I read this book before taking a trip to Istanbul. Reading didn't really impact how I perceived or felt about Istanbul. Which I think is an indictment of either me or the author. This book was self indulgent, which I suppose is par for the course for a memoir, but it wasn't really clear what the point of it was. For most of the book, he rambles aimlessly. The final portion of the book resolves into an actual story about his first romance that has some coherence and would have made a reasonable short story.