Download from Smashwords (eBook) Amazon Forty Thorns Category:  Literary Fiction Publisher: Remzi Book House ISBN-10:  9751414741 Type: Fiction Pages: 336 Copyright: December 8, 2011 ISBN-13: 9789751414748 An epic tale about the rise of modern Turkey, based on the intimate, oral memoir of Adalet, a strong, passionate woman who lived from the crumbling Ottomans into the present era. This narrative blends past with present within a war-torn love story.     A chronicle of one brave woman and her singular place in the universal struggle for self-determination and women’s rights. It is also an account of Adalet’s enduring bond with her American daughter-in-law, Lee, a writer driven to search for the source of Adalet’s strength.         Excerpt THIRTEEN Izmir Izmir, Aegean Sea coast, 1923-24 Women were now able to do such things if they wished. The Aegean Gulf of Izmir and its surrounding bountiful plains and rising hills and mountains were no stranger to change. The name, “Smyrna,” grew from the Anatolian Ionian dialect and dated back thousands of years to the Trojans and Hittites of Homer’s Iliad. The Persian Empire took the site; and then, Alexander the Great. Exalted by the Romans, the Byzantines, the Crusaders and the Ottomans, it now would again be the “Gate to Asia,” but that of the Turkish Republic. Though green parks, avenues and the sweeping curve along the bay remained, Izmir sighed and complained with the weight it had carried those last few years. There were still a few scattered white bungalows nestling among their groves as if nothing important had happened at all. Intermittently, the palm trees produced a weary rattling and hiss as people passed; but few had time for reflection. The first weekend that Burhan brought Elif and Adalet into Izmir from the village of Kushadashi, they stayed in one of the hotels left standing on the quay, and the three went strolling along the broad promenade within the nips and curling caresses of the evening breeze. “The trolley is coming, Elif, baby. Hear the bell?” Adalet asked. They waved at the horse drawn carriage cutting through the placid air come off the shore, its curtains tied back tight against the tops of the vertical railings in order to give the seated passengers a panoramic view. “Tomorrow, once we’re settled in, I’ll take you to Konak,” Burhan said. “The German Kiser Wilhelm Clock Tower still stands.” Pulling her round cheeks up into a smile, Adalet beamed back at him with the glowing belief that her marriage was at last on solid ground. Up until the present, they’d hardly had a chance to relax into it. The army had made her husband a bit leaner, but he seemed not so nervous. He was so obviously pleased that they were with him. “One day, if you dare to visit me in Kushadashi again,” he added with his distinctive grin, “perhaps I’ll show you something you won’t believe.” She smiled across to him. “The locals took me out on horses to see the province and we rode into an ancient marble city.” Adalet raised her brows in question. “In ruins, of course. Ephesus.” He nodded his head. “There’s much in Turkey to see. Nearby, is the spot where Mother Mary herself lived.” He shrugged as if he didn’t want her to think that he would believe what he was going to tell her. “Some believe that if you drink the water at Mary’s place, you can be healed of whatever ails you.” Burhan placed his hands together in reflection. “They tell me that there’s still a huge amphitheater where they used to perform,” he said, pursing his lips. The wind blew his hair playfully across his forehead. Adalet thought of how she’d first been entranced by Burhan on the small stage of her middle school back in Kirkkilise. If they had lived in different times, Burhan could have been an actor. “I can see how a large theater would interest you,” she answered. Adalet had read the life of Mother Mary in the Koran. “It’s finally safe for my Mother to go back to Kirkkilise,” she added. Burhan only acknowledged politely. She knew that he still had disturbing and distant feelings about her parents. “What do you think the history of the ancients have to show us?” he asked, nudging slightly her arm that helped balance the toddler on her shoulder. “We had better become philosophers if we’re going to build a modern nation.” She was taken aback and flattered that her man had asked her such a thoughtful question. Maybe he was beginning to see her as more than a girl. She shifted Elif in her arms so that the curly brown head lay on her breast, for the child had fallen asleep in the warm air. “That everything you can imagine can be made to come to pass,” she began slowly. “That miracles do happen when there is a great leader and when the will of the people is strong,” she proceeded. “But, achievement comes with some tragedy and defeat in its wake.” He regarded her seriously. As they walked on, she continued. “The Ottoman Sultans are now history. Once we were Ottomans, you and I. What can we say to ourselves? One must tend to the daily home fires.” She had concluded in a definite tone. Burhan stopped and gently removed the child from her arms, careful not to wake Elif. The three had come to a stone bench that faced the open harbor. They sat in the silence for a few minutes until the belching horn of a small ship stirred up Elif’s thin whine that threatened to burst into bawling. Burhan transferred Elif to Adalet, who knew how to calm her back into quiet. After a bit, he scooted to the end of the bench and took out his tobacco pouch and papers and picked back up on the conversation they were having before. “Who are we now to be, we Turks,” Burhan said, spilling the brown bits in a line along the edge of the paper, “the spirit of the Gray-Wolf tribes who came from the Asian Steppes?” He slid the bag into his inner coat pocket and then delicately rolled the smoke while he talked. “Or, is our future to be so many well-trained puppets like our last sultan—“ He licked along the end of the paper and sealed the cigarette and stuck it between his lips. Patting for a match, he finished his question, “Dancing wildly for Western audiences?” A phaeton rushed past behind them. Adalet turned and watched it jog on around the wide boulevard, listening to the hollow clops of the heavy hooves as they busily faded into the distance. She wondered if Burhan pondered much about his father, Mehmet Nuri. Burhan usually didn’t share his inner feelings. The two of them had heard that the blacksmith had died under the legs of run-away horses that dragged an empty buggy. It happened during the chaos when the Greeks retreated from Izmit. Who would have thought such a fate? No one seemed to know if he was buried, or where. Burhan did not want to speak more about it; and naturally, neither of them had seen Burhan’s brother Ruhittin for several years. She turned back toward the sea and watched the undulation and changing colors of the water. The sun had all but set. This day would move on toward tomorrow. Mehmet Nuri had lived a decent life. Allah keep him. Perhaps there was not much more to say about it. Kemal Pasha would later tell the new nation that all must respect the tradesmen who were vital to keep society going. So many artisans had been lost with the Christian deaths and evacuations. “The true owner,” the Gazi would say, “is the peasant who is the real producer.” For Adalet, this would include shoemakers, tailors, carpenters and blacksmiths. The memory of Mehmet Nuri’s life and journey would always provoke Adalet’s heart and mind to wonder. Was all of life a planned journey toward a certain death?

