Karagöz puppets in Pansyland: M’lady and the puppets review Perking the Pansies: Jack and Liam Move to Turkey

Posted on January 16, 2012 by lizcameron

Cover of Perking the Pansies: Jack and Liam Move to Turkey (image thanks to Jack Scott and Summertime Publishing)

Earlier this month, I wrote about Elif Şafak, the Turkish author who in her brilliant talk on the politics of fiction also addressed the importance of sharing and feeling stories in ways that allow for the crossing of cultures and true connection. And it is in this spirit that I feel Jack Scott has written his new book, Perking the Pansies: Jack and Liam Move to Turkey. By sharing his experiences, Jack treats us to a window into an unexpected world – warts and wonders alike.

As a fellow chronicler of the navigation of relationships in Turkish and other settings, I was particularly interested in understanding how Jack and Liam worked as a couple to both adjust to and enjoy their new surround…and the book did not disappoint. Let it be known that by “surround,” I am referring to the fact that Jack and Liam are English men who have moved to Turkey – in the face of potential homophobia even in artistic Bodrum, the “Bohemian oasis” in Turkey.

But let me start at the beginning, as I was starting to meander around what Jack calls Pansyland and what Elif Şafak might refer to as another circle for exploration and wall-breaking. When I first stumbled upon Perking the pansies, the uproarious and ribald blog kept by Jack about his life with husband Liam in Bodrum, Turkey, I knew I had found a gem. Enthralled by his rat-a-tat-tat speed of witticism and truly lovely snark, I became one of his many devoted readers.

As a new blogger focused on writing about my Turkish-American cross-cultural marriage, I always found myself inspired by Jack’s observations – not to mention his dogged blogging. Although he does not know it, Jack has in many ways inspired me to keep going on my own project…and to be brave about saying what I see, speaking about how I feel and thinking on what it may and may not mean in life. When I first read Jack’s sample chapters and realized a book was on the way – I knew something wonderful this way was coming…and was thrilled at the prospect of adding something more interesting to my bedside table than the stack of dry, academic tomes I read for work on a daily basis.

As I read Jack’s book late into the first night I got my hands on the book, the puppets reading avidly along on my shoulders, I found streaks of my own experiences in Bodrum and other parts of Turkey – but with a wonderful new lens. Having spent time in Bodrum with a range of Turkish characters that I wish I had Jack’s skill to categorize so hysterically, I have also had the opportunity to observe the various expats Jack so perfectly categorizes with his wicked wit. In the book, Jack brings to life the VOMITs (Victims of Men in Turkey), the Bodrum Belles, the Semigreys, the Emiköys (expats living in ‘real’ Turkish villages) and the like. Through these archetypes, I could relate to Jack’s story in my own way – and in many ways this brought me some measure of peace by seeing that my interpretations of life in Bodrum were not out there on the gangplank, alone and wrong at their worst. I found that they were also sparkling at their best due to Jack’s portrayals. What is perhaps best about the characters in the book is what Jack models – that we all need to make fun of ourselves at times – and of the ridiculous around us – and while Jack does this brilliantly – this is not his only feat.

Having now read through the book twice, each time read non-stop, cover to cover, alternately laughing and crying, I am still struck by the engaging verve and jauntiness with which Jack writes. As a professor of statistics, I have yet to calculate the odds of (as Jack puts it) “two openly gay, recently ‘married’ middle aged, middle class men escaping the liberal sanctuary of anonymous London to relocate to a Muslim country” but for once, I am happy (no, thrilled) to put down my academic mantle and just enjoy Jack’s infectious verve, as my Granny would say! Speaking of infectious verve, this book is filled with fabulous Britishisms. Jack’s book has kept me busy explaining Cockney rhyming slang and the like to M. – not to mention the puppets that inhabit my head, especially that wicked trickster Karagöz who cannot stop adding “innit” (isn’t it) to the end of his sentences now, as in “Lor’ luv a duck! this book is right funny, innit?” or “Awright geeezzaa! you are an’ all uptight trouble and strife, Kenne, run up those apples and pears and leave me ter read dis book in peace, innit?”

