal cell); the continual fear of persecution and potential repercussions echo through Dilara's mind especially as she reflects upon the turmoil caused in their lives in Turkey and subsequent "escape". as well as the isolation of being away from family and a past life. Dilara finds solace in a cell.
This is a story of millions fleeing wars, political conflicts and regimes and the internal struggles and the cells that people find themselves living within longing to be free in their homelands.
Powerful, haunting, captivating - a book that will leave you unsettled but equally makes us reflect upon the harsh realities of life.
August 1, 2026
Dilara is shocked to find that the construction crew she hired to remodel her bathroom have instead opened a portal into a Turkish prison cell. She is upset at first, but she comes to find that the cell connects her to her homeland and offers a respite from the pressures of her life: a phobic husband, an aging father slipping into Alzheimer's, and the struggle to build a meaningful life in Italy. The family had left Türkiye after her father was nearly killed and she was fired for her political connections. The fear of arrest was real.
I have been reading through the Booker Longlist, and I have finally found a book with substance. It is beautifully written, evoking the atmosphere of an Istanbul of former days. Through the prison portal, Dilara relates the story of Türkiye's transformation under Erdoğan's regime into an authoritarian state, and she does it entirely through her family's personal experience. I became fully immersed. The words flowed and time disappeared.
Magical realism is not usually my preference, but it works beautifully here to portray the toll of migration: the longing for one's homeland and the difficulty of being accepted in a new country. It is also an ode to caretakers, to the hardships of watching a loved one decline, here from Alzheimer's. The prison cell becomes a perfect metaphor for both halves of Dilara's life, caregiver and political exile, the place where the country she fled and the life she is trying to build come together.
The book addresses subjects that feel urgent right now. It offers insight into the contemporary situation in Türkiye, where people are arrested and brutalized and the names of institutions and organizations are changed to erase collective memory. It happened there, and it is not hard to extrapolate to circumstances elsewhere, including the US. I encourage everyone to read it. It is brilliant.
I have been reading through the Booker Longlist, and I have finally found a book with substance. It is beautifully written, evoking the atmosphere of an Istanbul of former days. Through the prison portal, Dilara relates the story of Türkiye's transformation under Erdoğan's regime into an authoritarian state, and she does it entirely through her family's personal experience. I became fully immersed. The words flowed and time disappeared.
Magical realism is not usually my preference, but it works beautifully here to portray the toll of migration: the longing for one's homeland and the difficulty of being accepted in a new country. It is also an ode to caretakers, to the hardships of watching a loved one decline, here from Alzheimer's. The prison cell becomes a perfect metaphor for both halves of Dilara's life, caregiver and political exile, the place where the country she fled and the life she is trying to build come together.
The book addresses subjects that feel urgent right now. It offers insight into the contemporary situation in Türkiye, where people are arrested and brutalized and the names of institutions and organizations are changed to erase collective memory. It happened there, and it is not hard to extrapolate to circumstances elsewhere, including the US. I encourage everyone to read it. It is brilliant.
August 6, 2025
4.5 stars
With its fantastical premise and candidly raw emotional core, The Renovation is a powerful literary gem. I’m glad I was drawn in by its outlandish hook—a botched renovation where a residential bathroom inexplicably transforms into a prison cell—judging on the subject matter alone, I might have passed it by as too literary for my taste. The touch of magical realism is seamlessly woven throughout, holding my attention and pulling me into a vulnerable, deeply human character study. More than once, I found myself double-checking to make sure this wasn’t a nonfiction memoir—the protagonist’s journey feels that vivid and real.
The Renovation tackles heavy themes: a parent’s dementia and Türkiye’s political turmoil over the past decade. Despite this, it never feels overwrought; instead, it’s resonant and surprisingly balanced. For someone who doesn’t regularly engage with Türkiye’s politics, it’s also insightful without being overly academic. As an immigrant myself, I found the depiction of complicated feelings toward one’s homeland strikingly accurate—on the surface, countless reasons to leave, yet underneath, an unbreakable emotional longing. Oddly enough, Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner kept coming to mind while I was reading this—likely because of its reflective portrayal of a parent–child relationship.
Ultimately, The Renovation was a refreshing change of pace from my usual thriller and horror reads: more introspective and serious, yet still delightfully quirky thanks to its unconventional setup and fluid, unpretentious writing style. There’s so much metaphor and symbolism to unpack that I know this story will stick with me for a long time.
**This ARC was provided by the publisher via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review. Much appreciated!**
With its fantastical premise and candidly raw emotional core, The Renovation is a powerful literary gem. I’m glad I was drawn in by its outlandish hook—a botched renovation where a residential bathroom inexplicably transforms into a prison cell—judging on the subject matter alone, I might have passed it by as too literary for my taste. The touch of magical realism is seamlessly woven throughout, holding my attention and pulling me into a vulnerable, deeply human character study. More than once, I found myself double-checking to make sure this wasn’t a nonfiction memoir—the protagonist’s journey feels that vivid and real.
The Renovation tackles heavy themes: a parent’s dementia and Türkiye’s political turmoil over the past decade. Despite this, it never feels overwrought; instead, it’s resonant and surprisingly balanced. For someone who doesn’t regularly engage with Türkiye’s politics, it’s also insightful without being overly academic. As an immigrant myself, I found the depiction of complicated feelings toward one’s homeland strikingly accurate—on the surface, countless reasons to leave, yet underneath, an unbreakable emotional longing. Oddly enough, Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner kept coming to mind while I was reading this—likely because of its reflective portrayal of a parent–child relationship.
Ultimately, The Renovation was a refreshing change of pace from my usual thriller and horror reads: more introspective and serious, yet still delightfully quirky thanks to its unconventional setup and fluid, unpretentious writing style. There’s so much metaphor and symbolism to unpack that I know this story will stick with me for a long time.
**This ARC was provided by the publisher via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review. Much appreciated!**
February 14, 2026
4/4.5
Renovation is the debut novel by Kenan Orhan and gives us the story of Dilara, her husband and father. They have fled to Italy to escape Erdoğan's regime in Turkey. But Dilara cannot find work and soon finds herself beginning to become her father's carer as his memory loss descends into Alzheimer's.
