Two Peaks in a Barren Landscape: Turkish-Dutch Writers in the Netherlands

ABSTRACT

As in several other European countries, the end of the last century in the Netherlands saw the emergence of a multicultural literature written by second-generation immigrants. Unlike writers of Moroccan origin, however, Turkish-Dutch authors are barely visible in the literary field, with two notable exceptions: Özcan Akyol and Murat Isik. How and why did these writers achieve a breakthrough in the past decade with their respective novels Eus (2012) and Wees onzichtbaar [‘Be invisible’] (2017)? My analysis covers not only textual aspects such as theme and style, but also literary sociological factors, in particular, the awarding of prizes, authors’ self-fashioning and media exposure, and reader appreciation. To this end, I use both professional criticism and amateur reviews posted on Bol.com, the Dutch market leader in online book sales, and Hebban.nl, the largest online reader community in the Netherlands. The bestselling status of the two novels appears to be due to different factors: while the success of Wees onzichtbaar is entirely the result of high praise from both literary critics and consumer reviewers, in the case of Eus, Akyol’s strong television and social media presence clearly contributed to the book’s success.

KEYWORDS:

• Turkish-Dutch writers
• reception
• Murat Isik/Özcan Akyol
• amateur reviews
• self-fashioning
• media exposure

Introduction

Numbering over 400,000 people, Turkish immigrants and their children form the largest ethnic minority group in the Netherlands.¹ Yet, very few Turkish-Dutch authors have gained access to the Dutch literary field. The strong linguistic, cultural, and religious cohesion within the Turkish immigrant population in the Netherlands² makes a case for discussing these writers as a group, in spite of their heterogeneity. The index of Brems’ prestigious Dutch literary history,³ which comprises some 1,200 author names, lists only two Turkish-Dutch authors, i. e. less than 0.2% of the total: Nilgün Yerli and Sevtap Baycılı.⁴ In academic circles, too, scarce attention is paid to Dutch authors of Turkish origin: scholarly publications on Dutch-speaking Turkish writers can be counted on one hand.⁵ This group’s low visibility is all the more striking if we compare it with the relatively strong representation of Moroccan-Dutch authors.⁶ Figures such as writer and TV-presenter Abdelkader Benali, the author of young adult fiction Khalid Boudou, or the mediagenic Mano Bouzamour, writer of the bestseller De belofte van Pisa [‘The Promise of Pisa’], adapted for the screen in 2019, are more prominent in the public arena and their work is better known. Regarding academic attention, over the past twenty years, a number of studies on Dutch writers of Moroccan origin have been published by scholars such as Louwerse, Minnaard, Laroui, Nijborg, Bartels, and Elboubekri. From an international perspective, too, Turkish authors perform relatively poorly in the Netherlands. For instance, German-language authors from a Turkish migration background enjoy significantly more literary success and receive more attention in academic circles.⁷ Why, with two exceptions, are Turkish-Dutch writers so little known in the Netherlands? And why have two authors, Özcan Akyol and Murat Isik, succeeded in breaking through with their novels Eus (2012) and Wees onzichtbaar (2017)? In attempting to answer these questions, I will consider not only textual aspects such as theme and style, but also literary sociological factors such as the awarding of prizes, self-fashioning, media presence, and reader appreciation. But first, it is relevant to briefly situate this relatively new category in a broader context.

A Late Breakthrough

In the 1960s, the strong post-war labour market was key to attracting the first wave of migrants to a number of European countries, including the Netherlands. The Turkish ‘guest workers’, who mainly came from the poor Anatolian countryside, were for the most part illiterate.⁸ Contrary to initial expectations, many settled permanently in the Netherlands and their children joined the Dutch education system as second-generation immigrants. However, this demographic group yielded very few Dutch-language writers. This may be because Turkish families – more so than other ethnic groups – tend to operate within their own cultural circles and continue to express themselves in Turkish.⁹ Another barrier could be that authors from this background have received little support from public institutions: they were covered by the Dutch Foundation for Literature’s general budget for immigrant authors,¹⁰ whereas young Moroccan-Dutch talent has benefited specifically from promotion by the active cultural foundation El Hizjra.¹¹ Halil Gür’s debut Gekke Mustafa en andere verhalen [‘Mad Mustafa and other stories’] (1985), which deals with migration-related themes such as identity issues, language, and intercultural conflicts, is commonly regarded as the beginning of Turkish ‘immigrant literature’ in the Netherlands.¹² However, it is a translation, whereas this category typically refers to literary works addressing migration issues that are written in the language of the host country, in particular by second-generation non-Western immigrants.¹³ It may be relevant to point out here that no general consensus has been reached so far on the use of a suitable label referring to these works. Most writers object to identity markers that highlight their biography, such as ‘migrant’ or ‘ethnic minority’ writing, as they perceive them to be reductionist or stigmatizing, while academics have criticized these signifiers for being ill-defined or reflecting a discourse of difference. We should therefore bear in mind that each of these labels represents a construction within contemporary literary discourse that may, at some point, provoke criticism. For pragmatic reasons, I will here follow Brems and Behschnitt & Nilsson, mainly adhering to the term ‘multicultural literature’, understood – in a dynamic and plural sense – as ‘literatures written, read, and discussed in the context of migration, multiculturalism and multilingualism’.¹⁴

Despite the interest shown in Dutch-language multicultural writers by socially and politically committed publishers such as De Geus, Vassallucci and In de Knipscheer at the end of the last century,¹⁵ no Turkish-Dutch authors succeeded in breaking through. It was not until 2001, when the National Book Week theme was ‘The Land of Origin – writing between two cultures’,¹⁶ that the first success materialized. Nilgün Yerli (better known as a stand-up comedian and columnist) published her highly autobiographical debut De garnalenpelster [‘The Shrimp Peeler’], both an ode to her mother, who died young, and an account of her integration into the Netherlands. It was awarded the E. du Perron Prize in 2001 for its contribution to intercultural understanding. In the years that followed, however, the scant supply of Turkish-Dutch fiction, which continued to focus on migration themes,¹⁷ remained beneath the radar of the general reading public.