But beyond the hilarity of the language which hurtles the story along at breakneck pace, there is a lot here. Let’s take the pure fact that this book documents the everyday realities of two gay men on a true adventure unlike one we hear about everyday in this globalized, adventure-is-constant-seeming world. Having watched friends and colleagues endlessly worry about, strategize around and bravely address the often merciless ravages of homophobia in American society (and particularly in American academe where one might perhaps least expect it), I loved reading about the forthright living of life out loud that Jack and Liam are doing in a most unexpected place. I am reminded of the poignant party scene where Jack and Liam show their wedding video – and melt all of the hearts in the room. Despite the challenges of living in a cold and drippy wintry expat village from, at times, hell, this was an illuminating and of course, heartwarming, moment. As Jack puts it, “at times I think we’re floundering around like idiots, but now and then I think we’re making a real difference.” I couldn’t agree more with the latter point.

Beyond the power of presence and the bravery of being out in Turkey – the wonder of Perking the Pansies is also in its stories. It is through the stories of the lovely Üzgün (and his eventual murder) and sweet baby Adalet (and her eventual adoption) that we get a sense of more of the depth of Jack and Liam’s experience in Turkey as expats – both in terms of the challenges of living life as out gay men – and of the joys of friendship and relationship in the face of navigating a new and sometimes truly confusing culture. It is, after all, through our relationships with different people that we find the truth that perhaps all expats seek, I would argue. And as Jack narrates the couple’s first year in Turkey, we can see the truth of their good and life-changing decision emerging. It leaves me wanting to hear more about what unfolds, and what is under the veil of these characters over time. Where will all of this lead Jack and Liam? Well, I am sure we will see. Let’s hope they don’t abscond for Bulgaria anytime soon.

As for the puppets, they are over by the Christmas tree, cheering mightily about the book – and riding our dog around the apartment as if he was an elephant during the Raj in India while they wait for their individual turn to read the book. Karagöz is leading the cheer – “give me a P” he screams – to which the puppets tumbled themselves up into the shape of a P (much to the chagrin of the dog). Esma continues on – “give me an A” she cried – so excited that jasmine blooms started shooting out of her ears (which only happens when she is in a state of true bliss). Tiryaki, the opium addict who usually nods his way through the day, in a rare moment of energy on an opium-free day calls out “yeah, man, give me an N, you know for nargile, like on the cover of the book, to smoke from.” Bebe Ruhi, the questioner with Dwarfism, not wanting to be left out, and always wanting to find an opportune moment for a question, said “yes, and give me an S, for so many stories to ask more about.” Since nobody is home to think I am crazy for talking to my imaginary puppet friends (um, are they?), I jump up and join the crew – “give me a Y” I yell happily, ” it’s PANSY time!”

QUOTES FROM THE PUPPETS ON PERKING THE PANSIES: All of the puppets are so excited about this book – but they are sharing one copy – so far – only five have read the book cover to cover on their own – and here is what they have to say…

Karagöz the irreverent puppet who loves to create chaos and is not very learned says: “I love the brash and real style that Jack embodies in his writing. I’m a simpleton, not much for books, but this one made me want to read a lot more! I love that Jack and Liam are out, loud and proud.”

Hacivad Bey the learned Sufi has this to say “Rumi teaches us to love – and to be lovers of the world. Jack opens his heart in this writing – and writes about the search for meaning in life through this new adventure. I applaud his work in this arena. As the Mevlana himself used to say, he never thought he was a poet until he met Shams of Tabriz, and then it flowed out of him. Looks like Jack has found his muse.”

Zenne, the nervous nellie, is transfixed, and has this to say about the book “Well, I was quite nervous to read the book, I worried, what if I don’t like it? I really want to like it. But I loved it – and it made me see that even if there is fear about doing something brave – like moving to a new country as a gay couple – that fear can be overcome in the face of fun, adventure and community-building. Where’s the Valium – I want adventure!”

Tiryaki, the opium addict cum surfer dude, has this to say: “Dude, these guys know how to have a good time – a rockin’ read I’d stay straight for.”

Esma, the little hippie puppet, has this to say “as a traveler and lover of life, I applaud what Jack and Liam have done – taken a stand for themselves, for their sanity, for their relationship. These men know what is important – and have fun along the way. They shared it with us, and this gives us inspiration on our own journey to truth through m’lady’s cross-cultural marriage. Here is cheers to the examined life!”

Bebe Ruhi, the incessant question-asker, only has this to say “what will happen next? I’m dying to know!”

Buy the book – an Amazon bestseller! Enjoy Pansyland!

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Occupy the Writeamatrix: A failed movement, for the moment

Posted on January 15, 2012 by lizcameron

So, after making it through the sandstorm-poop-a-thon writeamatrix beat down walk on the beach this morning now that the writeamatrix is back from vacation, I made it through the day of legitimate meetings with our contractor and CAD expert – mapping out our future home, but not without hearing the occasional whip-crack on the floor behind me.

