No Left Turn

People who are close to the world of books often ask each other, “What are you reading?” The answer changes frequently: sometimes it’s “Animal Farm” (G. Orwell), sometimes “The Unbearable Lightness of Being” (M. Kundera), sometimes “The Idiot” (F. Dostoyevsky), and sometimes, “nothing right now.” However, if you have Jalil Javanshir's “No Left Turn,” your answer might remain unchanged for a very long time. I will explain why in a little more detail.

I’ve had this book for a long time, but I hadn't read it. I had flipped through it a bit and decided I didn't like it. The author himself is partly “to blame” for this. Around that time, Mr. Jalil had caused a stir on social media, announcing he was “leaving literature.” To be honest, I didn't care for this approach at all. I thought to myself, “Is 'coming to literature' even a thing, that 'leaving it' is also possible?” It reminded me of those showbiz “greats” and their grand entrances to and exits from “the art.” I found myself grumbling, “Look, if you have something to say, write. If you don't, then don't write. What's with all this coming and going?”

Recently, I picked the book up again. This time, I didn't just flip through it; I started to read. I read... and read... and read. I am still reading... and I probably will be for a long time. I have absolutely no intention of simply praising the book; I can even say that many of the essays aren't that incredible. It's just that this book has a special purpose, its own time and place for reading. It’s not like other books.

We often select books from our shelves or a bookstore intending to read and finish them as quickly as possible so we can move on to the next. During that period, we are reading that specific book; our entire focus is on the work's characters and heroes. If it’s good, quality literature, we ponder the questions it compels us to consider. However, after reading “No Left Turn,” I came to a conclusion: one should always be reading, but not every book can be read just anywhere.

Readers know this: sometimes we “burn” a book by reading it at the wrong time or in the wrong place. We feel too lazy to return to it, but we also retain nothing from that first read. For example, say you're traveling for two stops on the bus or metro. Instead of messing with your phone, it would be good—no, excellent—to read a book. But if the book you're currently reading is, say, J. P. Sartre's “The Words,” trying to read it in those two stops is “burning” the book. Or, perhaps you're in the middle of F. Kafka's “The Metamorphosis” and you have to meet a friend who, as always, is late. You want to read during that time (thanks to watching Serkhan Rustamov's #kiçikməsləhət videos - T/N: #shortadvice), but you just can't bring yourself to do it. And you're right! Reading books like that in bits and pieces is “burning” them. You mustn't!

But there is the wonderful “No Left Turn“... Read that! Are you in a café? Excellent, perfect timing. You open it, read two or three essays, and it's a delight. You even start to wish your friend would be a little later so you can prolong the pleasure. I'm not exaggerating: the writing is delicious and readable, with its salt and sugar in just the right measure. It doesn't let you get bored. And the essays are short... after all, we love short reads. This brevity is also good because you can read one aloud to anyone, saying, “Hey, listen to this, see how well he wrote this.”

This is Mr. Jalil's eighth book, as far as I know, and experience speaks for itself. You get the distinct feeling that the man behind the writing knows his craft: sometimes he makes you laugh, sometimes smirk, sometimes he saddens you, and sometimes he touches your heart and makes you grow tender. They are very sincere writings; they truly spread over your heart like butter (T/N: an Azerbaijani idiom for “soothing” or “warming”). It feels as if a dear friend is sitting in front of you, and you are listening as he holds an interesting conversation, touching on important matters. Of course, there are also essays in the book I didn't like, ones that bored me despite their brevity, which I didn't enjoy. But that's to be expected; no one has interesting conversations all the time. Sometimes they just talk.

This book should always be visible: in the car for those who have one, in the bag for those who don't, and on the desk for those who read at their desk. In conclusion, I want to emphasize that it is a wonderful thing that such a book is accessible to us today. As of now (July 7, 2018), I am grateful to Mr. Jalil Javanshir—whom I have not yet met and whose other books I have not read—for not letting us get bored with this book. I hope he always keeps writing. And that he doesn't “leave literature” or anything of the sort.