Only in the past decade has widespread success been achieved by Turkish-Dutch literature, or rather by two writers – Özcan Akyol (Deventer, 1984–) and Murat Isik (Izmir, 1977–) – whose respective novels Eus¹⁸ (2012) and Wees onzichtbaar [‘Be invisible’] (2017) have massively captured the attention of Dutch readers. Even before the publication of his bestselling debut, Akyol caused a stir with his controversial media performance: in his first appearance on the popular TV show De Wereld Draait Door,¹⁹ he strongly criticized the well-respected Iranian-Dutch author Kader Abdolah. This prompted the sale of 10,000 copies of Eus in less than a week, according to the publisher, Prometheus. With over 75,000 copies sold, the novel is currently in its 29th edition.²⁰ As for Wees onzichtbaar, Isik’s second novel, more than 200,000 copies were sold²¹ and the novel was showered with awards. It has also been adapted for the stage and is now being reworked into a television series.²² Both authors were presented with the honourable request of the CPNB to write the Book Week Essay, Isik in 2019 and Akyol in 2020.²³ What do they offer that other Turkish-Dutch writers do not? What role do extra-literary factors, such as media exposure and prizes, play in their success? And if we consider the readers’ perspective: what motives do ‘ordinary’ readers put forward for purchasing these novels and which aspects do they value in them? To explore these questions, I will in turn examine themes, setting, style, and self-fashioning and media exposure. My sources include reader reviews posted on the websites of Bol.com, Dutch market leader in online book sales, and Hebban.nl, the largest online reader community in the Netherlands and Flanders, with over 200,000 members.²⁴ Taking 1 January 2021 as the reference date, Wees onzichtbaar was the subject of 450 amateur reviews on these forums (319 on Bol.com and 131²⁵ on Hebban.nl), while Eus received 78 reviews (60 on Bol and 18 on Hebban).

According to Ann Steiner, reviews written by general readers on the websites of book retailers such as Amazon are a form of private criticism in the public space.²⁶ This review type is moreover a social practice, enabling individual readers to interact with each other, e. g. by issuing likes or exchanging reading tips. These consumer (or amateur/lay) reviews represent a form of non-elite reception, thus contesting the boundaries of professional criticism, which is traditionally written by paid expert readers and published in the daily press and literary journals.²⁷ In Bourdieu’s terms, the latter are consecrating authorities, i. e. those who have acquired the cultural and symbolic capital to ascribe value to a work of art. Apart from the material conditions and the level of consecration, these two types of review also differ in both style and content. Thus, amateur reviewers tend to deal with their personal reading experience rather than with the text itself: they show more emotion and use ‘intimate language’ that reveals personal details.²⁸

In this analysis, I not only refer to professional criticism but also use reviews by amateur readers, since these may provide insight into readers’ motives for buying and reading literature and shed more light on the aspects valued. First, I will explore the extent to which the themes of the novels under discussion appeal to readers.

A Tyrannical Father

The themes of Isik’s and Akyol’s novels cannot be separated from their semi-autobiographical character. In both, the experiences of the autodiegetic storytellers coincide to a considerable extent with the writers’ biographies, something to which the authors frequently refer in interviews and columns.²⁹ Both Eus and Wees onzichtbaar focus on boys growing up in a Turkish immigrant family who suffer from a disturbed relationship with their tyrannical father. Like the writer himself, Isik’s alter ego Metin Muslu moves to the Netherlands at a very young age, where the family, belonging to the Turkish-Iranian Zaza minority, ends up in the Bijlmer high-rise estate near Amsterdam. Metin is bullied at secondary school, where he is one of only a few immigrants, and at home he is belittled by his father, a vain, drunken salon communist who terrorizes the whole family. Stability is provided by his mother Asena, who manages to hold her own amidst all the perils and who succeeds, with great dedication, in working her way up socially. The family’s problems, and in particular Metin’s struggle with his unpredictable father, are appreciated not only by professional critics but also by common readers, or at least those who have taken the trouble to post a personal review on the Bol.com and Hebban.nl websites.³⁰ As can be expected, they tend to be more engaged than the average reader. The many descriptions on both sites, such as ‘compelling,’ ‘poignant,’ and ‘recognizable’, show that Metin’s adolescence, which is overshadowed by violence, strikes a chord with numerous Dutch readers.