Justice's Story
Author:Judy Light Ayyildiz http://www.judylightayyildiz.com
Reviewed by: Marion James

Originally posted: On Sunday’s Zaman http://www.todayszaman.com/news-269846-justices-story.html

It seems the issue of justice is on everyone’s lips at the moment. With a sentence finally passed in the case concerning Hrant Dink’s murderers, have his family and the nation truly received justice?

Is justice served by a decision in a foreign parliament to create a new crime of denying genocide, or is it hindered and thwarted by such intervention?

If suspects are held for weeks or months before trial, can this be called justice? If court cases take months or even years to conclude, can this be called justice?



These questions have been vexing government ministers, occupying time in Parliament and debated on the radio and television. Whatever their political hue, ministers and media channels seem to be united in one conclusion: Some form of change is needed.

Lawmakers and ministers, judges and lawyers, families of victims and families of the accused, political commentators and television journalists, all are currently voicing opinions on the state of the nation’s legal system.

In İstanbul, we are used to seeing huge complexes being built: mainly shopping malls, luxury hotels or smart condominiums. But last year, the biggest law courts building in Europe opened in İstanbul. This astounding place has 19 floors and 19 blocks joined to one another. Some mind-boggling facts and figures include 73 elevators, 48 escalators, 326 courts, 267 prosecutor’s offices, 442 judge’s offices and a conference hall that can seat 354 people.

As if that wasn’t enough, now the claim for the biggest law courts building in the world belongs to the newly opened mega-development in Kartal, on the Asian side of the city!

All this could lead the observer to think Turkey either has a very high rate of crime, so it needs the largest courts in the world, or it is the country that puts the highest value on justice in the world. The truth is probably somewhere in the middle and relates more to Turkey’s current passion to build the biggest and best than to any particular obsession with justice.

But the cry for justice is a common human emotion. So often from children’s lips we hear the cry, “It’s not fair.” We seem to be born with an innate sense of right and wrong and expect those in leadership positions and with authority over us — whether as children this means our parents and teachers or as adults our elected representatives and the police and civil servants who carry out their policies — to act with integrity and justice.