SHE, meaning the writeamatrix, my academic writing whipcracker, did NOT want me to forget her presence – and the need to get things done. The wind on the roof, the sand in the front yard and the waves crashing across the street all added to her fury – or were they as a result of her fury?

In times like these, M. always tells me that I need to take a more eastern approach to life – relax more, live life, not worry so much.  “Easy for him to think,” I often mutter under my breath, “he’s a Bohemian with a capital B and an artist and has always marched to a different drummer.  I am trying to prove that I can have a career even if I started late and had a somewhat misspent youth that I have to make up for.”

As I closed the door on our contractor and CAD lady, the dog was literally dancing, as if to say “please, please, please take me for a walk, it loosk SO fun out there!” and in case I didn’t get it, the puppets also began an advocacy campaign akin to their Occupy movement a few months ago when they wanted some new music and got me to buy the discovered Ottoman records CD.

Today, however, it was about Occupying the Writeamatrix. “We are the 99% of you, and we want the writeamatrix out! They say banks got bailed out – we got sold out? You know? Well in this case, you bailed the tenure out, are we going to get sold out? You know, the 99% of you – and, DUH, M.? What about him? Please, m’lady, please,” they cried, “please just take the damn dog for a walk at the beach! It will be good for  you both – she’ll get over it if you don’t get RIGHT to work on your academic writing.”

The sparkles that almost captivated me away from the Writeamatrix at the Provincetown beach today

Feeling the pull, I quickly slipped out to the door.  When we reached the beach across the street, the waves were furious, white-capped and frothy in their fervor, my dog wanted none of it.  The air was invigorating – wild and wooly and wet and free and I felt as great as the sparkles all around me.

But the dog pulled me away, afraid of the mayhem.  Determined to give him a good time, I hopped into the car to take him to the Ocean side of the town – Herring Cove Beach – but the writeamatrix caught up with me there – projected through the droplets of sunlight on the seawater – but projected to larger than life, riding Poseidon‘s wave-horses onto the beach – splashing all over the cars watching the mayhem.  It wasn’t long before I got the heck out of there and back home, to work, on…….the……….article…….and……..the……….syllabus.

Esma, the tiny hippie puppet, still exuding ginger flowers and sharp birds-of-paradise flowers in her anger at the hegemony that is the Writeamatrix, with whom she is in an epic battle, just spent the evening sitting across from me, shooting her flower darts my way, saying “why are you 3 hours away from your husband on a Friday night? Why don’t you let it go a bit, let it step down, let your life come back in now that you have tenure? I don’t care if there is a windstorm, we are the 99% of you, and we miss M.  You need to go home first thing in the morning!”  Nodding, I decided to redouble my efforts to at least finish the syllabus tonight, and then go home for the weekend – just with M.

“Don’t forget, m’lady,” Hacivad Bey reminded me late into the night, “we are the 99% and while we may have lost this battle, we ARE going to win the war.”

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Return of the Writeamatrix (who compares Turkish and U.S. academe)

Posted on January 14, 2012 by lizcameron

Here is my writeamatrix - she looks an awful lot like The Corporate Dominatrix, who you can read about here - note she is carrying a briefcase (image thanks to The Corporate Dominatrix)

I quickly slurp down my cay, anticipating the whipcracking Writeamatrix to crack me up any moment now.  As you may recall, she is the academic dominatrix in my head who wants me to, in no uncertain terms, GET BACK TO WORK.  Before I know what has hit me, I feel the sting of her whip. “Not in your head, slackerific, right here in your face!”

I expect (hope, wish?) that Karagöz will hop up with a “talk to the hand” or some such in-your-face-back remark, but all I can hear is some muffled sniveling in the corner of the closet.  The writeamatrix has trapped him there, underneath the floor-washing bucket, and he is at risk of smelling oh-so-pine fresh if he is in there for much longer.

“Get up and get going!”  she says, her whip making the tone change unnecessary.  I hop up, and before long am hustling an even-sleepy dog (which is unusual when the beach is nearby) out the door and down the stairs in the middle of a windstorm. Clearly, it is time to walk the dog!

My dog running around on a poop-a-thon during a sandstorm on the Provincetown Beach

The wind is fierce and sand is getting in my eyes and nose as the writeamatrix walks me across the Provincetown Beach, bootcamp-style.  “Productive academics MUST get exercise and you are so slackerific you hardly do that anymore – this explains the reduction in your PRODUCTIVITY.”