In order to give her father more space Dilara and her husband remodel their apartment to give themselves a private bathroom but the builders are curiously secretive about the work until completion. As Dilara pulls back the curtain which has kept the bathroom under wraps she finds herself in a cell in a Turkish prison. She can move between the two countries with ease but how to explain this to her husband, who already fears they are being kept under surveillance.
Kenan Orhan's fascinating novel delves into the political situation in Turkey as well as dealing with Dilara's increasingly precarious personal life. It almost feels as though the erasure of Turkey's past as Erdoğan moulds the country in his own image, mirrors the loss of her father's memory and her own faulty recollections. The prison cell, which Dilara's husband fears becomes a refuge for Dilara as her father's disease progresses.
The premise of the novel is startling but doesn't go where I expected at all. Dilara could easily become a figure of pity but her natural resilience and ability to adapt make her a very sympathetic character, full of determination to survive.
I would definitely recommend this novel and am keen to read more by Orhan.
Thankyou to Netgalley and Farrar, Strauss and Giroux for the digital review copy.
Renovation is the debut novel by Kenan Orhan and gives us the story of Dilara, her husband and father. They have fled to Italy to escape Erdoğan's regime in Turkey. But Dilara cannot find work and soon finds herself beginning to become her father's carer as his memory loss descends into Alzheimer's.
In order to give her father more space Dilara and her husband remodel their apartment to give themselves a private bathroom but the builders are curiously secretive about the work until completion. As Dilara pulls back the curtain which has kept the bathroom under wraps she finds herself in a cell in a Turkish prison. She can move between the two countries with ease but how to explain this to her husband, who already fears they are being kept under surveillance.
Kenan Orhan's fascinating novel delves into the political situation in Turkey as well as dealing with Dilara's increasingly precarious personal life. It almost feels as though the erasure of Turkey's past as Erdoğan moulds the country in his own image, mirrors the loss of her father's memory and her own faulty recollections. The prison cell, which Dilara's husband fears becomes a refuge for Dilara as her father's disease progresses.
The premise of the novel is startling but doesn't go where I expected at all. Dilara could easily become a figure of pity but her natural resilience and ability to adapt make her a very sympathetic character, full of determination to survive.
I would definitely recommend this novel and am keen to read more by Orhan.
Thankyou to Netgalley and Farrar, Strauss and Giroux for the digital review copy.
August 2, 2026
I want a self-renovation of the soul. I want an erasure like the controlled burns on the steppes, the immolations that remove the thistles and noxious weeds, the stover and dry grasses... an act of preservation.
At the core of this novel lies a braid of three narrative strands, all dealing with loss: a daughter becomes the reluctant caregiver to her father with progressive dementia, that same daughter experiences the anguish of cultural displacement, and a Turkish prison cell appears in her Italian apartment where a new bathroom was expected to be. The dementia storyline is handled moderately well but was of little interest to me. The sections exploring Dilara's profound heartache over the erosion of her homeland and history are quite moving. The evolving forays in and out of Silivri Prison were the most unexpected but varied in effect from gripping to (less often) dull.
Dilara's relationship with the shocking, intrusive prison cell mirrors the most typical stages of grief. She moves from anger to denial to bargaining, all suffused with periods of depression, as she eventually reaches acceptance. Naturally, the same reactions are applied to her situation with her dying father. And, arguably, the choices she makes vis-a-vis the prison cell and its uses are the physical representations of her internal emotional state caused by exile from Turkey. So it's all appropriate and reasonable, but also felt a bit predictable and (for me) dragged on. Because the reader learns of the prison cell on page 2, and the issues of adult caregiving and societal displacement on page 4, there is less fascination when backstory is introduced subsequently.
Magical Realism is something I usually enjoy, and it is used to good effect here. There are some very occasional lapses that might have been caught or modified during editing. For example, Dilara tells us this:
I noticed a plate bearing five rolls of marzipan waiting on the table in my cell, and I ate them up quickly, knowing they could not be saved for later. ...And if I tried to bring it home with me, first the flavor would drain out of it, then the sandy texture, grain by grain, would evaporate until the rolls were completely gone. Anything I ever took from the cell had a way of fizzling out...
but not long after, this happens:
...our meals were passed through a slot in the door. I had started taking these meals directly to my father to lighten the economic burden of cooking for two. I trusted the prison to provide.
I haven't read the short story that inspired expansion into this novel but suspect it is excellent. This young writer has obvious potential and I'll give his next book a try.
3.5 stars
At the core of this novel lies a braid of three narrative strands, all dealing with loss: a daughter becomes the reluctant caregiver to her father with progressive dementia, that same daughter experiences the anguish of cultural displacement, and a Turkish prison cell appears in her Italian apartment where a new bathroom was expected to be. The dementia storyline is handled moderately well but was of little interest to me. The sections exploring Dilara's profound heartache over the erosion of her homeland and history are quite moving. The evolving forays in and out of Silivri Prison were the most unexpected but varied in effect from gripping to (less often) dull.
Dilara's relationship with the shocking, intrusive prison cell mirrors the most typical stages of grief. She moves from anger to denial to bargaining, all suffused with periods of depression, as she eventually reaches acceptance. Naturally, the same reactions are applied to her situation with her dying father. And, arguably, the choices she makes vis-a-vis the prison cell and its uses are the physical representations of her internal emotional state caused by exile from Turkey. So it's all appropriate and reasonable, but also felt a bit predictable and (for me) dragged on. Because the reader learns of the prison cell on page 2, and the issues of adult caregiving and societal displacement on page 4, there is less fascination when backstory is introduced subsequently.