In Eus, too, the protagonist is a son of a Turkish immigrant family who finds himself struggling at home, again because of a tyrannical, alcoholic father. As a child, the narrator Eus Budamar is still sensitive and full of shame about his father’s antisocial behaviour. He develops into a young man who cheats on one girlfriend after another, slipping further and further under the influence of his brothers and the wrong type of friends and ending up in crime. Eventually, in prison, he is introduced to literature, an enlightening experience that offers him a way out of a life without prospects. Both interviews and reviews often point out parallels between the narrator and the Deventer-based writer. The publisher’s website (https://uitgeverijprometheus.nl/auteurs/ozcan-akyol.html) refers to the story as ‘semi-autobiographical’. On his own website, Akyol introduced his second novel in 2015 as follows: ‘The title is Turis and like Eus it will be an autobiographical story.’³¹ As their reviews show, many non-expert reviewers also interpret the story in this light. However, unlike with Isik’s protagonist Metin, they do not all profess sympathy with Eus, although his criminal career is sometimes considered exciting. For example, aflim (Bol.com, 8 December 2012) wonders: ‘From “street scum” to serious criminal business, what drives someone to that?’³²

Of course, a substantial autobiographical component, also present in many other novels, multicultural or otherwise – such as Alfred Birney’s award-winning De tolk van Java,³³ with yet again a violent father – will not in itself guarantee bestseller status. However, the strong presence of autobiographical elements, perhaps in combination with an unpleasant father figure and a sympathetic mother figure, seems to be an advantage in the Dutch bestseller market. These features are also found in Nilgün Yerli’s above-mentioned fairly successful debut (2001) as well as in Hülya Cigdem’s first novel, De importbruid [‘The imported bride’] (2008), which received two reviews in national newspapers and had four editions in a year.³⁴ The planned filming of the latter novel, which deals with the practice of bringing Turkish brides to the Netherlands, did not end up taking place though; according to the producer, there was a lack of mutual trust to make a film on this ‘sensitive topic’.³⁵ Patriarchal values and male violence, found to varying degrees in all of these novels, are strongly present in Numan Özer’s 2007 debut Hatice, een Turks drama [‘Hatice, a Turkish Drama’], which focuses on the victim role of women in honour killings. Apparently, this theme failed to charm Dutch readers,³⁶ who seem to prefer women’s empowerment instead, as is suggested by several reviews on Bol.com that celebrate the emancipation of the mother figure in Wees onzichtbaar. This preference is expressed even more clearly in the 39 Bol reviews of Isik’s Book Week essay Mijn moeders strijd [‘My Mother’s Struggle’], dedicated to the author’s – non-fictionalized – mother, Aynur: whenever readers comment on her evolution, it is only in highly positive terms. Thus, she is repeatedly called ‘a role model for militant women’, and Antiek1945 notes: ‘What a wonderful strong woman!’ (23 April 2019).³⁷ The essay was such a success that a new, expanded edition with additional photographic material was published one year later.

Multicultural yet Dutch

A second common feature that seems to appeal to readers is that both novels are set in a multicultural environment while being located almost entirely in the Netherlands. Metin’s coming-of-age narrative in Wees onzichtbaar runs parallel to the steady decline of the Bijlmer, a high-rise housing estate from the 1960s with a soon-to-be multi-ethnic, mostly immigrant population. Although initially built in accordance with an innovative design concept, the Bijlmer, or Bijlmermeer, deteriorated in the face of cutbacks and by the end of the 1970s, it had fallen prey to degradation.³⁸ Using a clever narrative construction, Isik intertwines this background story of urban development with the social and emotional evolution of the young protagonist: for a school assignment, Metin consults his neighbour ‘Mr Rolf’, a local journalist, who gives him – as well as the reader – a crash course on Bijlmer history. The appeal of this multicultural context in combination with the Bijlmer setting, which is familiar to many Dutch readers, is evident from frequent (i. e. 38) comments in Bol.com reviews,³⁹ such as ‘You can taste Turkish culture, you can smell the Bijlmer’⁴⁰ (funcooker, 24 September 2018) and ‘The reader becomes part of life in the Bijlmer and the multicultural society of the 1980s’⁴¹ (AadleFebre, 27 May 2019).

In Eus, the city of Deventer mainly serves as a background location. The narrator’s adventures take place largely in the Turkish community; the neighbourhood with the highest number of Turkish residents is nicknamed ‘Klein Ankara’ (Little Ankara). Here, too, readers appreciate a different culture and the Dutch setting, as evidenced by comments on Bol.com⁴² such as ‘Nice insight into Turkish (family) life’⁴³ (BerendJanKroesen, 5 November 2012) and ‘Recognition for residents of Deventer’⁴⁴ (Brendadeweerdt, 18 July 2017).

For Turkish readers, the Anatolian countryside – the beloved native region of many emigrants – is a popular setting for fiction. However, this background may be of little interest to Dutch readers. This could help to explain the lack of success of Kemir Göçmen, who, alongside Isik and Akyol, is best represented on the Dutch market with three books. All three are set in the Turkish countryside, far from the modern world.⁴⁵ That being said, this also applies to Akyol’s second novel Toerist and Isik’s debut Verloren grond [‘Lost Ground’], which are set partly (Toerist) or entirely (Verloren grond) in a remote rural region of Turkey. According to the publishers, both novels benefited from the success of the previously published novels, Akyol’s debut Eus and Isik’s second book, Wees onzichtbaar.⁴⁶ We may therefore assume that a further inducement is called for before Dutch-speaking readers are prepared to delve into a distant culture. This is suggested by such statements in reader reviews as ‘Deeply impressed by Wees onzichtbaar, Murat Isik’s second novel, I started reading his debut [Verloren grond]’⁴⁷ (Miriam Vaz Dias on Hebban.nl, 30 August 2018) and ‘Looking forward to his next novel [after Eus]: Turis’ (Scharrenberg, 6 April 2017, on Bol.com).⁴⁸ In the Bol reviews of Eus, this connection is explicitly mentioned eleven times (18%) out of a total of 60.⁴⁹

