Finished the whole book in just five days, my quickest read in a long time. 

Melancholic, strangely moving, and full of deep youthful yearning. At no point in the story could I tell where it was going,

except for the climax - I saw it coming unfortunately, which is actually rare on my part - but

it was a nice read and beautifully translated. 

As soon as I finished the book, I felt like it was good. Days later, I felt like it was really good. I kept having flashbacks to certain scenes, and the simple realism of the plot left me pondering about the existence of lone lovers in the world and their earnest longings. I feel like my eyes have been opened to yet another genre that I had previously never considered due to my aversion to the romance genre. Although I don't particularly enjoy books with a melancholic vibe as well as those from the modern-day romance genre, this book left me curious to explore others that revolve around such themes of archaic subtle romance accompanied with feelings of deep longing that is not often showcased in today's media.

 As a Turkish reader, I sometimes feel it’s almost a shame that I hadn’t read this book until now. But maybe it had to find me at this exact moment in life. When I’m more open to its quiet sorrow, more able to see myself in its silences. One thing I’m grateful for is being able to read it in its original language. The old, textured vocabulary added depth—not just to the words, but to the emotions behind them. It made me feel closer to Sabahattin Ali’s prose. 

This was such an understated, melancholic, and devastatingly tender read. Madonna in a Fur Coat is a quiet storm of longing, loneliness, and love unspoken. Told through the voice of a young man searching for meaning in 1920s Berlin, the story unfolds slowly. Gently wrapping its sorrow around you. The language is deceptively simple, like a truth you’ve always known but never dared to speak aloud. 

Ali captures the emotional isolation of those who don’t quite fit into the world they’re born into. The connection between Raif and Maria Puder is fragile yet intense, filled with yearning but restrained by circumstance and fear. Is it love? Or is it JUST love? It feels like something deeper, something unnameable. 

Raif is one of literature’s quietest heartbreaks: a man with a rich, tender inner world, who is never allowed to live it fully. His tragedy isn’t marked by a dramatic moment It’s a slow, lifelong silencing of the self. 

This book has such a quiet, aching beauty. It’s one of those rare stories that lingers long after the last page. It’s for those who’ve loved deeply and quietly, who’ve felt unseen, or who understand that sometimes, the most powerful stories are the ones where almost nothing happens—at least on the surface. 

‘It was all too clear that she wanted the time to pass quickly, while I clung to the absurd hope that we could stay sitting side by side for ever more.’