Magical Realism is something I usually enjoy, and it is used to good effect here. There are some very occasional lapses that might have been caught or modified during editing. For example, Dilara tells us this:
I noticed a plate bearing five rolls of marzipan waiting on the table in my cell, and I ate them up quickly, knowing they could not be saved for later. ...And if I tried to bring it home with me, first the flavor would drain out of it, then the sandy texture, grain by grain, would evaporate until the rolls were completely gone. Anything I ever took from the cell had a way of fizzling out...
but not long after, this happens:
...our meals were passed through a slot in the door. I had started taking these meals directly to my father to lighten the economic burden of cooking for two. I trusted the prison to provide.
I haven't read the short story that inspired expansion into this novel but suspect it is excellent. This young writer has obvious potential and I'll give his next book a try.
3.5 stars
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July 31, 2025For every exile, there is a family of hostages, a host of lovers, friends, colleagues, rivals, affable greengrocers, lascivious taxi drivers - all left behind in their hostage's bindings, and the country calls out that it misses you, don't you miss it back?
How does one escape a homeland turned dictatorship? As it turns out, one cannot — the prison follows them wherever they go. In a feat of magical realism, Kenan Orhan vividly depicts what it means to never escape one's country of origin, especially when forced to flee. Considering my own country's long but definitive path toward an outright dictatorship, I can't say I haven't been thinking about leaving recently, so this novel hit too close to home. And that's good. I needed to know that, even if I left, the prison would follow me.
How does one escape a homeland turned dictatorship? As it turns out, one cannot — the prison follows them wherever they go. In a feat of magical realism, Kenan Orhan vividly depicts what it means to never escape one's country of origin, especially when forced to flee. Considering my own country's long but definitive path toward an outright dictatorship, I can't say I haven't been thinking about leaving recently, so this novel hit too close to home. And that's good. I needed to know that, even if I left, the prison would follow me.
June 11, 2026
What a wild conceit! A woman and her husband are caring for her aging Father who is deep in the throes of Alzheimer's disease, they are having a bathroom renovation done and the builders will not let them see a thing until it's complete. When it's finally finished the woman proceeds to pull back the tarp and a bathroom she does not find! what is there is a real life prison cell, an actual portal into the infamous Silivri Prison in Istanbul. What!?!?
I really liked this book, it surprised me the whole way along and the ending knocked me over. This book speaks to what it feels like to miss your homeland and what it feels like to take care of someone you love. It's a book of displacement and exile, the sense of disquietude throughout is unsettling, and I enjoyed the author's thoughtful writing style very much. There is magical realism that doesn't care about your "why" and "how" questions and while there is a portal into a prison there is also so much grounded in reality, in real life Turkey, in very real people with very real problems. This was not a plot heavy book, but it was so profound, so much to think about. 5 stars all the way!
I really liked this book, it surprised me the whole way along and the ending knocked me over. This book speaks to what it feels like to miss your homeland and what it feels like to take care of someone you love. It's a book of displacement and exile, the sense of disquietude throughout is unsettling, and I enjoyed the author's thoughtful writing style very much. There is magical realism that doesn't care about your "why" and "how" questions and while there is a portal into a prison there is also so much grounded in reality, in real life Turkey, in very real people with very real problems. This was not a plot heavy book, but it was so profound, so much to think about. 5 stars all the way!
August 4, 2025
⭐⭐⭐⭐
In this story we follow Dilara, a Turkish school psychologist who has exiled herself to Italy. Our story starts when what was supposed to be a renovated bathroom turns out to be a cell in a well-known Turkish prison. In this tale we explore a plethora of topics such as being a caregiver of your dad, homesickness for a country you abandoned, and the ambiguity it brings. It was filled with beautiful and purple prose and a very rich inner monologue.
While the premise is quite bizarre, the book is mainly character-focused, accepting the magical realism that is present throughout it. The book could be described as melancholic, with lots of longing, whether it's for a dead parent, an absent husband, or the past that will never come back. Additionally, as we follow the past timeline where she still lived in Turkey, we get a lot of insight about the political climate and historical facts, which was reminiscent of The Island of Missing Trees by Elif Shafak. Overall, a highly recommended novel for those who are looking for an emotional novel with some touches of magical realism.
Thanks to NetGalley and Farrar, Straus and Giroux for the eARC in exchange for an honest review!
In this story we follow Dilara, a Turkish school psychologist who has exiled herself to Italy. Our story starts when what was supposed to be a renovated bathroom turns out to be a cell in a well-known Turkish prison. In this tale we explore a plethora of topics such as being a caregiver of your dad, homesickness for a country you abandoned, and the ambiguity it brings. It was filled with beautiful and purple prose and a very rich inner monologue.
While the premise is quite bizarre, the book is mainly character-focused, accepting the magical realism that is present throughout it. The book could be described as melancholic, with lots of longing, whether it's for a dead parent, an absent husband, or the past that will never come back. Additionally, as we follow the past timeline where she still lived in Turkey, we get a lot of insight about the political climate and historical facts, which was reminiscent of The Island of Missing Trees by Elif Shafak. Overall, a highly recommended novel for those who are looking for an emotional novel with some touches of magical realism.
Thanks to NetGalley and Farrar, Straus and Giroux for the eARC in exchange for an honest review!
March 13, 2026
This book has a very promising premise. I was expecting a story that would really make me question things like: "What's happening?" But well … sadly, it did not meet my expectations. I hoped the magical realism element would feel stronger, and the prison cell would be explored much deeper, with more mystery around it. Instead, I felt the story focused more on other things, and the prison cell became less important than I expected. I also didn't relate to the characters or feel the metaphor the author was trying to deliver. In the end, this book is just not for me. But it might be for you.
June 15, 2026
complex and messy, just like life (in a good way)
April 16, 2026
Picked this up to read along with the NYT Book Review podcast and while this is not my usual fare, I did think it was well-written, but sad. Dilara, her husband and her father are exiles from Turkey, living in a small Italian village. Her father's writing and teaching forced them to flee and while they are physically safe, they are all unhappy about the situation. The father has Alzheimer's and is deteriorating rapidly. Dilara is his primary caretaker and her husband buckles and leaves due to the stress and the new bathroom renovation in their apartment. The new bathroom is a prison cell from their old country and once it cannot be removed, Dilara spends more and more time there. Turkish politics fuel this story and Dilara's decision making is driven by her desperate circumstances after she loses her job and income. Looking forward to hearing the discussion of this book; it is relatively short, but very moving.