With this last word of proclamation, she cracked her whip harder and harder, my self-esteem crumbling, thoughts of anxiety medicine and antacids racing through my head at breakneck pace.  I didn’t know what to say to her.  She, however, knew JUST what to say to ME.

“Last year this time, you had 7 manuscripts under review – and what do you have now? One piddly, pathetic one that you think will get rejected anyway.  What about what matters? What about all of those suicidal foster kids that nobody has talked about before,  YOU have to rise UP! YOU have to write about them! YOU need to draw attention to their plight!  Walk, yes, you may walk now, but you need to do this so that you are ready to SIT DOWN and WRITE.  Do you remember the AIS phenomenon that your mentor told you about?”

A whip cracked

Image via Wikipedia

“Um, the AIN phenomenon? I’m sorry, writeamatrix, I have forgotten” I say, cowering a bit.  “ASS-IN-SEAT as the famous Dr. JC used to say.  That is what gets the job done.  You use to be really good at that – but not anymore.  You think that now, because you have tenure, you can slack off? Not so!”  In addition to cracking the whip, she pushed me forward with her boot – or was it hte wind? “Yes, of course, writeamatrix, how silly – I mean – how STUPID – of me to forget about that.”

“Stupid? Stupid is a KIND word. You American academics, you have it easy.  In Turkey…(“Oh,” I thought, “I didn’t realize the writeamatrix was Turkish?”)…don’t interrupt me!  In Turkey, you slave through the doctoral process, and you have MANY more stages to go through with MANY more requirements than you have here in this inferior nation.  Turkish academics are the BEST in the world.” I am beginning to realize that the writeamatrix is not only Turkish, but she is like the set of characters I meet who are over-the-top pro-Turkish, you know, the Turks make the best (fill in the blank from food to rockets) and the Turks invented the first (fill in the blank) and the Turks do (fill in the blank) better than anyone – it is a definite type.

All of a sudden, here on this sandy Cape Cod beach where I am picking up poop in turkuaz-colored bags, I realize that the writeamatrix is not only Turkish but is also channeling the voice of my sister-in-law, who is famous (to me) for asking “when will you become a REAL professor?”  I always felt hurt when she said this, answering, “um, I already am one?” to which she would inevitably reply “you have only just received your doctorate, you don’t even know what you are getting into – mwah hah-hah-hah (think evil witch-ish laugh)!”

Of course, is my sister-in-law (or the writeamatrix, for that matter) an academic? Well, I know my sister-in-law isn’t, but that doesn’t stop her from repeatedly explaining to me that in Turkey, first you are an asistant doçent, then a yardimci doçent, then a doçent and finally a profesor – all of which involves six or so years of work to achieve each status, exams, papers to be defended and the mastery of one language other than Turkish before reaching the final level…clearly a tremendous amount of work.  In my world, tenure brings me to the “associate professor” level, akin to doçent (if Wikipedia’s commentary on the topic is to be believed) and I have only been at it for 12 years…and only partial conversational language capabilities in Spanish, my best aside from English.  What I have, though, is the freedom from the allegedly nepotistic-extraordenaire Turkish academic system, where you are sunk without major as in MAJ-AH contacts…of course, we have elements of this phenomenon in the U.S., but as I have chosen a teaching university, I am somewhat protected from all that as my life is not driven by the gerbil-wheel of grant dollar seeking.  But still, I want to be good enough, to good enough work, respectable enough work – and not slack.

So, when my sister-in-law launches into this, or when the Writeamatrix appears, it is easy to feel not-good-enough, something I always wrestle with anyway (see Peggy McIntosh’s work on the academic imposter syndrome that women experience).  It’s a constant battle and I am trying to get a foothold on just being satisfied enough.  Not that I am trying to live up to my parents’ academic and research careers or anything…but I am putting it on myself, not them on me.  The Writeamatrix is mine all mine, a creation of me, I suppose.  Whether I like it or not, I have to deal with her.  Hopefully, the relentless Hacıyatmaz will help me to balance her out.

So this was how my morning walk went, the Writeamatrix hassling me as I ran after my dog who was having a poop-a-thon on the beach.  Meanwhile, Hacıyatmaz was rolling and rocking his way along, insistent on helping me fight fire with fire, not giving up on me as he seeks to find a different kind of balance between my academic and my personal writing.  But for now, the Writeamatrix is winning out, as is the poop.

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