Written on the Body: Literary Tattoos

I adore this photo, very close to my heart, but despite my best intentions I was not able to find the name of the photographer, if you could let me know I would love to add the name of the artist.

One of the most unforgettable experiences for an author is when a reader attends your literary event and tells you how deeply they have loved a novel you've written, and then, with a shy smile, reveals a tattoo on their arm—one that, to your astonishment, features a line from your work.

Once, in London, I met a couple who had met through a bookclub where they had read and discussed The Forty Rules of Love. A year later, when they got married, they each decided to have one of the rules in the novel inked on their bodies.

Another time, once again inspired by the Forty Rules of Love, a reader had these lines tattooed on their body:

“I hunt everywhere for a life worth living and a knowledge worth knowing.

Having roots nowhere, I have everywhere to go.”

When 10 Minutes 38 Seconds in this Strange World was published, I met some readers who had the words “water-family” or “I ♥ my water-family” inscribed on their bodies—a reference to the story of a sex-worker in Istanbul named Tequila Leila, and her beloved friends, her second family.

And then when The Island of Missing Trees was published, I received beautiful and touching messages from readers in different part of the world, readers of diverse backgrounds, including Turkish-Cypriots and Greek-Cypriots, who kindly told me they had felt such a profound connection with the story that they wanted to have a tattoo based on it. Some of these photos I was able to find when writing this piece:

I have always been fascinated by literary tattoos. In my latest novel, There Are Rivers in the Sky, I wrote about an ancient tradition in the Middle East, still to this day largely practised by older Yazidi and Kurdish women. It is called deq. The ink for deq is made with mother’s milk and ash. The symbols have their own unique stories. When you travel the region, you can still meet elderly women with remarkable facial tattoos.

Ever since the day the novel has been published a few months back, I have been astonished by the number of tattoo-related messages I have been receiving. I am deeply touched and moved by this. Several readers and booksellers have the ancient sign of water inked on their bodies— the very sign with which my book starts.

Other readers have chosen to get their names or life mottoes in cuneiform:

And once, a young reader said to me: ‘I have been walking around British Museum, searching the tattoo parlour in your novel.’

‘And did you find it?’ I asked, smiling.

‘No! I looked everywhere, I was so convinced that it was real. But maybe one day someone will open that shop.’

‘Maybe one day…’ I said, echoing her words.

There is a tattoo artist called Nen in my latest novel, There Are Rivers in the Sky. On its window glows a sign in neon blue: THE FORGOTTEN GODDESS.

Underneath, in a smaller inscription, it says:

OUR TATTOOS LAST LONGER THAN MOST MARRIAGES

My fictional character tattoos in cuneiform—the ancient writing systems of Mesopotamia, Persia, and Ugarit, which have mainly survived on clay tablets.

She also tattoos the characters in the Epic of Gilgamesh, which I have always believed would make fascinating imagery: Gilgamesh, Enkidu, Humbaba, Ishtar, Shamhat….

It is a very special and deep bond, the one we build with the novels we love. Outsiders might not understand it at all, and those who do understand it need no further explanation. Literature is always like this, written on our bodies, written in our hearts.