All of the world religions have something to say about justice. In the Jewish scriptures, God is revealed as not caring for hypocritical sacrifices. He would rather see people treated fairly and right, particularly the weak and the poor and the needy. I love the clarion call for justice given by the prophet Amos: “But let justice flow like a river and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.”

With the issue of justice so prevalent in the national consciousness at the moment, it seems that I am seeing the word justice — adalet — everywhere. The sticker on the back window of every İstanbul police car displays their motto: “halk için emniyet, adalet için hizmet” — “security for the people, service for justice.” Both of the newly opened mega law courts are called an adalet sarayı — a palace of justice. Justice should therefore reign like a queen in these public buildings.

Recently published both in English and in Turkish by Remzi Kitabevi, American Judy Light Ayyıldız tells the compelling and beautiful story of her mother-in-law, whose name is Adalet.

The blurb on the cover tells us to expect a history of the changes within a nation, of a family and of a woman. Adalet told Judy, “I’m not important, but my story is, write my book!” So Judy set out to write the important story, which is linked to the changes in Turkey’s government and society throughout the 20th century. It is the story of how a Turkish woman was affected by the War of Independence and then in turn set out with great gusto to affect the new Republic.

Adalet is spirited; she leads with her heart; her strength becomes the backbone of the new nation. Right from the very first pages of this memoir of the life of a remarkable woman, it is clear this is going to be not a history lesson, but a feast for the senses. Ayyıldız’s skill as a poet brings an added facet of deep description to her story (we start at Adalet’s funeral, and the image of the imam’s “oboe-voiced recital mingles with İstanbul’s engines and horns). The sights, sounds, smells and tastes draw you into a different world until you can almost touch it.

A girl born in Thrace in 1901 was doomed to see much of war, for this place had seen armies marching across it since before Alexander the Great. Adalet survives the turmoil and nightmare of the Balkan Wars and participates in the national resistance struggle led by her beloved pasha, Mustafa Kemal. A doctor cousin becomes a member of the new Parliament, and Adalet’s husband spends the first two decades of the Republic helping deliver government services, as governor or assistant governor in various corners of the land.

Adalet’s story is a beacon of hope and triumph for the human spirit. She embraces change with all of the “yes we can” enthusiasm that was displayed by Barack Obama’s supporters in the last US presidential race. She was a sassy lady, and her story is told by a sassy author who seems to believe passionately that this is not just the tale of one woman, of interest to students of the founding of the Republic, but the tale of a nation that must be passed on to the next generation.

Adalet’s story becomes even more relevant for today, answering the questions in current headlines, when we read the story with the meaning of her name in mind: justice. Consider just a few examples:

At a wedding, the young Adalet/Justice is called upon to remove the 40 evil thorns, symbolizing evil spirits, from the cape of a wedding gown. Only a pure maiden can pluck them out, and the family beseeches her, “Please Adalet/Justice, you are our only hope.”

Adalet/Justice could “light a candle with her eyes.”

Adalet/Justice wearies of “waiting for something to happen,” of waiting for men to take action.

Adalet/Justice believes “that everything you can imagine can be made to come to pass … when there is a great leader and the will of the people is strong.”

“‘Nations come from wombs like mine,’ Adalet answered. ‘Our hands keep fires while wars rage. We clean the burnt homes, help re-stack the rocks, gather the suffering ruin to our breasts and hide what we can … milk the goats, milk the cows, milk the mules if necessary! — whatever is at hand to give us cheese and yogurt.”

The womb of Justice is mightily powerful for building a nation, too. Adalet’s story reminds us that how this current generation treats justice — what changes we make or fail to make — can affect the nation for generations to come.