January 19, 2026
"𝘕𝘰𝘸 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘺, 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦."
Dilara was thorough with the builders when it came to the bathroom renovation. They discussed and selected materials and products and determined cost. So, she is shocked to find that instead of a new bathroom, the builders have somehow built a portal to a Turkish prison cell. While she is upset at first, she grows to enjoy the sanctuary of the cell as a connection to her homeland and a respite from the growing pressures of her marriage, caring for her aging father, and trying to build a meaningful life in Italy, the country she now calls "home".
This was a quick read that really packs a punch. It's beautifully written and while it's themes make it heavy and emotional, it was easily readable. It tackles concepts of migration and otherness, aging and the hardships of caretaking, memory and family dynamics. The prison cell acts as a perfect metaphor for Dilara's experience, as caregiver and political refugee.
What I most took away while reading was the insight into the contemporary politics of Turkey, and how eerily similar the authoritarianism mirrors the situation in America. Arresting and brutalizing vocal citizens, changing the names of institutions and organizations to cement legacy. It happened in Turkey, it's happened many places before, it's happening here, and that's terrifying.
Thank you to NetGalley and FSG for the ARC. I requested this solely for the cover so colour me happily surprised! This is a wildly impressive debut novel, following Orhan's short story collection from a few years ago, and I think he's definitely one to watch.
Dilara was thorough with the builders when it came to the bathroom renovation. They discussed and selected materials and products and determined cost. So, she is shocked to find that instead of a new bathroom, the builders have somehow built a portal to a Turkish prison cell. While she is upset at first, she grows to enjoy the sanctuary of the cell as a connection to her homeland and a respite from the growing pressures of her marriage, caring for her aging father, and trying to build a meaningful life in Italy, the country she now calls "home".
This was a quick read that really packs a punch. It's beautifully written and while it's themes make it heavy and emotional, it was easily readable. It tackles concepts of migration and otherness, aging and the hardships of caretaking, memory and family dynamics. The prison cell acts as a perfect metaphor for Dilara's experience, as caregiver and political refugee.
What I most took away while reading was the insight into the contemporary politics of Turkey, and how eerily similar the authoritarianism mirrors the situation in America. Arresting and brutalizing vocal citizens, changing the names of institutions and organizations to cement legacy. It happened in Turkey, it's happened many places before, it's happening here, and that's terrifying.
Thank you to NetGalley and FSG for the ARC. I requested this solely for the cover so colour me happily surprised! This is a wildly impressive debut novel, following Orhan's short story collection from a few years ago, and I think he's definitely one to watch.
October 7, 2025
The premise of the novel is surreal and delivers on the magic realism: An exile from Turkey living in Italy with her ailing father discovers, in place of a renovated bathroom, an en suite prison cell. Not just any prison cell, but a specific women's prison in Turkey—effectively creating a portal or hinge between her two worlds.
Home and homeland. Home and "step father country" as the narrator Dilara once describes it, feeling as though her very identity is different in Italy due to, among other things, living in a new language. And not just because she's less proficient:
"As we learn a new language... we become a different person. As we access different linguistic structures, our personalities shift: to refelct the different concepts available to us through different words... In Italian, I have become a more buoyant peroson. I know the words for happy, nice, beautiful, joyful, kind, generous, love, warmth... I'd lost that melancholic language I had grown so reliant upon in Turkish." But the realization itself is a melancholic one, full of regret and yearning.
I found these reflections on personhood in relation to nationhood fascinating, especially because the narrator's father is in the late stages of dementia and losing his memories. In fact, he's never really left Turkey due to his mind's degeneration. Yet he's surely becoming less of the person he used to be—but is he less of a person all together?
Honestly, Dilara's yearning for a Turkey that doesn't exist anymore due to the authoritarian government and her evolving relationship with her father (the descriptions of caretaking a deteriorating parent are truly moving) are the highlights of this book.
The prison as an extended metaphor becomes clear and maybe a bit too pat by the end—I won't spoil it. But shockingly, given the premise and subject matter, the pace feels off as though there's a lack of stakes. The novel becomes a slog at times, indulging in historical exposition dumps that sit atop the story like a film rather than being absorbed into and enriching the texture of the prose.
Ultimately, I'm happy I read it for several key moments and passages but I did need to force myself to finish.
[I received an advance copy of this book through NetGalley. Thank you to the publisher! Opinions are my own.]
Home and homeland. Home and "step father country" as the narrator Dilara once describes it, feeling as though her very identity is different in Italy due to, among other things, living in a new language. And not just because she's less proficient:
"As we learn a new language... we become a different person. As we access different linguistic structures, our personalities shift: to refelct the different concepts available to us through different words... In Italian, I have become a more buoyant peroson. I know the words for happy, nice, beautiful, joyful, kind, generous, love, warmth... I'd lost that melancholic language I had grown so reliant upon in Turkish." But the realization itself is a melancholic one, full of regret and yearning.
I found these reflections on personhood in relation to nationhood fascinating, especially because the narrator's father is in the late stages of dementia and losing his memories. In fact, he's never really left Turkey due to his mind's degeneration. Yet he's surely becoming less of the person he used to be—but is he less of a person all together?
Honestly, Dilara's yearning for a Turkey that doesn't exist anymore due to the authoritarian government and her evolving relationship with her father (the descriptions of caretaking a deteriorating parent are truly moving) are the highlights of this book.
The prison as an extended metaphor becomes clear and maybe a bit too pat by the end—I won't spoil it. But shockingly, given the premise and subject matter, the pace feels off as though there's a lack of stakes. The novel becomes a slog at times, indulging in historical exposition dumps that sit atop the story like a film rather than being absorbed into and enriching the texture of the prose.
Ultimately, I'm happy I read it for several key moments and passages but I did need to force myself to finish.