The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini (2003), on the other hand, is also set in a distant country unfamiliar to Western readers (Afghanistan), nonetheless it became a worldwide bestseller, including in the Netherlands. Dutch novels with ‘exotic’ scenery such as Het Lelietheater (1997, transl. The Lily Theatre) by Lulu Wang and Kader Abdolah’s 2005 novel Het huis van de moskee (transl. The House of the Mosque) equally achieved sky-high sales figures and Abdolah earned wide acclaim from critics.⁵⁰ According to Louwerse, readers were possibly attracted to the orientalism of these narratives.⁵¹ Abdolah’s novel was even voted the second-best Dutch book of all time in a public poll to mark the opening of the National Book Week in 2007.⁵²

Style and Genre

The success of both novels does not seem to be due first and foremost to a literary or refined style. Rather, readers appreciate the accessible and readable use of language: Isik uses a fairly straightforward style with little imagery, and Akyol a more exuberant style, with a great deal of coarse language and urban youth slang.⁵³ While six Bol reviewers reported enjoying that style, five others were annoyed by it: ‘Initially interesting perhaps, the book [Eus] gets more and more irritating due to the constant use of street language’⁵⁴ (DERGRI on Bol.com, 29 August 2018). Daniëlle Serdijn, a critic at de Volkskrant, even qualified it as ‘poorly written.’⁵⁵ Readers do, however, generally value its humour. The connection with young people as a potential target audience may be noteworthy: Wees onzichtbaar was awarded the Inktaap [‘Ink Ape’] 2019, a literary prize bestowed by adolescents, and four lay reviewers of Eus pointed out that such an exciting book would definitely encourage reading among students. For example, HetBoekenwurmpje stated on Bol.com, 19 June 2013: ‘This is really a book for the many boys who don’t like reading but who have to read a book for their [secondary school exam] book list.’⁵⁶

This is quite different for the above-mentioned Kerim Göçmen, whose Rode kornoeljes [Red dogwood] prompted Rob Schouten, in his review in the Trouw newspaper, to note that it was ‘lovingly written.’⁵⁷ He called Göçmen a ‘classic storyteller’ and compared him to great writers such as Theodor Fontane and Italo Svevo. Jaap Goedegebuure, for his part, made comparisons with Guy de Maupassant and Chekhov. Professional reviewers often use this strategy in order to enhance a writer’s prestige; for instance, before winning the Nobel Prize in 2006, critics invariably compared Orhan Pamuk to renowned authors from the Western canon.⁵⁸ This was, however, not effective in Göçmen’s case. Perhaps his delicate style appeals to too small an audience to become a bestseller, although for Kader Abdolah, also known for his flowery language, this did not prove a barrier to success. Genre considerations may play a role here: two of Göçmen’s three books are collections of short stories, which – like poetry – are a far less popular genre in the Netherlands than in Turkey.⁵⁹

Self-Fashioning, Media Exposure, and Literary Recognition

The bestseller status of both novels may be attributed to different factors. Wees onzichtbaar enjoyed an extremely positive reception from both professional critics and amateur readers, who rated it an average 4.7 out of 5 stars on Bol.com and 4.3 stars on Hebban.nl. In Bourdieu’s terms, orchestration is at play here: once consecrating agents such as acknowledged critics and jurors have expressed a unanimous verdict – whether positive or negative – on a book, more and more reviewers will join in, thereby creating a broad consensus in the long term.⁶⁰ Isik’s novel has also received numerous nominations and important prizes: it won the prestigious Libris Literature Prize in 2018, the Boekhandelsprijs [‘Book Trade Prize’] in 2018 and the Inktaap, awarded by young readers, in 2019. Additionally, it was named the NRC Book of the Year in 2017, the Best Bol.com Book of 2017 and was nominated for the NS Publieksprijs [‘Dutch Rail Public Prize’] as well as the BNG Bank Literature Prize in that same year. This is a clear example of the cumulative effect of awards, also called the ‘winner-take-all’ effect.⁶¹

In the case of Eus, another explanation is more plausible. Despite commendation for Akyol from his own publisher Prometheus (‘He is regarded as one of the most important literary writers of his generation’),⁶² his style garnered quite some criticism, as mentioned above. Moreover, the debut won only a few minor, regional prizes, such as the Province of Overijssel’s award for the best book of 2012. Such a lack of recognition by consecrated authorities could lead to marginalization of the author’s position in the literary field. This is, however, not a fixed consequence, since writers also actively try to shape their social identity in order to improve their position in this field, both through their work and their performance as a public persona. This self-fashioning (or posture) is a dynamic process, interacting with the image constructed of the author by other actors in the cultural or literary field.⁶³ This notion may help to explain Akyol’s success and subsequent – albeit modest – rise in status. The author’s public persona indeed proved to be highly mediagenic. In recent years, he has presented a series of successful radio and TV shows, such as De neven van Eus [‘Eus’s Cousins’], Sterren op het doek [‘Stars on the screen’], and De geknipte gast [‘The perfect guest’] (both broadcast in the Netherlands and Belgium).⁶⁴ Like the young Moroccan-Dutch writer Mano Bouzamour, Akyol is good at creating controversy, as revealed in his first TV appearance on DWDD, where he presented himself as an ex-criminal (besides being highly critical of established writer Kader Abdolah), and therefore as a literary outsider. Paradoxically, at the same occasion, he also declared his fondness for the French canonized writer Louis-Ferdinand Céline. In doing so, Akyol positions himself both as a rebel and as an ambitious writer who wishes to be taken seriously. This ambiguous attitude is frequently shown, both at a textual level (such as in his Book Week Essay) and in public performances, e. g. in an interview with Jan Slagter, broadcasting director of MAX, where he declared ‘I perfectly thrive in the role of outsider.’⁶⁵