Forty Thorns
by David Barudin

Forty Thorns (Published Dec. 2012, Remzi Kitabevi, Istanbul) by American poet and memoirist Judy Light Ayyildiz is the sweeping drama of the intrigue and day-to-day struggle to survive during the Turkish Revolution, and covers the time period from 1912-1980. Early in this time, the people of the nascent Turkish Republic (and former crumbled Ottoman Empire) had opposed the armies of Russia, Great Britain, the Allies’ occupations, and Greece. The story is told through the eyes of Adalet, the author’s late mother-in-law. The title derives from Adalet, age 12, tasked with plucking 40 evil thorns from the cursed wedding dress of her older sister so that the ceremony could proceed. It’s a formative metaphor in the unfolding action surrounding her dynamic family.
Ayyildiz spent seven years researching this novel, based on Adalet’s oral memoir, and in interviewing Adalet before her death in at age 92. Not a life chronicle or work of journalism, the book takes a zip-zag timeline fitting the old woman’s memory, darting back and forward as she recounts her life. The result is a family saga and a girl’s growth into womanhood that parallels and symbolizes the rise of Mustafa Kemal Ataturk and the Turkish Republic.
The book succeeds spectacularly in portraying Turkey in its entirety, from ancient roots to the present, and particularly during the founding of the modern nation. Ayyildiz creates her story in much the same way Margaret Mitchell’s epic Gone with the Wind depicts the American South in its demise in a similarly bloody American Civil War—through the eyes of a woman caught up in the conflict. She does it with the light touch of a master writer at the top of her skills.
With little effort Forty Thorns brings to life the upheaval of a country and the conflicts raging in Adalet’s revolutionary family. Several of them comprise an inner circle of the emerging Republic, and are the meat of the story. Through them we see the epic proportions of the events playing out behind them, presto, rolling magically in front of our eyes. Readers are likely to stop during Forty Thorns and ponder how Ayyildiz does it.
The author is Mitchell-esque in letting the book unfold through her characters’ eyes seeing the struggle for freedom and then to govern. The country is heading in an opposite trajectory than Mitchell’s South, that of victory and the birthing of a nation. The two stories are similar in their end result of showing us the tumult and regeneration of a war for independence clearly distilled and defined. Both books impart insight on the immeasurable challenges and loss endured by determined heroines during hard and dangerous times.
Adalet is toned down from the flamboyant Southern coquette, but the Turkish Scarlet story is real. And Ayyildiz’ achievement is in letting Turkey’s stormy creation be told through a vulnerable and courageous woman. Forty Thorns will find a lasting place in the hearts of its countrymen and in the bulwark of Turkish literary history. Indeed, in worldwide interest for generations. It’s like watching Tara ablaze in a dark theater on the big screen.

David Barudin
The reviewer’s by-line has appeared in many U.S. magazines and newspapers. A former journalist and publisher of Southern U.S. travel magazines, his first novel is currently being considered for publication. He holds a Masters in Arts in Creative Writing from Hollins University in Virginia.



A Dignified Story of the Balkan Tragedy and Nation Building
June 12, 2012
Forty Thorns by Judy Light Ayyildiz
A Dignified Story Of The Balkan Tragedy and Nation Building
Book Review by Ergun Kirlikovali