[I received an advance copy of this book through NetGalley. Thank you to the publisher! Opinions are my own.]
September 15, 2025
The Renovation by Kenan Orhan is a haunting, surreal debut, a meditation on memory, displacement and psychological scars. When her second bathroom is renovated to resemble a notorious prison cell. Dilara, a psychologist caring for her dementia suffering father in Italy, is troubled by this invasion of a past they were attempting to escape into this, their present. Orhan keeps the reader guessing, and reality and fiction fuse as the narrative books deepen into the reader, with the lyricism of Orhan's prose carrying us through.
This was a staggering debut in its ambition - and though I feel a second read might solidify it in my mind - on first reading it is still gripping and insightful. I am certainly very keen to see what Kenan Orhan does next - I feel we might be at the beginning of a great career here.
Thank you to Netgalley and the publishers for the ARC.
This was a staggering debut in its ambition - and though I feel a second read might solidify it in my mind - on first reading it is still gripping and insightful. I am certainly very keen to see what Kenan Orhan does next - I feel we might be at the beginning of a great career here.
Thank you to Netgalley and the publishers for the ARC.
March 5, 2026
Dilara, an immigrant to Italy from Turkey, hires a few dodgy builders to renovate her ensuite bathroom at her house in Baronissi, Italy. It is to accommodate her dying father. What she finds, is a complete prison cell, a replica of one at Istanbul’s huge Silivri Prison, along with guards and fellow inmates with whom she is able to converse to regularly.
As obvious a metaphor as it seems, Orhan writes Dilara’s character as deadpan, a child psychologist trying to understand the meaning of her new world.
There’s a few reasons I don’t think that the attractive premise works well; Dilara not questioning the situation she finds herself in, and also that the book soon becomes overtly political.
As obvious a metaphor as it seems, Orhan writes Dilara’s character as deadpan, a child psychologist trying to understand the meaning of her new world.
There’s a few reasons I don’t think that the attractive premise works well; Dilara not questioning the situation she finds herself in, and also that the book soon becomes overtly political.
May 25, 2026
Thanks to NetGalley and Farrar Straus and Giroux for providing me with an eARC.
This was a very unique story and I've never seen such a use for a portal. In principle this book didn't really require the whole prison instead of a bathroom part but it definitely strengthened the metaphorical interpretation of the book. It's a lot about how someone misses their homeland and would do anything to know more about what's going on there and the way one feels lonely and almost imprisoned in a place so far removed from their culture. I did learn quite a bit about the Turkish political situation which was nice. The parts about Dilara being her father's caretaker felt very raw, especially the way she was balancing it with going into the prison frequently to take breaks and to distance herself from the pain. My only issue with the book was that it was very difficult to realize where the timeline shifts were happening. Sometimes I'm deep into a section when I realize it's either a past recollection or just her dreams/thoughts. The writing was straightforward but impactful. I would recommend this to anyone interested in Turkish politics and the feeling of loneliness felt by migrants/immigrants in a different country.
This was a very unique story and I've never seen such a use for a portal. In principle this book didn't really require the whole prison instead of a bathroom part but it definitely strengthened the metaphorical interpretation of the book. It's a lot about how someone misses their homeland and would do anything to know more about what's going on there and the way one feels lonely and almost imprisoned in a place so far removed from their culture. I did learn quite a bit about the Turkish political situation which was nice. The parts about Dilara being her father's caretaker felt very raw, especially the way she was balancing it with going into the prison frequently to take breaks and to distance herself from the pain. My only issue with the book was that it was very difficult to realize where the timeline shifts were happening. Sometimes I'm deep into a section when I realize it's either a past recollection or just her dreams/thoughts. The writing was straightforward but impactful. I would recommend this to anyone interested in Turkish politics and the feeling of loneliness felt by migrants/immigrants in a different country.
July 22, 2026
I liked Kenan Orhan's short story collection from a few years ago quite a bit, and his first novel feels like a major step forward. The one surreal element of the plot - a woman in Italy finds a portal to a Turkish prison cell in her bathroom - is handled calmly, matter of factly, and somehow believably, which allows all of the book's other ideas - grieving a parent's dementia, watching your homeland change from a distance, longing for a time and place that no longer exist, the reach and impact of authoritarianism, the meaning of freedom - to come to the forefront, where they unfold in ways that are moving and surprising and feel true to life.
I haven't lived in Turkey for thirteen years now, but I still miss it almost every day. Not in the same way that Orhan seems to or that the main character in this book does, but I still get unexpected flashes of smells and sounds, and at night my dreams take me back to Turkey far more often than to any of the other places that I've lived. I don't really talk to any of my friends in Turkey anymore, and I don't even think about it consciously very often, but it's clear that some parts of my brain and a chunk of my heart are still trying to get back there. Not all of us are in exile from our homeland, but each of us is in exile from our own unrecoverable past.
I haven't lived in Turkey for thirteen years now, but I still miss it almost every day. Not in the same way that Orhan seems to or that the main character in this book does, but I still get unexpected flashes of smells and sounds, and at night my dreams take me back to Turkey far more often than to any of the other places that I've lived. I don't really talk to any of my friends in Turkey anymore, and I don't even think about it consciously very often, but it's clear that some parts of my brain and a chunk of my heart are still trying to get back there. Not all of us are in exile from our homeland, but each of us is in exile from our own unrecoverable past.
May 18, 2026
A twisted and fascinating way to talk about care and at the same time about authoritarianism. The writer has a poetic prose. At times the sections explaining the political context in Turkey felt too polisci and too targeted to a Western (ignorant) audience but there was something captivating and raw about the book. A promising writer too for sure.
July 31, 2026
7/10 rounded up.
An interesting, surreal and symbolic read. It held my interest throughout and had something to say about exile, memory and imprisonment.
An interesting, surreal and symbolic read. It held my interest throughout and had something to say about exile, memory and imprisonment.