All of these, sometimes controversial, media appearances obviously contribute to both the sales figures and Akyol’s bestseller status. The connection with audiovisual media is also evidenced by Bol reviews of Eus, where it was mentioned spontaneously seven times (i. e. almost 12%): ‘Saw the author on television and bought the book’⁶⁶ (Berendjan1980 on Bol.com, 28 December 2012) and ‘Easy-to-read book. My interest was aroused by the interviews with the author on DWDD and 24 uur met … ‘⁶⁷ (Paula on Bol.com, 24 February 2013). In addition, Akyol is very active on social media, with over 114,000 followers on Twitter, almost 50,000 on Instagram and just as many Facebook friends.⁶⁸ This presence, where self-fashioning is key, also allows him to promote his own work. For example, on 10 December 2012, shortly after the publication of Eus, he tweeted the ‘breaking news’ that the film rights had been sold. This message was immediately retweeted 66 times, including by bookstores and review sites, and appeared in a number of national and regional newspapers. Ardjan Noorland, a marketeer with over 12,000 followers, responded immediately: “That’s great, man! Get those printing presses [for Eus] rolling again!”⁶⁹ However, Akyol’s social media accounts failed to mention that filming did not eventually take place, thus highlighting only his success. While the author’s media performance may not add much to his status as a consecrated writer, he recently appears to be taken more seriously in the literary field, as evidenced by CPNB’s invitation to him to write the Book Week Essay for 2020. In addition, he was given the opportunity to present his own book programme, Eus’ Boekenclub [‘Eus’s Book Club’], during the March 2021 Book Week on public broadcaster NPO. Although this programme was not aimed at the elite, as opposed to well-known earlier book shows by Adriaan van Dis or Wim Brands, it is clearly a step forward from entertainment-oriented TV shows such as Sterren op het doek in terms of literary recognition.

Media attention, whether on TV or in the written press, is, of course, especially important for an author who has yet to make a breakthrough. Here, I would like to come back to the lack of success attained by Kerim Göçmen, who had three titles published by Van Oorschot between 2013 and 2018, which indicates a high level of confidence on the part of the publisher. A total of three newspaper reviews were published about Göçmen’s debut, the 2013 collection of short stories Het geheim van de kromme neuzen [‘The secret of the crooked noses’], and his first novel, Rode kornoeljes [‘Red dogwood’] from 2015, one of which covered both titles.⁷⁰ Trouw critic Rob Schouten qualified the novel as an unexpected gem,⁷¹ while Marijntje Gerling was also very positive about Rode kornoeljes, which she called a ‘universally recognizable story.’⁷² Nevertheless, Kroniek van mijn schoolvakanties [‘Chronicle of my school holidays’], which appeared three years later, was completely ignored by professional critics, and all three books were restricted to a single print run.

The limited success of Erdal Balci, who works as a journalist for de Volkskrant and other media, is equally remarkable. His 2015 novel Simonehh en mijn tweelingbroer [‘Simonehh and my twin brother’] was only reviewed in the Protestant Nederlands Dagblad⁷³ and attracted almost no interest from readers on online forums. A similar fate awaited Hülya Cigdem, also a journalist and writer, whose debut De importbruid [‘The imported bride’] performed well nonetheless. According to journalist Froukje Santing, Cigdem’s second novel De val van Mehmet [‘Mehmet’s fall’] (2014) courageously tackled a ‘hugely topical’ issue, namely the widespread cultivation of cannabis by Turks in Tilburg, featuring the fictionalized history of one family.⁷⁴ Despite the novel’s social and political topicality, it was only reviewed in two regional journals and reader interest was minimal, judging by the number of consumer reviews: one on Bol.com and two on Hebban.nl. Perhaps the fact that Islam – unlike in Isik’s and Akyol’s work – plays a fairly prominent role does not appeal to a non-Islamic Dutch audience. On the other hand, the religious flavour of Kader Abdolah’s Het huis van de moskee has not hampered that novel’s success, but contrary to Cigdem, Abdolah already enjoyed a solid reputation.

Conclusion

Since the publication of Iris Pronk’s 2005 article ‘Where are the Turkish writers?’ in Trouw, two major figures, Murat Isik and Özcan Akyol, have emerged. However, no other author has managed as yet to establish themselves in their wake. This may be a matter of time: as Pronk suggested, Turkish-Dutch literature may benefit from role models, and both Isik and Akyol have a great deal to offer in this regard. Both are writers from immigrant families who, after a troublesome childhood, have achieved bestseller status with their semi-autobiographical novels. With Wees onzichtbaar and Eus, they have captivated a vast readership with their compelling descriptions of the protagonists’ troublesome adolescence and their portrayal of a foreign culture: in the case of Isik, that of Turks and Zaza, an ethnic minority with its own language, and in the case of Akyol, the tough street culture and criminal environment. Another factor that appealed to readers was the embedding of the narratives in a Dutch multicultural neighbourhood, especially in the case of the Bijlmer. Once engaged, readers were also willing to accompany the authors on a journey to the distant Turkish countryside, the setting of both Verloren grond and Toerist. Religion plays only a limited role: in both novels, the protagonist is an atheist. As far as the female characters are concerned, the mother figure is lovingly portrayed as a caring woman who – especially with Isik – manages to emancipate herself, an achievement that strongly resonated with the readership. Finally, the accessible style and, particularly with Eus, the use of humour contributed to the general appreciation.

