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Dimitris Nollas, on the occasion of the publication of his book The Garden in Flames (the third part of the Difficult Times trilogy), spoke with Dionysis Marinos in the newspaper Eleftheria tou Tupou.The interview was published on Monday 19 June and you can read it below: What if Greece were an amateur theatre troupe? And what if the play they were staging ended with a ‘forest’ of flames that would leave nothing intact in its wake? Does destruction also contain the seed of creation? Dimitris Nollas, having completed the trilogy ‘Difficult Times’, speaks to ‘Eleftheria tou Typou’ about his latest novel ‘The Garden in Flames’ and more. Mr Nollas, having completed the ‘Difficult Times’ trilogy, can we conclude with ‘what is our homeland?’ I think your question concerns the reader of the book more. For me, however, my homeland is everything I still experience in this blessed land and the joy I derive from those literary works created in the Greek language by the masters of the past, the present, and the future. Have you decided within yourselves whether we were struck by storms we could not withstand, or whether we brought them upon ourselves? Only the dead cannot withstand the storms that befall them. Man can overcome all storms. Of course, whoever provokes them is asking for trouble. Don’t you think that those who provoke storms should be prepared to foot the bill? Note that even left-wingers, when faced with power, did not hesitate to play their part.Do you think that left-wingers are immune to the cult of power? That they are angels who exist outside this world? Your heroes are part of an amateur theatre troupe. One might say that the choice is no accident. As if this troupe symbolises Greece. No, it is not a random choice. In a fictional construct, chance is controlled. Even the ritual burning at the end of the book suggests that only destruction can lead to a new beginning. Do you believe that? I believe what I write and I always take responsibility for it. I believe, therefore, that when we stray from moderation, it is always destruction that follows. This is true in society, just as it is in nature. A new beginning always comes to heal the harm caused by a catastrophe. I do not believe that a catastrophe is the end of the world. One need only recall, to stick to our modern history, the years 1897, 1922, and indeed the entire 1940s. Is there any personal responsibility for how we got here? For many years, the phrase ‘we all ate it together’ was at the heart of a fierce debate. Without personal responsibility, we have no individuals, we have a faceless mass. What made this statement so outrageous was that it was uttered by a political leader who did not have the courage, at the very moment he said it, to repent and apologise to all those sheep who followed him and voted for him, taking advantage of the handouts he showered upon them (with borrowed money, let us not forget). That is why it ‘became the focus of intense controversy’, as you say, because that condemnation stung, as it forced each of us to face up to our own personal responsibility. Further proof that this statement corresponded to reality. Such words, however, require courage, which this particular individual lacked. And he did well to withdraw from politics shortly afterwards. Let us give him credit for that. Did the ruling Left prove to be little or no Left at all? Or, in the end, is it succeeding? What do you think? Left or no left, whether it’s a lot or a little, it is obliged to manage the communal areas of the block of flats. The most important thing, however, is that, for the time being at least, it is not rummaging through our souls, but our wallets. Do hard times produce good works of art? Does literature need ‘crises’ to flourish? I think that, in any case, works of art are the fruits of intellectual crisis. Does the movement of ‘partakism’ (an excellent neologism) still exist in these times of crisis? In extreme circumstances, such as a crisis like the one we are experiencing, selfishness (‘philotomaris’ is a suitable term) evolves into the ‘partakism’ movement. In other words, the primitive feeling that I am the centre of the world becomes widespread, and thus only my personal survival will ensure the world’s continued existence. The salvation of the Universe will depend solely on my own. Others do not exist. I do not see them, I do not understand them, nor do I perceive them as my fellow creatures of God. You realise that we have already entered the antechamber of the prehistoric jungle. And if that sounds exaggerated to you, well, the antechamber of the madhouse. Are we an angry people, Mr Nolla? I don’t know. What is worrying, however, is that very few of us are angry about our own actions, about our own choices. What I do know is that, in any case, the angry person finds it hard to find a ‘solution to their drama’.

