I've been avoiding Pamuk for a while but may need to read Museum of Innocence for some Nabokovilia:
At a third level the book can be read as a meditation on the compulsion of collecting and, even, on the act of writing itself. For what is writing fiction but an obsessive collecting of and rearrangement of memories. The story is filled with intertextual references to the works of some of Pamuk’s favourite European authors: Flaubert, Dostoevsky, Nabokov and, above all, Proust. It could have easily have been entitled In Remembrance of Things Past.