Book Review: V.B.’s impression of Kurt Seyt & Shura by Nermin Bezmen
Hi, readers! The latest I Love Romance Blog review selection is Kurt Seyt & Shura by Nermin Bezmen.
Take it away, V.B.!
Thanks!
Kurt Seyt & Shura by Nermin Bezmen
This book starts with the story of a Crimean Tartar member of the Tsar’s guard as he grows to manhood amongst the glitter of Russia’s last imperial lifestyle in St. Petersburg. As a young man Kurt Seyt meets Alexandra-Shura and they fall in love despite their ethnic and age differences. Shura is young, innocent, and gorgeous. Seyt is experienced, handsome, and irresistible. They connect immediately and separate after a steamy night of love.
Months pass. The turmoil brewing in imperial Russia boils over. Seyt flees Petrograd for Crimea. Fate steps in and he finds himself close to Shura’s home. She too is fleeing the Bolsheviks. Together they make it across the Black Sea and become some of the first White Russians to inhabit Instanbul-Constantinople as WWI rages.
Had this been a true historical romance, the lovers would have continued their idyllic lifestyle and lived happily ever after in Turkey. But this is a historical biography of the author’s grandfather, and it follows the truth. Seyt and Shura’s relationship is put to the ultimate test when her family arrives in Istanbul. She cannot be seen to be “living in sin” with her lover. Yet, they rattle along making mistakes and fighting over truly hard choices. Then, Seyt marries a young Muslim girl settling the issue.
Seyt loves Murka almost as much as he loves Shura. He continues his affair as he cements his marriage. Seyt is torn and both women are miserable. The love story ends tragically as promised when Seyt convinces Shura to go to Paris with the other man who loves her.
I can’t help but wish Seyt had married Shura. However, had that happened, the author would not exist. This book is a biography threaded with a love story or two. The POVs are murky and it moves slow at times. Meanwhile, the historical details, personal interactions, and realistic relationship issues are fantastic. You can immerse yourself in every chapter. I hope the author translates the follow up books into English one day.
NOTE: I was provided a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.
I give this book 4 stars because it made me grateful that it’s easier now and in the USA to buck culture and family and marry whomever you want for love.
Many thanks, Virginia! ♥
Book Info:
Kurt Seyt & Shura official English edition, published December, 2017. An instant best seller since its debut in 1992, Nermin Bezmen’s Kurt Seyt & Shura is a classic of contemporary Turkish literature, a sweeping romantic drama set around the time as the splendor of Imperial Russia is obliterated in the wake of the Great War. Bezmen tells the story of two star-crossed lovers fleeing the wave of devastation wreaked by the Bolshevik Revolution– and does so with great sensitivity: one half of this couple who sought refuge in the capital of the dying Ottoman Empire was her grandfather.
Translated into 12 languages, Kurt Seyt & Shura inspired a sumptuous T.V. series that continues to enchant millions of viewers across the world.
With the publication of this novel in the United States, English-speaking fans will now be able to read the true story of this great love affair, which triumphed over so much adversity yet failed to overcome human fallibility.
Kurt Seyt: The son of a wealthy Crimean nobleman, is a dashing first lieutenant in the Imperial Life Guard. Injured on the Carpathian front and later sought by the Bolsheviks, he makes a daring escape across the Black Sea. Too proud to accept payment for the boatful of arms he hands over to the Nationalists, he faces years of struggle to make a new life in the Turkish Republic rising from the embers of the dying Ottoman Empire. All he has is his dignity and love.
Shura: An innocent sixteen-year-old beauty enchanted by Tchaikovsky’s music and Moscow’s glittering lights, falls in love with Seyt. A potential victim of the Bolsheviks due to her family’s wealth and social standing, she is determined to follow her heart and accompanies Seyt on his perilous flight over the Black Sea.
Their love is the only solace to their crushing homesickness for a land and family they will never see again, two lovers among hundreds of thousands of White Russian émigrés trying to eke out a living in occupied Istanbul.