Ioulita Iliopoulou, on the occasion of the publication of the five-language anthology “The Small World, the Great World!” by Odysseas Elytis, set to music by Giorgos Kouroupos, as well as the 21st anniversary of the death of the leading Greek Nobel Prize-winning poet Odysseas Elytis, spoke with journalist Yiannis Hatzigeorgiou in the cultural supplement Filgood of the newspaper Fileleftheros in Cyprus.The interview was published on Sunday 12 March and can be read below: 21 years after the death of the leading Greek Nobel Prize-winning poet Odysseas Elytis, who passed away on 18 March 1996, his partner and companion in life, the poet Ioulita Iliopoulou, sheds light on the unseen aspects that have been inextricably linked to his existence and art all these years. Where does poetry stand today, Ms Iliopoulou? Where we are, I would say, with all that that implies. It is, after all, a very internal process within us, which, whilst it seems to follow our concerns, often dictates them; whilst it seems to capture our thoughts in language, it often provokes them. It is energy, power, for the writer perhaps, for the reader certainly – and it is there, unseen or visible, with him.What is the difference between writing poems and living poetically – or even placing oneself within the poetic function? For me, poetry, the poetic function and art are almost synonymous. The code of expression changes each time: language when it becomes poetry, sound when it becomes music, and so on. To live poetically, however, as you say, if it is not identified with the meaning given by Hölderlin when he wrote ‘all toil, and yet poetically dwells man upon this earth’ and is interpreted in its current, distorted sense, I do not know if it bears any relation to the deeper meaning of the poetic function. That which demands vigilance, transformation, boldness, sometimes arbitrariness, devotion, struggle, perseverance. To live amidst this constant stirring of one’s mind and soul, in constant vigilance, yes, that could truly be poetic! What is the ‘little and essential’ of life, according to Odysseas Elytis, ‘the little and precise’? But life itself in its elemental truth, in the purity of its sources, in the clarity of feelings, in the grandeur of thought, in the strength of the soul, in the reading of the secrets of its signs. How did he himself live his daily life? And in what way did he transform simple, everyday things into poetry? Just as poetry is transcendence, the overcoming of contradictions, free and combinatory imagination, but also order and definition, so too can the poet become a creator of wonders, yet at the same time he is a persistent cultivator, armed with ‘reason and dreams’. Elytis lived with order and a routine, devoted to his work, always very simply. He undoubtedly accepted stimuli, but the thematic core of his poems was not detectable – most often, even at a superficial level – within current reality. A particularly internal process gave meaning to his themes and transformed them linguistically.  Photo: Alexandra Argyri‘Alone I ruled my sorrow… Alone I despaired of death…’. It is customary for us, as readers of poets, to imagine them – removed from all social interaction – in their solitude, creating, brooding, falling alone and then rising again, drawing courage from a secret strength that springs from within them. Was that how Elytis operated too? Spirituality is one thing, antisocial behaviour another; introspection is one thing, melancholy another. Elytis did not have a good relationship with melancholy, nor with isolation. He had loves, friends and collaborators throughout his life and always adopted a positive attitude towards life, with all its problems and difficulties. His focus on the essential, his deep faith in the power of poetic art, and his constant search for the crucial, constituted a way of life, of action and of responding to adversity.How did the poet work? How many hours did he devote to his poetry each day? The rhythm of daily life and work, in any case, changes according to the different phases of our lives. Elytis always worked on his writing, whether it was poetry or prose. When he was immersed in a project, he worked systematically from the morning, with short breaks to deal with practical matters. The hours of the night were always the most productive. Did he himself prefer the day and the light to the darkness, even though poets are usually inspired by the latter? Elytis built his entire body of work around the theme of light, shaping a ‘solar metaphysics’ – we are not merely speaking of a physical preference, but of a concept rich in meaning. Did he demand absolute silence when he wrote? Did he isolate himself? He loved the quiet during working hours, but nothing absolute or excessive. Isolation, after all, was not a matter of physical space, but of the inner process of contemplation. Even when he wasn’t writing, did you feel that he was already writing his next works in his mind? Thoughts, words and ideas are always circulating. Of course, no one writes only when they pick up a pen. Often he would be preoccupied with a line, a missing