Books that did not perform well share one or more of the following features: they are set in the Turkish countryside, they present women in the role of victim, they are collections of short stories, their authors are less mediagenic or visible in the public arena, or they simply lack momentum. A fine literary style alone is not a decisive factor for success. On the other hand, self-fashioning, via media exposure in particular, can play a significant role in today’s image-oriented culture: while the triumph of Wees onzichtbaar was entirely attributable to critics’ and reviewers’ appraisal of its literary merits, the success of Eus is clearly due – at least in part – to the author’s public performance and self-promotion. However, no single factor on its own can explain success, or a lack thereof. Even a combination of seemingly appealing factors will not guarantee a positive outcome, as illustrated by the case of Hülya Cigdem’s De val van Mehmet (novel form, family history featuring a father conflict, recognizable Dutch setting, topical and controversial issue, writer a journalist with a network).

In explaining the success of these writers, research on amateur reviews proved especially helpful by showing readers’ reasons for purchasing a book and revealing the interconnectedness between media performance and literary appreciation. It would be interesting to carry out a more in-depth analysis of this material, focusing, for example, on the origin, age, or gender of reviewers. Another issue that deserves further investigation is the extent to which the process of orchestration is instrumental in such a heterogeneous group of readers. Additionally, a more comprehensive analysis of multicultural writers’ production based on the approach of self-fashioning could also be worthwhile. A literary sociological approach can thus shed more light on the reception of literature in society.

A Postscript

While I was finalizing this article, Lale Gül, a young Turkish-Dutch writer, published her semi-autobiographical debut Ik ga leven [‘I’m going to live’]. The 2021 novel, in which she strongly criticizes her strict Islamic upbringing, sparked a great deal of controversy. After receiving numerous threats from offended Muslims, Gül left her family and publicly stated that she would never publish about Islam again.⁷⁵ The debate is still on-going, but once the dust has settled it will no doubt be interesting to see what impact this courageous writer’s first book has had on the Dutch literary field.

Disclosure Statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author.

Additional information

Notes on contributors

Stella I. Linn

Stella Linn is Assistant Professor of Literature and Translation Studies at the University of Groningen, the Netherlands. She is programme coordinator of the Master’s track Translation in Europe and is also a jury member of the Martinus Nijhoff Translation Prize. Her doctoral dissertation, Dichterlijkheid of Letterlijkheid?, proposed a model for the description of poetry translations. She has co-authored and co-edited several textbooks on translation and literature, including the volume Translation and Interculturality: Africa and the West (Peter Lang, 2008). Her current research interests include the production, reception, and translation of multicultural literature. See also https://www.rug.nl/staff/s.i.linn and https://www.researchgate.net/profile/Stella-Linn.

Notes

1. See the 2020 figures from the CBS (Statistics Netherlands): https://opendata.cbs.nl/statline/#/CBS/nl/dataset/37296ned/table?dl=107C4. The CBS defines “allochtoon” (since 2016, “a person with a migration background”) as a Dutch resident with at least one parent who was born abroad. A distinction is made between people who were born abroad (the first generation) and those born in the Netherlands (the second generation). The third generation are no longer regarded as immigrants but as Dutch. On the definition of ethnicity as a social construct, see Berkers, Classification into the Literary Mainstream? 36.

2. And other European countries, for that matter; see Yagmur, “Language use and ethnolinguistic vitality of Turkish.”

3. First edition 2005, fifth edition 2013. According to Berkers (Classification into the Literary Mainstream? 134), this manual can be considered the “semi-official Dutch literary history”.

4. In addition, Brems mentions Halil Gür, who writes in Turkish (Altijd weer die vogels, 604, 771), and Ayfer Ergün as a compiler (672). Baycılı, who only came to the Netherlands as an adult, writes mainly in Dutch but her work requires “the correcting pen of an editor” (Dunphy, “Migrant, emigrant, immigrant,” 20).

5. As far as I have been able to ascertain, the only publications since 2000 dedicated specifically to this group are Dunphy’s “Migrant, emigrant, immigrant”, Nap-Kolhoff’s Turkse auteurs in Nederland, Soenen’s “Turkse migrantenauteurs”, and most recently (2020) Linn, “Een mix van vertrouwd en exotisch”. In addition, Turkish-Dutch authors play a minor role in some publications by authors such as Louwerse and Minnaard. I will not discuss here Dutch-speaking Turkish authors in the Belgian literary field, which has its own characteristics; see De Mul, “A Belated Arrival.”

6. Nijborg and Laroui, “The Emergence of a Dutch-Moroccan Literature,” 240; Minnaard, “Every Carpet a Flying Vehicle?” 117.

7. See Vlasta, Contemporary Migration Literature; Minnaard, “Every Carpet a Flying Vehicle?” 101. An interesting explanation for the success of Turkish-German authors may be found in the study by Dagevos et al. (Turken in Nederland en Duitsland, 37–39). Compared to Turks in the Netherlands, Turkish immigrants in Germany are more likely to come from urban areas, to be more highly educated and to report a better command of the language of their country of residence. They therefore possess more linguistic and cultural capital than their Dutch peers, which is an important condition for access to the literary field (Bourdieu 1993; Berkers, Classification into the Literary Mainstream? 19, 42, 52).

8. Dagevos et al., Turken in Nederland en Duitsland, 31.

9. Bezcioglu-Goktolga and Yagmur, “Home language policy,” 46–47; Yagmur, “Language use and ethnolinguistic vitality of Turkish”; Slootman, “Substantive signifiers?”.

10. This happened until about 2015, according to Suzanne Meeuwissen, cultural diversity officer at the Nederlands Letterenfonds (Dutch Foundation for Literature). She states that the current policy focuses on talent development by supporting small-scale initiatives (telephone call 6 January 2020).

