Separated from Istanbul by a narrow stretch of the Sea of Marmara, Büyükada is an island paradise. Summerhouse, the debut from Turkish novelist Yigit Karaahmet, paints a portrait of this idyllic setting in the full glory of its summer ripeness. The most impressive house on the island belongs to Şener and Fehmi Bey. On a hill overlooking the sea and surrounded by lush gardens, the men have created a luxurious home away from prying, judgmental eyes. Despite having been lovers for forty years, the two men live together under the pretense of bachelor friendship. Given Büyükada’s small size, Şener and Fehmi are well acquainted with and liked by all their neighbors.
Within the walls of their home unfolds an archetypal story of love over decades. These lovers know one another more intimately than anyone in the world and are each other’s only family, even while secrecy, familiarity, and proximity begin to breed contempt. Such is the case as Fehmi insists on overseeing the construction of a gazebo for the garden to protect the workers from Şener’s nagging. He’d rather be working on the translation he’s been working on while Şener tends to their home. Coming from Soho Press’s Crime imprint, we know there’s more to the story, but Karaahmet’s gift for succinctly capturing flashes of tenderness in everyday life hooks the reader long before any of the twists.
Outsiders rarely come to the island for more than a day trip, so when the long vacant home next to Şener and Fehmi’s mansion is rented for the summer, the men cannot help but notice their new neighbors. The tenants are a well-to-do family from Istanbul, hiding from prying eyes of their own. While Berna and Cem take turns traveling back to the city for work, their troubled teenage son Deniz is like a prisoner in a beautiful cell.
Deniz’s youthful beauty and devil-may-care attitude capture Fehmi’s attention almost immediately, and his obsession threatens to unravel the life he and Şener have built so meticulously for so many years. Deniz’s youth is a stark reminder of the older mens’ age, the way their bodies have softened and the sharp edges of their personalities worn down over time. When Şener notices his lover’s attention waning, he begins to spiral. What follows is a remarkable meditation on aging, masculinity, beauty, commitment, and the simultaneously protective and caustic nature of secrets. The emotional threads of the novel are woven together masterfully.
Karaahmet’s prose—and the English translation by Nicholas Glastonbury—is stunning. His descriptions of Büyükada are evocative enough to make the island a character in its own right, acting on the humans living alongside it with its own will. Every sentence is as thick and heavy as the moments they describe, with humidity and suspicion practically dripping off the page. Every single sentence is gorgeously wrought and savorable.
Summerhouse is a novel of dichotomies. It explores right and wrong, masculinity and femininity, youth and age, freedom and imprisonment. Its gorgeous imagery exists alongside wry narration that is frequently—and surprisingly—funny. It is as much a love story as a thriller, and it is both in equal measure.
The state of queer acceptance in Turkey is certainly an omnipresent haze lingering over the novel, but the book is less a commentary about gay rights than it is about celebrating gay wrongs—casting the homosexual in the role of the human instead of archetypal villain. Karaahmet’s work builds on the legacy of queer horror and suspense and the wielding of hyperrealism to generate emotional reaction and propel the story.
Summerhouse will appeal to queer readers as well to lovers of thriller and fiction in translation. It’s a deeply tender story about love after decades hidden beneath the veneer of a page-turning thriller that has something for most every reader. If you’re reading this delicious book on the beach, be sure to wear sunscreen because you won’t be able to put it down.
FICTION
By Yigit Karaahmet
Soho Crime
Published May 27, 2025