word, which he might find at an unexpected moment outside the writing process.Were there works he particularly loved, his own or those of others? He himself loved to move on to the next one. To change form whilst remaining true to himself. He did not refer selectively to his own works. On the contrary, he often referred to Dionysios Solomos or Hölderlin. Who, in his opinion, could be called a poet? I think that the work, and ultimately time, history, bestow titles and names. Elytis’s choices in his prose writings set the standard; they convey with absolute clarity the scope and the defining distinction of the meaning of ‘poetry’ and, by extension, ‘poet’.How did Odysseas Elytis’s human sensitivity and spirituality combine with the intellectual power of his thought, with his vigorous yet at the same time lyrical writing?  I see nothing contradictory in what you say. Spirituality and intellectual power, lyricism and sensitivity, are complementary and reciprocal pairs, good conduits of their energy.The world, because whilst it is small, it is at the same time great, just as the title of the excellent Ikaros publication you recently edited suggests? Was this also the world of Odysseas Elytis?  The small, humble elements of this world are those that have the greatest significance, value and endurance. Whether it is a mint leaf, a seashore, a word or an embrace. The world of small units presented in ‘Doxastikon’, for example, captures both the grandeur of the mystery of existence and the essence of his own Greek identity. Tell us about this new edition: ‘The Small World, the Great World!’ by Odysseas Elytis, with music by Giorgos Kouroupos”, published by Ikaros Publications… It is a portrait of the poet, a brief yet substantial exploration of Elytis’s autobiographical and essayistic writings, accompanied by an anthology of characteristic poetic fragments that reveal, to the initiated reader and, above all, to the uninitiated, his poetic principles and his value system. The poet’s visual works—tempera paintings and collages, as well as photographic material—adorn the publication, which encompasses not only the image but also the sound of poetry. Recitations, musical accompaniments alongside the spoken word, but above all Elytis’s poetry set to music by Giorgos Kouroupos, are captured on the two CDs included. This is a magnificent musical setting, which succeeds in offering all the delight of a joyful lyrical listening experience through enchanting songs, whilst also demonstrating the deep connection between the word and the musical phrase, thus leading the listener deeper into the magic of the poetic world. At the same time, all this material—both poetry and prose—is rendered in four other languages. Translations into English, French, Italian and Spanish are included in this five-language anthology.How did you discover this magic of Odysseas Elytis? In other words, what was the point at which Odysseas Elytis became the most important of all to you personally, to your daily life, to his presence – even in his absence today? My first real encounter with him – with his work, I mean – took place when I was a schoolgirl and read ‘Three Poems with a Flag of Convenience’. From a collection of, one might say, idiosyncratic theoretical poems, I subsequently came to appreciate the lyricism, the philosophical reflection and the magic of his language. This encounter continues – I mean my engagement with and study of his work. What, however, were the difficulties of living alongside one of the most significant figures of Greek intellectual life? Elytis never lost his sense of human proportion. He lived simply, applying the principles of his work to his life; he lived honouring the little and the precious, the essential, the humble things that can be priceless. He had great energy, a positive attitude towards life, and respect for others. He gave space to those he loved; he was keen for others to find their own path. All these things are precious in a shared existence.In what moments is he present in your life today? Well, the people we love live within us anyway. Elytis, in fact, is constantly present. Don’t forget that a large part of my work – apart from my own writing – is connected to his work. I study his work, I collaborate with translators and scholars on it, and I recite his poetry. Elytis was also the poet who, through his art, celebrated Greece, its beauty and its islands like few others… What was his own relationship with the sea, with travel, which islands did he love? Insularity in his poetry is a distinct theme, one that is present and evolves throughout his entire body of work. It is simply, I would say, the identity of the Greek; it is his fingerprint, a mark created by art, history and the natural landscape. Elytis travelled extensively throughout the Greek islands. Spetses, as the place where he spent his summers as a child, shaped, I would say, his island consciousness. Later, of course, the Cyclades were a destination for exploration, as he encountered these islands in their unspoilt state.Did he distinguish Cyprus from Greece? He loved Cyprus – beyond the