Universal Reader link: https://books2read.com/u/bx5nDJ
Here’s a teaser from the book…
A Night in Petrograd, 1916
Snow fell in fat, lazy flakes, an immaculate white blanket settling over the sleeping city. The carriage turning left at Alexander Nevsky Square laboriously carved a wide arc through the snow that had piled up all night, rounded a corner, and drew up to the pavement outside a three-story house.
A few snowflakes fluttered at the windowsills, stuck to the panes and frozen solid. The coachman gazed upward as instructed; a net curtain parted, and a shaft of light beamed out. A male figure wiped the glass, waved, and withdrew.
* * *
The young man consulted the pocket watch he’d left by the lamp on the bedside table: it was coming up to four; he still had plenty of time. Carefully, so as to avoid rousing the sleeping woman, he lifted the duvet and got back into bed. He reclined against the pillow, still holding his watch. Then, a little more determined, he flung aside the covers and got up. He drew the curtain back a little more and looked out. The moon illuminated the whiteness starting directly outside the windowpanes, sweeping unbroken over the garden, the railing, and the broad expanse of road. A world in white. Everything sparkled when the moon shone between the scudding clouds, and the world looked more splendid under this white coat.
Heavy curtains kept the world outside the windows, where it belonged. In the semidarkness, the room spoke in scents: perfume revealed a woman’s presence, and vodka testified to earlier indulgences, both mingling with the lavender emanating from the bed linens.
He turned toward the bed for a look. Amplified by the snow, the moonlight cast a bright-white light on the sleeping woman’s bare back. He recalled what the darkness sought to conceal: the deep auburn of her hair, now cascading over the pillow in waves; the groove of her spine dipping delightfully from the nape all the way to her waist and vanishing under the covers; and the right shoulder glowing in the playful light, a flawless expanse of alabaster.
Seemingly oblivious to the cold, he leaned his bare back against the window; then, grinning at the memory, he moved to the round table by the fireplace. The fruit platter, carafe, and glasses still stood where they had been left: half eaten and half drunk from. She was an impatient one, that Katya. Or was it Lydia? Whatever. The auburn beauty had excelled at entertaining him that night.
He picked up one of the half-full crystal glasses, downed it in one go, and shook his head as the alcohol stung his throat. He lit the pink opaline lamp in front of the mirror, and the soft light of gas spread into the room. Digging into the jumble of garments on the sofa, he gathered his own clothing and collected his underwear. He was moving toward the bathroom when the woman spoke sleepily.
“Why so early, darling?”
He strode toward her, still carrying his clothes. She stirred, rounded shoulders and full breasts braving the cold, her face now more distinct. Sweeping her hair up with one arm, she reached out with the other. He stared with barely disguised lust; the charming armpit thus exposed looked as arousing as the ample breasts bathed in the pink light. The sleepy gaze was not necessarily reserved for this time of night: she had proven her expertise in seduction with those large dark eyes framed by long eyelashes, eyes that spoke of the bedroom, of the pleasures of the flesh. Full lips pouting in anticipation, she waited, eyes shut, arm still outstretched. Smiling at her unrestrained behavior and ravenous appetite, he sat down on the edge of the bed. Her provocative scent mingled with the bedclothes, fragrant from passionate hours.
He yielded to the invitation of the arms wrapped around his neck. Languid eyes smoldered into his as she tugged away the bedclothes separating them to free her warm, buxom figure and snuggle up to him. She stroked his back and the muscles in his arms, pressed his head against her breasts, and presented her nipples to his lips. Effectively captured by her skillful limbs — surprising on such a petite woman — he enjoyed a lingering kiss before drawing back.
“It’s time I got ready. You might like to get up too; I’ll have you dropped off.”
She pouted with a half shrug. “Couldn’t we stay just a little longer?”
“I need to set off.”
“Where to?”
“Moscow.”