11. Minnaard, “Every Carpet a Flying Vehicle?” 102; Nijborg and Laroui, “The Emergence of a Dutch-Moroccan Literature: An Institutional and Linguistic Explanation”, 226–227. Although this foundation mainly aims to promote Arab culture and literature, since 2010 authors from other backgrounds have also been able to compete for the annual literature prize. Remarkably, it was awarded to Murat Isik in 2011. Minnaard (“Oscillating between Margin and Centre,” 363) points out that although there was a Turkish foundation for the promotion of literature (the Troya Foundation), it was not very successful because it was limited geographically to Amsterdam.

12. For example according to Louwerse, “25 jaar sinds Gekke Mustafa,” 266. Cf. Nap-Kolhoff (Turkse auteurs in Nederland, 49), who considers a collection of short stories by Papatya Nalbantoglu, Murat, kind van een gastarbeider [Murat, child of a guest worker] (1976) as the first work written in Dutch by a Turkish immigrant author.

13. Nap-Kolhoff, Turkse auteurs in Nederland, 46–47; Vlasta, Contemporary Migration Literature, 32–33.

14. Behschnitt & Nilsson, “Multicultural literatures,” 1; Brems, Altijd weer die vogels, 668. For a critical discussion of the plethora of labels proposed in the last decades (“migrant,” “hybrid”, “transcultural”, “transnational”, and “diasporic” writing, among others), see also Louwerse, “A way of seeing and telling,” 162–163; Minnaard, “Every Carpet a Flying Vehicle?,” 104; Lücke, “Mind the gap,” 9; Vlasta, Contemporary Migration Literature, 45–50.

15. Brems, Altijd weer die vogels, 670.

16. This event, organized by the CPNB (Collective Promotion for the Dutch Book), features a different theme every year. According to Minnaard, “Every Carpet a Flying Vehicle?” 365, and Van Kempen, “Dutch Tulips in Unexpected Colours,” 90, it has been instrumental in the interest shown in multicultural writers since 2001.

17. Soenen, “Turkse migrantenauteurs,” 271.

18. Short for Özcan, the author’s first name.

19. On 29 October 2012, see https://www.ozcanakyol.nl/te-gast-bij-dwdd/.

20. Telephone information from Prometheus on 5 January 2021; see also https://www.ozcanakyol.nl/biografie/.

21. This figure includes all editions, i. e. hard copies, e-books, and audiobooks (personal email 24 August 2021 from Maartje de Jong, commercial manager at Ambo/Anthos).

22. Press release 8 January 2019, https://www.amboanthos.nl/nieuws/wees-onzichtbaar-wordt-tv-serie/. I received no reply to a later request to the publisher for an update on this announcement.

23. The Book Week Essay is published at the start of National Book Week to promote reading.

24. See https://www.bol.com/ and https://www.hebban.nl/community. On the reference date (1 January 2021), competitor Amazon.nl, which was launched on 10 March 2020, had not yet displayed reviews from the Netherlands of Wees Onzichtbaar, and only one for Eus.

25. Although the website reported a total of 132, it featured 131 reviews on the reference date.

26. Steiner, “Private Criticism in the Public Space: Introduction.”

27. Steiner, “Private Criticism in the Public Space: Characteristics of Private Criticism Online”; Aronsson, “La réception de Faïza Guène en Suède,” 118; Allington, “Power to the reader,” 257.

28. Steiner, “Private Criticism in the Public Space: Characteristics of Private Criticism Online.”

29. At his DWDD appearance in 2012, Akyol called Eus “80–90% autobiographical”. Isik, while repeatedly emphasizing that Wees onzichtbaar is a novel, also frequently points out parallels between his life and that of his protagonist; see, for example, his guest column on the Hebban website “Zo Zondag” (2017) and the video by his publisher, “Walking through the Bijlmer of Wees onzichtbaar with Murat Isik” (“Door de Bijlmer van Wees onzichtbaar met Murat Isik,” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TZA-jW21BE4&t=44s), in which the writer guides us through places that marked his childhood.

30. Since Hebban is a literature-oriented forum, it is not surprising that the reviewers put greater effort into their comments. Thus, Hebban reviews are on average five times longer than those on Bol (248 words for Wees onzichtbaar and 243 for Eus on Hebban, compared to 40 and 64 words, respectively, on Bol).

31. Original: “De titel is Turis en net als Eus wordt het een autobiografisch verhaal” (https://www.ozcanakyol.nl/turis, 24 January 2015). The title was changed to Toerist [Tourist] in March 2020 because “the author noticed that his readers could not pronounce the original title” [“de auteur merkte dat zijn lezers de oorspronkelijke titel niet konden uitspreken”] (https://www.ozcanakyol.nl/biografie/).

32. Original: “Van ‘straatschoffie’ tot serieus crimineel werk, wat drijft iemand daartoe?” For a discussion of critics’ appreciation of supposedly autobiographical literature by authors from non-Western ethnic backgrounds, see Chong, “Reading difference.”

33. Published in 2016, transl. The Interpreter from Java, 2020.

34. For the high degree of autobiographical content, see Joke Knoop’s review in Trouw, 27 May 2008.

35. Personal email from Judith Hees, Kaap Holland Film (previously, Eyeworks), 12 December 2019.

36. Despite a short positive comment in Trouw (10 November 2007), the novel elicited only six reviews on Bol (of which three were rather negative) and none on Hebban, and it was limited to one print run.

37. Original: “Een voorbeeld voor strijdbare vrouwen” (21jago on 16 April 2019, similar comments by Rouzsky and Saaath); “Wat een prachtige sterke vrouw!”

38. Helleman & Wassenberg, “The renewal of what was tomorrow’s idealistic city”; Arbones Aran & Hoffschulte, A vivid portrait of a versatile Amsterdam Zuidoost.