fact that it had been his refuge for a few months during the dictatorship in Greece – he honoured its history, admired the industriousness of many Cypriots, and worried about its fate. How could he distinguish Cyprus from Greece, you ask, since, as he wrote, ‘where the language is, there is the homeland’? Did he realise the extent of his own importance? He had no conceit, if that is what you are referring to.Did he not even believe, when he was awarded the Nobel Prize, that he was truly important and memorable? The Nobel Prize did not change anything in his life. It perhaps took two years of his work, because he was forced to respond to certain proposals, deal with a huge volume of correspondence, and undertake journeys. But with the same dedication as before, as soon as the great commotion of the Nobel Prize had died down, he returned to his same small office, to his writing, battling ‘the “No” and the “Impossible” of this world’. ‘‘I lived on nothing / words alone were not enough for me…’. In what circumstances were words alone – and only words – enough for him? Words are never enough, because we carry on writing and searching for a new formulation, a different way of capturing a fresh thought. Did he have friends? Did he enjoy socialising? Or was he particularly – and very – selective in that regard too? Of course he had friends. Empeirikos, Moralis, Gatsos and many others were suddenly his close friends. Evangelos Louizos, for example, the publisher Nikos Karydis, Takis Horn. In fact, he maintained friendships dating back to his university days, friendships that lasted until the end of his life. Love is also a significant part of his poetry. How did he perceive it? As yet another god? As something innocent? As something that, when it happens, silences all other aspects of existence? Love is a primary element in his work, permeating his writing, existing either as a romantic conception of the world, or as sensibilities refined by the intellect, or as a natural approach. It is love ‘in each other’s embrace’, but also the belief ‘that love is not what we know, nor what the magicians claim. But a second life, unblemished, in eternity’. You were, Ms Iliopoulou, that slender girl with long black hair, always by the poet’s side and in literary circles. What do you retain in your memory today from all those images? What I retain is not a memory, but the desire to exist with the same purity, respect and love towards the creations of the mind and art – towards life. When did you first encounter poetry? If you mean when I started writing, quite young, at primary school. How much has your perspective on it changed since you ‘met’ Elytis? I met Elytis early in my life. For me, then and now, he represented and continues to represent the embodiment of marvellous richness of content and expression – I’m telling you this just as I expressed it back then, as a schoolgirl. Of all the things he used to tell you from time to time, which is the one you would take with you for today’s world? Of all that he told us, to everyone, and tells us daily through his work, let us conclude with the exhortation to seek within our reality ‘the deepest meaning of a humble paradise, which is our true self, our right, our freedom, our second and true moral sun”. Find out more about the five-language anthology “The Small World, the Great World!” by Odysseas Elytis, set to music by Giorgos Kouroupos.

Christos Giannaras, on the occasion of the publication of his two most recent books, *Ontology of the Person* (Person-centred Ontology), and Here and Beyond (Attempts at Ontological Interpretation), spoke with journalist Yiannis Hatzigeorgiou in the magazine Philgood, published by the newspaper Phileleftheros in Cyprus.The interview was published on Sunday 12 February and you can read it below:The philosopher, academic, thinker and ―above all― one of the few remaining intellectuals in Greece continues, in one of his rare interviews, to remain incisive, bold, and at times ‘heretical’, boldly posing new questions for reflection in every answer he gives.The living room of the author and one of the most significant contemporary Greek thinkers, philosophers and professors of philosophy—noted for his public discourse and writings (at Panteion University, though he has taught philosophical terminology and methodology, political philosophy and cultural diplomacy at universities in Paris – he is, after all, a Doctor of Philosophy from the Faculty of Humanities at the Sorbonne University—as well as in Geneva, Lausanne, New York, Boston, Belgrade, etc.) is not filled with books, studies – let alone his own extensive bibliography – but, on the contrary, with framed photographs of his loved ones, mementos from his travels, and small but undoubtedly precious objects. It was very cold that Friday evening when we met, in the little alley where he lives and works, opposite the church of Agios Charalambos, in Nea Smyrni. ‘The old folks were right to build houses with small windows rather than large panes,’ he remarked at one point, smiling. He treated me to some mastic ouzo, poured himself a glass too – ‘it’s just