Frances Kazan

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March 23, 2019 by ari

A Little Glass of Port

The sixties were almost over; lured by the lingering panache of swinging London, four of us decided to rent a flat together after graduation. In those days London was still an English city, with a strong connection to the surrounding country. Few homes were foreign owned, flats were affordable. We soon found a duplex in one of those elegant cream colored terraces that surround Regents Park.

While he was at Cambridge my husband Peter ran a music agency out of his rooms. The managers of the Who, one of whom had been at Oxford, offered him an indeterminate role in their office. George, having earned a first in English literature, found part time employment delivering copies of “High Times. Rick, another literature scholar, was a fledgling poet. I was teaching in a poor area of the East End; our estate agent advised us this was “fixed employment”, and put my name on the lease.

Not that our landlord, Colonel L. cared what we did. He lived on the upper floors of the house; and rarely appeared downstairs. A large, red faced man, given to wearing tweed suits and striped club ties, the Colonel was a caricature of the English gentleman. His companion, F., a German antique dealer, shared the parlor floor with a pair of elderly pugs.

Once a week Berry Brothers delivered a gallon of whiskey, a gallon of gin, and a gallon of port; empty return bottles cluttered the narrow shared hall. Even George, expressed amazement at the amount of liquor consumed by the Colonel and Fritz. It didn’t occur to us they might have a drinking problem.

Our flat occupied the ground floor and basement. The drawing room ran the width of the house with high ceilings and original molding. There was even a chandelier. At one end large windows overlooked the street, the other the small walled garden. The grandiose effect was marred by orange boxes, doubling as shelves, that divided our common living area from the space where George and Rick slept, on mattresses. Peter and I had the front bedroom in the basement. Light streamed in across a small subterranean courtyard.
In the autumn Cornelia moved in, she worked in publishing, and could afford the second basement bedroom. In addition to her bed, Cornelia brought her cello. She played for us on Sunday afternoons, while I painted water colors and Rick composed poetry. For those first months in London we were happy in our rambling bohemian home.

One day the wall at the end of the garden collapsed scattering bricks across the cobbles in the mews behind the house. Mews living had recently become fashionable; the little homes were immaculate, polished brass lamps, and window boxes. It wasn’t long before an angry owner appeared at the front door. Unfortunately George, answered. Taking one look at his long hair and beard the stranger launched into a tirade . Poor George was baffled; overhearing the commotion I intervened.

It was early afternoon the Colonel was home, he ushered me in to his darkened living room and motioned to an armchair. I told him about the wall.

“What a bore,” he mused.

“There’s a big hole now.”

“In my day horses lived in stables.” He picked up a decanter, “Care to join me in a little glass of port.”

Not wishing to appear rude I accepted.

“What kind of people live in stables, I never heard of such nonsense.”

Our conversation went in circles, while the port flowed, soon my head began to spin. I rose unsteadily, made my way downstairs. The nausea lasted for days.

Nothing was done about the wall, although someone cleared away the bricks. At first we thought the colonels indifference was rather cool. Weeks passed, people began tossing rubbish through the gaping hole; then rats appeared, we began to worry. Still the colonel did nothing, while the deliveries from Berry Brothers came and went. Cornelia found a rat on her bed; our idyll came to an abrupt end. To this day I cannot stand the taste of port.

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September 17, 2018 by peter

Helping Writers become Authors

Screen Shot 2013-09-17 at 10.36.11 AMHelping Writers become Authors is K.M. Weiland’s blog. She writes historical and speculative fiction and mentors authors. On September 13, my article “7 Tips for Shaping Your Writing Career” was published there. Enjoy reading it!

-Frances Kazan

 

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September 10, 2013 by peter

“Visiting Turkey and Discovery” — my blog post at Fresh Fiction

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My blog post “Visiting Turkey and Discovery” has been published on the blog Fresh Fiction. Comment to win one of two copies of The Dervish!

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August 23, 2013 by peter

The Collapse of a Writing Routine — and How It Was Restored

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My essay, The Collapse of a Writing Routine — and How It Was Restored, has been published on Jane Friedman’s blog: Writing, reading, and publishing in the Digital Age. I am very moved by the 22 or so touching reader comments so far. Please enjoy it!

 

 

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August 4, 2013 by peter

A Turkish Harem – The Life of Halide Edib Adivar

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I’m honored to have an article of mine, A Turkish Harem  – The Life of Halide Edib Adivar – published at History and Women: Hoydens, Harlots and Harridans. Enjoy…

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July 23, 2013 by peter

Article Published on HistoricalNovels.info

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Please check out my article, Istanbul: First Impressions, newly published on the web site www.HistoricalNovels.info.

HistoricalNovels.info is a site which features over 5000 historical novels listed by time and place, including more than 500 Reviews.