March 28, 2026
I read Kenan Orhan’s debut book in one sitting. It reflected back to me feelings I had been afraid to admit to myself. Was drawn to it, yet also worried about the premise—that it might feel too familiar, even triggering. And yet, the comforts of home Dilara found in the prison were a kind of balm to my grief. Helped embrace the idea of having many homes, even if there remains a constant longing for the homeland, for the people we once were.
June 11, 2026
This is really interesting! A Turkish woman living in exile in Italy finds her renovated bathroom opens into a notorious Turkish prison.
Short and powerful, this novel questions different kinds of exile and imprisonment; the protagonist also cares for her aging father who has dementia.
This is well suited for a book club discussion and the New York Times has a great podcast episode about it.
Read if you like Murakami.
Short and powerful, this novel questions different kinds of exile and imprisonment; the protagonist also cares for her aging father who has dementia.
This is well suited for a book club discussion and the New York Times has a great podcast episode about it.
Read if you like Murakami.
February 10, 2026
3.75⭐️
Magical realism meets recent turkish history lesson (in an angsty manner)
In turkish we say, you can remove a person from Turkey, but you can't remove Turkey from a person. As an immigrant myself, I felt this to my core while reading this. political struggles, taking care of sick parents, different approaches to the current events even within our families, trying to find a job that aligns with our education and skills in a foreign country.
Thank you to the publisher and netgalley for the arc, this is my honest opinion.
Magical realism meets recent turkish history lesson (in an angsty manner)
In turkish we say, you can remove a person from Turkey, but you can't remove Turkey from a person. As an immigrant myself, I felt this to my core while reading this. political struggles, taking care of sick parents, different approaches to the current events even within our families, trying to find a job that aligns with our education and skills in a foreign country.
Thank you to the publisher and netgalley for the arc, this is my honest opinion.
March 12, 2026
Instead of a new bathroom, Dilara finds the builders have installed a Turkish prison cell in her flat. She starts spending more time there talking to the prisoners and remembering Turkey to avoid her father dying of dementia in her (real) flat. Surreal and sad and very well-written without being pretentious.
“Exile is an abusive relationship, and even when you leave…your homeland reaches out a cruel hand and injures you again, even here, even in your haven, because what people don’t mention about exile is the hostages it creates.”
“Exile is an abusive relationship, and even when you leave…your homeland reaches out a cruel hand and injures you again, even here, even in your haven, because what people don’t mention about exile is the hostages it creates.”
August 2, 2026
I don't know, this is kind of a frustrating one. On the one hand the premise is absolutely fascinating, yet on the other hand something felt missing. For some reason I understood Dilara's emotions/longing/confusion/rage over her estrangement from Turkey yet I didn't actually feel it. It's a marked difference from other works that tackle similar topics yet, at least for me, were able to communicate that strange feeling one has towards their country (see: Dictee, Richard II, Howard's End, Fathers and Children, The Brothers Karamazov).
This isn't to say that it's not worthy of a Booker longlist, because it definitely does have you think about the imagined community of a nation and the pains that come with that, especially when that nation's government (and sometimes its people, at least from Dilara's view) don't want you back. In fact, 'they' have outright spat you out. Even more gut-wrenching when it ties that whole question of national identity to Dilara's ailing father and his ties to his imagined community --- all the main Turkish characters here are in some way, shape, or form partially destroyed as a result of their homeland, even if they call it their homeland. That is probably the most fascinating part of this book, since few of the other nation-themed stories I've read make the rejection premise so explicit (even for Dictee).
And anyway, I'm thinking that maybe a part of my inability to connect with this novel has to do with the fact that it's first person, whereas I'm used to similar stories giving their subject matter the treatment of a sweeping third person cast or the form is just batshit insane (see: Dictee). This is why I can't be too much of a grinch about my emotional connection (or a lack thereof) to this book's story; I can imagine how for a lot of other people this would be absolutely gut-wrenching stuff (and maybe I also read it this too quickly, since I'm trying to clear a lot of things before my semester locks me away in Frost C-level reading cultural criticism again).
Obviously you should be aware that this book is really slow. It's literally about a prison cell and a dying father. Nothing really happens, and if you really wanted to be reductive you could just say it's nearly 240 pages of stylistic meditations on what 'home' means (of course I think it's more than that). I was able to buy into the concept at least for some of my time reading, but if you can't, do be aware.
Kind of an awkward transition, but there were two things that did somewhat bother me while reading this book, even though I kind of understand why they're like that. There are a lot of sections that felt more like the author giving you a historical summary of why you should hate Erdogan rather than Dilara musing about her country. Whether or not you hate Erdogan is besides the point; it's that these sections had noticeably different tone from the rest of Dilara's voice. I'm not quite sure how to explain it, but it felt that way to me, which made for a sometimes disjointed read. But at the same time I understand that the average reader (Booker Prize audience or not) doesn't really follow Turkish politics, so it seemed incumbent for Orhan to inject those sections explaining things, especially since a lot of this really does go back to Erdogan's iron grip. Can't really argue with that (it would be equally as bad if Dilara just referenced crazy shit assuming we'd get it, I imagine), but that doesn't mean the voice doesn't wobble at times.
The other thing (and this isn't really a gripe as much as me just being an asshat) is that I wish Orhan addressed the question of language. I'm talking Dictee-level shit: Why is this novel written in English, other than the fact Orhan is writing in the United States for an English-speaking audience? What's the difference between this book and a translation? Look, I know the setting of the novel means that acknowledging this question probably isn't possible, and even my bestie Shakespeare was wholeheartedly ignorant of this question for most of the time, but it did feel like a lost opportunity (even if it would've been a completely different story) --- especially since the book wants to ask so many questions about belonging, nation, country, rejection, etc.
This isn't to say that it's not worthy of a Booker longlist, because it definitely does have you think about the imagined community of a nation and the pains that come with that, especially when that nation's government (and sometimes its people, at least from Dilara's view) don't want you back. In fact, 'they' have outright spat you out. Even more gut-wrenching when it ties that whole question of national identity to Dilara's ailing father and his ties to his imagined community --- all the main Turkish characters here are in some way, shape, or form partially destroyed as a result of their homeland, even if they call it their homeland. That is probably the most fascinating part of this book, since few of the other nation-themed stories I've read make the rejection premise so explicit (even for Dictee).
