"I know, at least a little bit, what it’s like to be confused with Batman"
-Elif Batuman systematically juxtaposes the horrific and mundane, often in the same clause, a style reconciled in content and diction to tragedy, often long-past, that all it can do is point out. Line by line it might come off as callous, but mostly I find it bracing, and her circuitous routes lead us through real-life (apparent) absurdity to moments of startling pathos:
In 2008, the mayor of Batman tried to sue the producers of “The Dark Knight,” citing, among other complaints, his theory that the psychological effects of the superhero’s success were contributing to his city’s high rate of female suicides. Everyone made fun of this mayor, but I felt sorry for him. Was it because of my surname—because I know, at least a little bit, what it’s like to be confused with Batman? In any case, I had no trouble imagining how I would feel seeing one Batman raking in a billion dollars while my Batman had nothing.
[“Letter From Turkey - Natural Histories - A Journey in the Shadow of Ararat”]