Enjoy!

Frances

 

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May 29, 2013 by peter

New review of “The Dervish”

This new review of The Dervish, appeared yesterday in the Word by Word blog, which called it an “entertaining read.”

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April 6, 2013 by peter

Spring News!

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Frances Kazan’s new novel, THE DERVISH, a historical novel of post-WWI Turkey, is out on Kindle – order yours here. 

Frances will give a reading on Wednesday May 1, 2013 7:00 PM at Barnes and Noble at 86th & Lexington Ave (150 East 86th Street) in New York City – more information here.

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March 8, 2013 by frances

Halide Edib Adivar

Halide Edib was a writer, nationalist, wife, mother, feminist although she rejected the title, animal lover, scholar,  fluent in several languages she wrote some of her books  in both Turkish and English.   “The Dervish”, my second novel, is  inspired by  the life of this complex woman,  who born into a  well to do  Ottoman family at the end of the nineteenth century, and became both colleague of Ataturk, following him to Angora (later Ankara)   then fleeing to exile in Europe. An admirer of Ghandi she traveled to India to meet him  wrote abook about her impressions.  Twenty years ago  I chanced  across her memoir ,  a fascinating  story of life in late Ottoman Istanbul, capital of a crumbling Empire  on the cusp of extinction.

Early childhood was spent in  sprawling  mansion on the hills of  Besiktas, close to  the Palace of Yildiz where her father, Edib Bey held the post of Secretary to  the Pan Islamic Sultan Abdul Hamid II.  A traditional home  there were men’s and women’s quarters tended by numerous servants   in  constant thrall  to the power of spirits who dwelt in the gardens and trees surrounding the house.  After the early death of her mother  Halide  was raised by her  devout Grandmother and  a mysterious  Palace Lady who became her father’s  third  wife since polygamy was permitted under Ottoman law. In need of more room for his extended family Edib Bey moved the household  to Scutari on the Asian shore.

“The house had not been repaired when we moved in, it was an exquisite old place. Each room had eight windows and plenty of space in the good old style. It stood on a hill overlooking the winding beauty of the Bosphorus and the serpentine green hills.the garden was a pine grove, and  the grounds a wild daisy field.” Memoirs of Halide Edib.

Edib Bey admired the English and their Empire, and believed English  was the language of the future, even  though French  was spoken by the Ottoman elite.  Edib also recognized Halide’s  intellectual gifts  and, at a time when women of her class remained sequestered until marriage, he enrolled her in the American Girls College  founded  by  missionaries to educate the Christian minorities. He  must have been  a courageous, determined man, to risk his career and the affections of his devoutly religious family  to do what he believed was right for his daughter. By the time Halide  left for school emotional tension in the harem had reached an intolerable level:

“I was permeated and colored by the pains and daily troubles of my environment…… college had a liberating effect on me, giving me much greater balance and opening up to me the possiblitiy of a personal life with enjoyments of a much more varied kind.’ Ibid

Edib Bey was  born in the provinces,  probably Greek by birth. While still a boy   his intelligence caught the attention of a Turkish Pasha who brought him to Istanbul , where he converted to Islam, and received  a traditional education at the Ottoman court and went on to serve the conservative  Sultan until he fell out of favor.

“…the Sultan did not like my father on account of his well known liberal ideas”. Ibid.

In this rare photo from the Robert College Archives fifteen year old Halide  is shown with her father in the orchard of their home in Scutari.  Dressed as a gypsy Halide pretends to read her father’s palm while staring  at the camera with wide dark eyes. Edib looks away , gazing at his daughter with profound affection.

Besides Halide and her half sister Mahmoure whom he adopted after the death of her mother, Edib fathered  four or five more children with his  wives, all, according to her memoir educated without regard to gender. Without his  wisdom and foresight Halide Edib would never have learned English, never written her books, and we would have been poorer for the loss. What is the lesson here, the importance of language, the necessity of determination or the impact parents have on the life of a child.

HalideAndFather

 

 

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March 1, 2013 by peter

New Review on Eat, Read Explore

Please enjoy this review of my newest novel, The Dervish, on the blog Eat, Read, Explore.

Review excerpt: “The Dervish is a beautifully written book about love, friendship, loyalty, and the fight for freedom. I would recommend it to anyone with a fondness for Turkey, the Middle East, or history in general.”

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English born Frances Kazan is a writer, lecturer, producer and arts supporter.

Also by Frances Kazan:

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Recent Posts

  • A Little Glass of Port
  • Helping Writers become Authors
  • “Visiting Turkey and Discovery” — my blog post at Fresh Fiction

Reviews

[Halide’s Gift’s] portrayal of an Islamic world on the brink of change is carefully detailed and convincing.

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