39. The majority of the reviews mention one of these elements.

40. Original: “Je proeft de Turkse cultuur, je ruikt de Bijlmer.”

41. Original: “De lezer wordt onderdeel van het leven in de Bijlmer en de multiculturele samenleving van de jaren 80.”

42. The combination of these factors is explicitly mentioned only three times (5%). However, this may be due to the limited length of the reviews: 64 words on average, with many reviews containing only a few words.

43. Original: “Mooi inkijkje in Turkse (gezins)keuken.”

44. Original: “Herkenning voor Deventernaren.”

45. This is also true for Zehra by Nazmiye Oral (2011), a novel with magical-realistic overtones dealing with social pressure with regard to female sexuality and marriage.

46. Verloren grond was already doing well for a debut (it won the Bronzen Uil Publieksprijs [Bronze Owl Public Award]) but was given an extra boost by the success of Wees onzichtbaar. However, considerable effort went into bringing the book to the attention of the press and bookshops, according to Marije Lenstra from Ambo/Anthos (telephone call on 6 January 2020).

47. Original: “Diep onder de indruk van Wees onzichtbaar, de tweede roman van Murat Isik, begon ik aan zijn debuut.”

48. Original: “Verheug me op de opvolger: Turis.”

49. This includes showing interest in another book by Akyol without mentioning the title, such as “Very curious about the sequel” (“Zeer benieuwd naar het vervolg,” Geniaal, 28 December 2012). In the Hebban reviews, which focus more on the novel itself, such references do not occur.

50. According to Bourdieu (The Field of Cultural Production, 115–125), commercial success and recognition by consecrated critics, which is considered a form of symbolic capital, are at odds with each other. Steiner, on the other hand, argues that “literary interests are not necessarily in opposition to commercial interests” (“Private Criticism in the Public Space: Reading as a social act”).

51. Louwerse, “25 jaar sinds Gekke Mustafa,” 268.

52. “Mulisch’ Ontdekking van de Hemel is beste boek,” Trouw, 11 March 2007.

53. Linn and Van Voorst, “Tatta’s en mokro’s,” 93.

54. Original: “Aanvankelijk misschien wel boeiend wordt het boek [Eus] steeds irritanter door het voortdurend gebruik van straattaal.”

55. Serdijn, ‘Eus.’ Original: “armoedig geschreven.”

56. Original: “Dit is echt een boek voor menig jonge jongen die niet van lezen houdt, maar voor zijn boekenlijst toch een boek moet lezen.”

57. Original: “liefdevol geschreven.”

58. Yıldız, “The making of world literature,” 420–421.

59. Van der Heijden, “Smaakverschil en beeldvorming,” 41. In the same vein, English translations of Turkish poetry have enjoyed more popularity than Turkish fiction in the UK; see Tekgül & Akbatur, Literary Translation from Turkish into English, 23.

60. Van Rees, “How reviewers reach consensus.”

61. English, The Economy of Prestige, 334.

62. See https://uitgeverijprometheus.nl/auteurs/ozcan-akyol.html. Original: “Hij wordt beschouwd als een van de belangrijkste literaire schrijvers van zijn generatie.”

63. The recent strand of literary sociology interested in this approach has been influenced, among others, by the Swiss scholar Jérôme Meizoz; see Meizoz, “Modern posterities of posture”. Mary Kemperink ranks Meizoz’s notion of posture under the broader concept of “self-fashioning”, originally developed by Stephen Greenblatt, which I adopt here; see Kemperink, “Modellen en de self-fashioning van de auteur”.

64. See https://www.ozcanakyol.nl/media/. Isik only appeared in TV programmes that were directly related to his work, such as Mondo, VPRO’s cultural programme, 28 January 2020 (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sfkJfhHqqZM).

65. Original: “Ik gedij perfect in de rol van outsider.” See MAX Vandaag, “Jan Slagter in gesprek met Özan [sic] Akyol.”

66. Original: “Zag de auteur op televisie en kocht het boek.” For an analysis of Akyol’s television performance based on the theory of posture, see Van den Akker, Stampvoetend tussen twee werelden.

67. A TV interview programme by the VPRO (https://www.vpro.nl/programmas/24uurmet). Original: “Makkelijk te lezen boek. Mijn interesse werd gewekt door de interviews met de schrijver in DWDD en in 24-uur met … “

68. Reference date: 1 January 2021. Cf. Isik with 3,800 Twitter followers, 1,150 Facebook friends, and just over 1,500 Instagram followers.

69. Original: “Mooi man! Start die persen maar weer!” (https://twitter.com/search?q=filmrechten%20eus&src = recent_search_click).

70. Schouten, “Gülbahar gaat vreemd”.

71. Original: “een onverwacht juweeltje”.

72. Gerling, “Kornoeljes, rood als de lippen van Gülbahar”. Original: “universeel herkenbaar verhaal.”

73. With fewer than 20,000 readers, this newspaper represents 0.7% of the total average readership of newspapers in the Netherlands (https://www.mediamonitor.nl/mediamarkten/dagbladen/dagbladen-in-2019/#).

74. Original: “razend actueel,” in Santing, “Wietteelt: schaamlap voor de hebzucht.” Although published on an online forum rather than in a newspaper, Santing’s review nevertheless shows typical characteristics of a professional review: it is well-written and documented by an investigative journalist who is an expert in the field concerned. Nieuw Wij is a foundation that aims to promote religious and cultural diversity (see https://www.nieuwwij.nl/).

75. See https://nos.nl/artikel/2374488-lale-gul-stopt-met-schrijven-over-islam-na-bedreigingen.html.