Why Animals Keep Appearing in My Stories

Why Animals Keep Appearing in My Stories

People often ask why animals appear so frequently in my stories.

A raven.

A dog.

A cat watching from a window.

A bird landing where it shouldn’t.

Sometimes readers assume they are symbols.

Sometimes they are.

But the real reason is much simpler.

I trust animals.

Not because they are always kind.

Not because they are always innocent.

But because they are honest.

Animals do not care about social status.

They do not care about reputation.

They do not care about the stories people tell about themselves.

They react to what is actually there.

Humans are different.

We are constantly interpreting, justifying, pretending, hiding, performing, and explaining.

An animal simply observes.

Then reacts.

That honesty fascinates me.

For years I have been interested in criminal psychology and human behavior. One thing that repeatedly appears in both research and real life is that people are remarkably good at hiding their intentions.

A dangerous person rarely walks into a room announcing that they are dangerous.

Predators rarely introduce themselves as predators.

In fact, many are charming.

Many are intelligent.

Many are well liked.

Human beings can disguise their motives behind smiles, manners, and carefully constructed identities.

Animals cannot.

And more importantly, they often seem capable of sensing things we miss.

Every pet owner has experienced this.

The dog that immediately distrusts someone.

The cat that refuses to approach a particular visitor.

The horse that becomes nervous around a specific individual.

Perhaps there is a scientific explanation.

Perhaps there isn’t.

But I have always been fascinated by that instinct.

Animals read body language with extraordinary precision.

They notice tension.

They notice fear.

They notice aggression.

They notice subtle signals that most humans ignore.

In many ways, they are experts in survival.

That idea found its way into Kuzgun.

The raven in the novel is not simply a bird.

It is not merely a symbol.

It is a reminder that nature is always watching.

Long before human beings built cities, created laws, established courts, or invented detective work, predators and prey were already reading each other.

The raven exists in that older world.

A world where instinct matters.

A world where survival depends on noticing what others fail to see.

That theme appears throughout my work.

I am interested in observation.

I am interested in hidden truths.

I am interested in the details people overlook.

Animals often represent those ideas better than humans can.

A person can lie.

A raven cannot.

A person can manipulate.

A dog cannot.

A person can create an entire false identity.

A bird perched silently on a rooftop simply watches.

Perhaps that is why I return to animals again and again.

Not because they are magical.

Not because they possess supernatural abilities.

But because they remind us of something we often forget.

Beneath our technology, our institutions, our professions, and our carefully constructed lives, we are still animals ourselves.

We still carry instincts.

We still sense danger.

We still react to fear.

And sometimes, when we ignore those instincts, an animal notices what we refuse to see.

That possibility has always fascinated me.

And I suspect it always will.

— Esra Yalabık