And anyway, I'm thinking that maybe a part of my inability to connect with this novel has to do with the fact that it's first person, whereas I'm used to similar stories giving their subject matter the treatment of a sweeping third person cast or the form is just batshit insane (see: Dictee). This is why I can't be too much of a grinch about my emotional connection (or a lack thereof) to this book's story; I can imagine how for a lot of other people this would be absolutely gut-wrenching stuff (and maybe I also read it this too quickly, since I'm trying to clear a lot of things before my semester locks me away in Frost C-level reading cultural criticism again).
Obviously you should be aware that this book is really slow. It's literally about a prison cell and a dying father. Nothing really happens, and if you really wanted to be reductive you could just say it's nearly 240 pages of stylistic meditations on what 'home' means (of course I think it's more than that). I was able to buy into the concept at least for some of my time reading, but if you can't, do be aware.
Kind of an awkward transition, but there were two things that did somewhat bother me while reading this book, even though I kind of understand why they're like that. There are a lot of sections that felt more like the author giving you a historical summary of why you should hate Erdogan rather than Dilara musing about her country. Whether or not you hate Erdogan is besides the point; it's that these sections had noticeably different tone from the rest of Dilara's voice. I'm not quite sure how to explain it, but it felt that way to me, which made for a sometimes disjointed read. But at the same time I understand that the average reader (Booker Prize audience or not) doesn't really follow Turkish politics, so it seemed incumbent for Orhan to inject those sections explaining things, especially since a lot of this really does go back to Erdogan's iron grip. Can't really argue with that (it would be equally as bad if Dilara just referenced crazy shit assuming we'd get it, I imagine), but that doesn't mean the voice doesn't wobble at times.
The other thing (and this isn't really a gripe as much as me just being an asshat) is that I wish Orhan addressed the question of language. I'm talking Dictee-level shit: Why is this novel written in English, other than the fact Orhan is writing in the United States for an English-speaking audience? What's the difference between this book and a translation? Look, I know the setting of the novel means that acknowledging this question probably isn't possible, and even my bestie Shakespeare was wholeheartedly ignorant of this question for most of the time, but it did feel like a lost opportunity (even if it would've been a completely different story) --- especially since the book wants to ask so many questions about belonging, nation, country, rejection, etc.
May 24, 2026
I read this book because it was selected for the nyt book review podcast for discussion. While the podcasters seemed charmed by the conceit (of a renovation introducing a prison cell, or a portal of some kind to a prison, into an apartment - opening line: "I DON’T KNOW BY what accident the builders had managed it, but instead of a remodeled bathroom attached to my bedroom, they had installed a prison cell."), this was the least interesting (and almost off-putting) part of the book for me. Luckily, I felt like this was not the main focus of the book, which actually (to me) focused on grief, memory, migration/immigration, Turkey, parents & children ("My father told me a lot that he was sorry for everything his life had done to my life. “It is meaningless for me to say this, though. It is the apology owed all children by their parents.”") (and I mean the dedication is to caregivers, which is a focus I'm fascinated by). I mean I guess it was an allegory for many situations, but it didn't focus on some magical realist part of the whole thing.
I found the presentation and discussion of Turkey to perhaps be my favorite part of the book. ("
My father was the sort of secular Turk who considered the headscarf ban central to modern Turkish identity. ... admit I hated it too, hated how easy it was to fall into a misogynistic dichotomy of headscarf or anti-headscarf, how easy it was to politicize hair regardless of what you believed and how absolutely impossible it was to be a woman and exist without its politics, but I hated most of all how many women were never given a true choice in this country." "Turkey’s names were changed and changing—a state-sanctioned act of collective memory to further entrench the regime in the foundations of the country so that Erdoğan’s legacy would be subsuming the state entirely into his person.") I also liked the discussion of parts of the Turkish diaspora ("“We don’t know what sorts of Turks they have here in Italy,” he said. “Maybe nice, yes. Maybe like us, yes. Maybe, though, they are those lunatic Gülenists, or maybe, like in Germany, they all vote for Erdoğan so long as they don’t live under his roof.”")
Also, I just really liked the writing in this book. Take the simple line: "“You need to take care of yourself,” I told him. “Stop, stop,” he said. When I took his hands, they jumped like frogs out of my palms." There's nothing extraordinary about that, and yet I don't think I've read anything quite like it. How evocative, how interesting, how quickly it conveys its message. There are also parts of this book that are funny ("One evening, very rationally, in the same tone he would use for one of his well-rehearsed lectures, my father said: “I’m scheming.” “What?” “I’m scheming,” he said in an unexpectedly intentional tone.") but sometimes tragically so in the context of Alzheimer's.
This book will bring to mind Kafka. And maybe Exit West. The podcast also called out We Do Not Part, which I think is a good one.
Normally, when I'm reading a book I'm going to give a 5 star review, I am in love with it while reading it. I didn't feel that way about this book. But in reflecting back on it and how good it is, I'm bumping it up. I think this would be a good book club book, and I think it's one of the better books I've read by a male author with such a clear focus on a female main character.
So, I said the whole prison cell part was my least favorite part, but I will say it sure does pack a wallop at the end! ("Then I fetched the huge bucket I had bought from the hardware shop and started to mix the mortar. I chucked my things into the cell and started stacking the bricks, spreading mortar carefully between them. From inside the prison, I built a wall sealing me off from my bedroom, sealing me in the cell ... My body was in a cell in Silivri Prison, and it would now never leave it.")