Can you hear the silent cries? Of a lonely baby here? A grandmother there? Can you feel the pain of broken families? Lost siblings and parents? Destroyed lives? And little dreams? Can you sense the sights and sounds of those subtle impressions of turbulent yesteryear? So close to your heart and soul, and yet, so far to your tired mind and daily grind.... So painful and vivid, and yet, so lacking and forgettable. Then, in the middle of vast nothingness, profound suffering, and unrelenting deficiency… you come across hope, magnanimity, and dare I say, renewal! I am, of course, talking about countless weary Turks today who trace their lineage to the infamous Balkan Tragedy. You touch the little dreams of these tormented people, and “Puff!”, they turn into magnanimous giants… “What a heart!” you conclude, “after all that torment, all that pain, all that loss, not a single manifestation of depression or rebellion or, god forbid, hate…”
These are the sentiments that tossed me like tumbleweeds into a forgotten past of a sad geography while I was reading Forty Thorns. Frankly, I was not quite ready for what awaited me in the unassuming pages of this heart wrenching literary fiction.
In one episode when the main character, Adalet, was describing the sights and sounds of that last “escape train” from Bulgaria in October or November of 1912, I thought my heart was pounding so hard that it would escape my chest.
I was reading as fast as I could, perhaps not paying due attention to the genuinely brilliant story telling that the writer generously put forth, with the hope of coming across some evidence of personal value. When I read the lines where Adalet hears voices of a baby, I thought this was my eureka moment… my moment of truth and I began to review an oral history that I hold in my own mind:
A little baby boy grabbed my attention. He was crying but there was nobody around to care of him. What was his story? I approached and picked him up. I noticed a piece of crumpled, old paper, pinned on his tiny baby clothes, with some faint words scribbled on it, apparently in haste: 'Akif's son Ratip. Born in 1911. Kirlikova'. (My name.) I didn't know what to do. So I handed him over to the Ottoman Official whose name tag read.... Yes, unbeknownst to Adalet, and probably to most readers, there was another inconspicuous rider on that escape train: a one-year-old baby with no parents, relatives or even acquaintances accompanying him. A solo traveler who was totally left in the care of the Ottoman officials. That one-year-old, orphan baby boy was my father and I was desperately looking for clues in Forty Thorns about my dad's presence on that train. Alas, I did not have any! I still owe the writer a debt of gratitude, however, as she brought me so close to that eternally elusive moment.
I totally understand that as Adalet, the main character, was too concerned about the well being of her own family to worry about a homeless baby, one of perhaps hundreds, even thousands,on that train. I might read the book again to see if I have missed any clues as it is a fantastic reading, after all.
When I retire, in about, say, a million years from now, I plan to tell my parents' story. On one side, my father, a one-year-old baby from the village of KIRLIKOVA in 1912, which is located in the borderline area of rolling hills where Bulgaria meets Greece today, but neither apparently meets humanity. And on the other, my mother, half of whose parents and grandparents were also slaughtered but in another Balkan town, Skopje (Uskup in Turkish), and by another Balkan Christian group, Serbians. My mother's story is similar, but involves no train as it was not deemed safe enough; just on foot alongside ox-pulled-cart caravans and through roads least traveled, for safety reasons—some safety; half the family could still not escape painful death at the hands of marauding revolutionaries.....
We, Turks, do not tell our tragedies; we just want to forget about them and move on with hope towards the promise of rekindling and rejuvenation. While it may be understandable, that does not make it right. So, I thank Ayyildiz for telling her mother-in-laws’ compelling story, which happens to be my father’s story, give or take a little, and quite possibly yours, too, and in fact, the story of most Turks today.
I am not surprised that Forty Thorns has just won 1st Place in Literary Fiction awards and also become a finalist in Historical Fiction given by the International Book Awards. (See the link: http:/​/​www.internationalbookawards.com/​2012pressrelease.html .)
Those who scream genocide of this or that today would be eternally ashamed to level those charges against Turks if they knew about half the cruelty and deaths Turks suffered at the hands of Balkan Christian nationalists during the many Balkan Wars (1877-1913) and Anatolian Christian nationalists during armed revolts (1882-1922,) World War One (1914-1918,) and, finally, the Turkish Independence War (1919-1922.) It may be said that from 1877 to 1922, Muslims, mostly Turks, were subjected to unspeakable tortures, brutality, mortality, and forced migrations, all of which are still conveniently ignored in the West. The fact that Turkish suffering is untold may explain why it is still largely unknown today. This wonderful novel, Forty Thorns, is only the tip of the iceberg of that period of history.
I am moved by the incredible resilience of those Turks during nation-building years. How can one create something out of nothing? Who are those people with true grit? After reading Forty Thorns, I felt I knew nothing about matters of suffering and loss, as I have not experienced anything even remotely close to what Adalet and her family, friends, and others have gone through: torment, disappointment, adversity, scarcity, and more. But eventually, some sense of triumph. I feel I am doing this book injustice by this review as I have dwelled so much on suffering and loss and not enough on renewal and nation building during the Ataturk years of the Republic of Turkey. One must read with compassion to see how women and children are empowered and educated in those years of grinding poverty, endless wars, and exhaustion. I will defer this task to the book. The reader will appreciate what I mean as the story sadly unfolds.
Finally, I do not want to spoil the fun by telling who did what, but I feel compelled to quote this poignant Turkish poem on page 328, composed by the main character, Adalet, with riveting simplicity and profound impact, with heart and soul, for which I am humbly proposing this new English translation, to make it even more heartrending, just like the way it truly is in its magnificent original Turkish:
My Joyful World is torn apart,
Shrunken on its axis.
The candle of love went out,
My heart became a shrine-keeper.

May your candle of love never go out….