Ayse has always had a horror of the azan. Not the austere beauty of the human voice, even recorded and amplified as it is in these degenerate days, nor the counterpoint of many calls from different distances across the city, breaking across each other in waves of sound. It horrifies her because it has no respect for her. It says this is not your city and time. This is God's city, this is God's time, and God's time is absolute. Your comings and goings and doings and dealings are hung around these five pillars. Five times a day you must stop what you are doing and turn to God. She fears the azan because to her it is the sound of atavism. It denies change and the hope of change. It says that all works of hands are temporary, all hope of progress is futile. All that is necessary is here. This is the perfect way. Come and pray. She fears it because it says that Istanbul, Queen of Cities, Abode of Felicity, is a man's city. The azan says there is nothing for Ayse Erkoç.
- IAN MCDONALD, The Dervish House
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