I found the presentation and discussion of Turkey to perhaps be my favorite part of the book. ("
My father was the sort of secular Turk who considered the headscarf ban central to modern Turkish identity. ... admit I hated it too, hated how easy it was to fall into a misogynistic dichotomy of headscarf or anti-headscarf, how easy it was to politicize hair regardless of what you believed and how absolutely impossible it was to be a woman and exist without its politics, but I hated most of all how many women were never given a true choice in this country." "Turkey’s names were changed and changing—a state-sanctioned act of collective memory to further entrench the regime in the foundations of the country so that Erdoğan’s legacy would be subsuming the state entirely into his person.") I also liked the discussion of parts of the Turkish diaspora ("“We don’t know what sorts of Turks they have here in Italy,” he said. “Maybe nice, yes. Maybe like us, yes. Maybe, though, they are those lunatic Gülenists, or maybe, like in Germany, they all vote for Erdoğan so long as they don’t live under his roof.”")
Also, I just really liked the writing in this book. Take the simple line: "“You need to take care of yourself,” I told him. “Stop, stop,” he said. When I took his hands, they jumped like frogs out of my palms." There's nothing extraordinary about that, and yet I don't think I've read anything quite like it. How evocative, how interesting, how quickly it conveys its message. There are also parts of this book that are funny ("One evening, very rationally, in the same tone he would use for one of his well-rehearsed lectures, my father said: “I’m scheming.” “What?” “I’m scheming,” he said in an unexpectedly intentional tone.") but sometimes tragically so in the context of Alzheimer's.
This book will bring to mind Kafka. And maybe Exit West. The podcast also called out We Do Not Part, which I think is a good one.
Normally, when I'm reading a book I'm going to give a 5 star review, I am in love with it while reading it. I didn't feel that way about this book. But in reflecting back on it and how good it is, I'm bumping it up. I think this would be a good book club book, and I think it's one of the better books I've read by a male author with such a clear focus on a female main character.
So, I said the whole prison cell part was my least favorite part, but I will say it sure does pack a wallop at the end! ("Then I fetched the huge bucket I had bought from the hardware shop and started to mix the mortar. I chucked my things into the cell and started stacking the bricks, spreading mortar carefully between them. From inside the prison, I built a wall sealing me off from my bedroom, sealing me in the cell ... My body was in a cell in Silivri Prison, and it would now never leave it.")
August 2, 2026
okay so like,,,, I think this book was meant mostly for a western audience with all the info dump about turkey, (the protagonist is a turkish immigrant to italy due to political reasons) and all the info dump kinda turned me off, also I think the metaphor was very very very heavy and some subtlety would have been cooler?? I guess because I read it recently and if I had to choose btwn two books that feature Istanbul, I would choose No God but Us by Bobuq Sayed but that's just me. The Elif Shafak influence is too heavy #noshade
alternatively you could just pick up a taner akçam book and read no god but us additionally
(congrats on the nomination though)
alternatively you could just pick up a taner akçam book and read no god but us additionally
(congrats on the nomination though)
April 10, 2026
NetGalley review:
This is a book that is meant to be read slowly and I thoroughly enjoyed it.
The concept intrigued me and most definitely delivered.
Many brilliant quotes throughout the book that I have a feeling I will return to.
I'm fortunate enough to never have experienced fleeing a country or feeling the pain that is losing a loved one to dementia but I felt the contradicting feelings of Dilara.
Reading this I realized how little I know of Turkish politics and the regime that has ruled for a decade. This is, contrary to what I've heard of before, a very open critique of the governmental rule, and one that will probably follow me for a while.
Thank you to NetGalley for the ARC copy of this book.
This is a book that is meant to be read slowly and I thoroughly enjoyed it.
The concept intrigued me and most definitely delivered.
Many brilliant quotes throughout the book that I have a feeling I will return to.
I'm fortunate enough to never have experienced fleeing a country or feeling the pain that is losing a loved one to dementia but I felt the contradicting feelings of Dilara.
Reading this I realized how little I know of Turkish politics and the regime that has ruled for a decade. This is, contrary to what I've heard of before, a very open critique of the governmental rule, and one that will probably follow me for a while.
Thank you to NetGalley for the ARC copy of this book.
July 31, 2026
4.5/5
I loved the premise of this book - a couple in Italy is having their bathroom renovated, but when the workers leave, a portal to a Turkish prison cell stands where their new shower should be. We learn that they are political exiles from Turkey, and the story bounces back and forth between the prison cell dilemma and the events leading up to their move from their homeland.
Themes of isolation and memory are very prevalent, and parts of the narrative (describing the events in Turkey under Erdoğan) are written very well but may come across as too nonfiction-y to some tastes, but I loved those. The ending was not expected and I felt myself wanting a *little* more, but that is likely the point. At a crisp 239 pages, I ripped through this one in a few days and wished it was longer.
I loved the premise of this book - a couple in Italy is having their bathroom renovated, but when the workers leave, a portal to a Turkish prison cell stands where their new shower should be. We learn that they are political exiles from Turkey, and the story bounces back and forth between the prison cell dilemma and the events leading up to their move from their homeland.
Themes of isolation and memory are very prevalent, and parts of the narrative (describing the events in Turkey under Erdoğan) are written very well but may come across as too nonfiction-y to some tastes, but I loved those. The ending was not expected and I felt myself wanting a *little* more, but that is likely the point. At a crisp 239 pages, I ripped through this one in a few days and wished it was longer.
October 17, 2025
The very first page of The Renovation is a dedication, to all caregivers. The story itself opens with the main premise, that a botched bathroom renovation job has replaced Dilara and her husband’s apartment bathroom in Italy with a prison cell in Türkiye. From there we learn a bit about Dilara’s family history, and that she is a Turkish immigrant to Italy and taking care of her aged father who has been suffering from dementia. At this point I wasn’t too impressed. Imprisonment as a metaphor for caregiving, it’s a bit on the nose. But the novel has more to say and the metaphor becomes more layered. It goes on to explore the political conditions in Türkiye that caused Dilara and her husband and father to leave for an unfamiliar country, and what exactly she left behind. It explores the hidden costs of a state’s slide into an authoritarian regime. The prison becomes a metaphor for both the personal and the political, and the way those aspects of one’s life are vitally enmeshed. Ultimately it had me fully engrossed. Feels like whatever the opposite of an escapist read would be, reading from 2025 Chicago, but because of that it felt necessary.
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