“When will you be back? Will you call upon me again?” She stirred as if to get up during this barrage, hoping to tempt him to change his mind.
All she got in response, however, was a jaunty smile and a pinch on the cheek before he walked toward the bathroom. He mused as he washed; he couldn’t remember her name — just another one-night stand. Someone he had met at a wild party where the drink had flowed like water…and they had left together. She was no petty commoner, if the splendor of her dress and jewelry was anything to go by. In all likelihood, she’d arrived on someone else’s arm — probably the man who’d paid for that splendor.
As he shaved, his thoughts strayed to the journey ahead. Best to get a move on, given he had arranged to meet the others at the station in an hour.
By the time he’d returned to the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, she was already dressed. He patted his cheeks and neck with lotion from a bottle on the console. “Wouldn’t you like to take a bath?”
“I never take a bath on my own,” came the flirtatious reply.
An irrepressible grin lit up his face as he combed his hair, thinking, Her husband — or lover, whoever it was — certainly has his work cut out. He dressed, ignoring his audience, who sat on the edge of the bed to admire the view.
Muscular and fit, the young man in his early twenties carried himself with an aristocratic posture and demeanor. His moustache and floppy fringe were chestnut. A cleft chin seemed to complete his striking looks: flashing dark-blue eyes, a straight nose, and a perpetually sardonic mouth.
The redhead patted her curls back into place and sighed. Her questions were destined to remain unasked as the young man, now in full uniform and boots, strode between wardrobe and dresser, clearly lost in his own thoughts. He picked up several items from drawers, and some books went into a suitcase. She watched, astonished that he appeared to have forgotten the many wonderful hours they had shared in bed. Her wiles had failed to hook him. She leaned back with another sigh.
Taking a ring from a box by the mirror, he placed it on his finger and then put a watch in his pocket. She remembered openly admiring them last night — she adored jewelry after all, and he’d said the sapphire-and-diamond ring was a family heirloom. The enameled gold watch adorned with rubies was a gift from Tsar Nicholas II, he’d told her.
Soon they were ready to leave. A muffled clatter rose from the street. The second carriage had arrived. He picked up his coat and hat. “All right, let’s go,” he said. “I’ll have you taken home.”
He extinguished the lamp and walked to the door. She followed, surprised and not a little disconcerted at the absence of one last kiss or a plea for another meeting, as if there had been nothing between them.
The coachmen leaped down and ran over the snow. The young man turned to his guest, took her hand, and said, “Aktem will drop you off. Fare thee well, my lovely.” Her name wasn’t even on the tip of his tongue.
“Will we meet again?” she tried one last time.
“Why not?”
Happier now, she presented her cheek for a kiss, unbothered by the coachmen’s presence. Finally, gathering her courage, and with a bashful smile, she asked the one question that had plagued her all this time. “Tell me your name again?”
His merry laughter rang in the snowy street’s early morning silence. So the night had not been that memorable for either of them! Except for the ending, that is. He bowed, as if they had just met, and enunciated deliberately: “First Lieutenant Seyit Memedovich Eminof.”
* * *
As the two carriages drove away in opposite directions, the auburn beauty who had sweetened his night was already slipping from his mind.
AUTHOR: Nermin Bezmen
TITLE: Kurt Seyt & Shura
TRANSLATION: English
GENRE: Memoir/Historical Fiction/Historical Romance
RELEASE DATE: January 3, 2018
PUBLISHER: Indie Published
ISBN/ASIN: B078T3WPNY
OUR RATING: ♥♥♥♥ 4 stars
REVIEWED BY: V.B. “Can Do Indie Author”
Reviewer Bio: VB is an indie author who writes romance and Sci-Fi, and voraciously reads anything (with some limits). When she’s not reading and writing, she’s working a day job to pay for her truck habit and puttering around her house.
Thanks for reading our latest book review on ILRB! ♥ Have a great week, everyone!
Originally published at http://iloveromanceblog.wordpress.com on May 28, 2024.