the thing for this sort of weather,’ he said, and sat down in the armchair by the fireplace. He asked me a few things about Cyprus, mentioning specific names of politicians and arguing for or against his opinion of certain ones, concluding that ‘Cyprus pays for our empty faces’ and remained silent for a moment. ‘Savvopoulos was spot on with that line,’ he concluded. A few days ago, you wrote in an article: ‘In Greek society, nothing is renewed with the passing of time. Unbiased, fundamentally realistic thinking also rules out hope. We know the human quality of those who manage our lives, the effectiveness of the institutions and functions of public life, the laws of the jungle that prevail in our much-vaunted cultural ‘model’. All of this rules out hope.” So should we expect utter destruction in the future? And to what extent?What I personally conclude, Mr Hatzigeorgiou, from history and human experience, is that only a realistic awareness of reality can give rise to the surprise of a recovery. The hopes of the Greeks in 1821 were nil: the Ottoman Empire held overwhelming superiority, and the authoritative power of the ‘Holy Alliance’ in Europe ruled out any possibility of rebellion against the established balance of power. A similar overwhelming imbalance existed in the Greeks’ confrontation with the ‘Axis Powers’ in 1940. In both cases, the surprise stemmed from the Greeks’ consistent and utter despair: they knew what they risked losing, and it was unthinkable to them that they should lose it. Today we cling to ‘optimism’ – we dare not despair, because we have nothing of value to defend. What is most valuable to us today are our ‘individual rights’ and the maximisation of our consumer freedom. Yet we can, more or less, retain these even whilst enslaved – to the Turks or to the ‘Markets’.It seems that this ‘crisis’ is not merely circumstantial or temporary; many, countless signs point rather to an unstoppable momentum towards the historical end of Hellenism. What you write sounds terrifying – your reference to an ‘end’. As if every trace of hope, of optimism for the future, has been lost… Perhaps the reference to a historical end seems like an exaggeration to you. But consider this: is there today any element, any quality, that Hellenism bestows upon the Greek (whether from mainland Greece, Cyprus or the diaspora) which is so precious that without it, their life would no longer have meaning? In other words, an element for which they are prepared to die, so as not to lose it? When Cypriot politicians today haggle over terms that will make the Turkish minority and the invaders the arbiters of Greek life, or when Greek politicians hand their country over to humiliating trusteeship, that is, to a complete surrender of national independence, sovereignty and self-determination, does it shock you that we speak of the ‘historic end’ of Hellenism?Speaking of ‘Cypriot politicians haggling over terms that will make the Turkish minority and the invaders the arbiters of Greek life’, are you also referring to the ‘end of Cypriot Hellenism’ which some have been emphasising almost from the outset of the latest – critical – talks on the Cyprus issue? I am not referring to individuals, I am referring to the fact of the ‘negotiations’. To the unthinkable absurdity of a supposedly independent state, a member of the EU, with a democratically elected leadership, is haggling over its own self-destruction, its submission to the outrageous demands of a domestic minority and to the blackmail of brutal occupiers condemned by all international organisations. Hellenism has every right on its side and, unfortunately, elects leaders of pygmy stature to defend those rights. What, then, must be done, in general, to change the current situation – if it is to change at all? Must sweeping, structural changes take place? Beyond the state and the citizens? Given the fatal decline of Hellenism today, it is utopian to discuss what ‘must’ be done. Even if we were to agree on certain ‘musts’ (which seems impossible), who will then enforce them? The comical little men who govern us? The courts? The police? The citizens, however, do not bear the main responsibility for what is happening today, Mr Giannaras? ‘The most nightmarish of all afflictions is the complete numbing of Greek society’s reflexes,’ you write… Which citizens are we talking about who bear the responsibility for this disgrace and destruction? For the last 43 years – since 1974 – educational policy in Greece and Cyprus has systematically engineered the linguistic and intellectual incapacity of the masses (it is well known that people without language are people without thought), and the complete distortion of their historical consciousness. And the infectious influence of radio and television complements and completes their impoverishment. For only voters who have lost their reason, their judgement and their dignity are capable of sustaining such a debased political class as that which represents Hellenism, both in mainland Greece and Cyprus, over the last few decades – with the unforgettable exception, throughout Greece, of Tassos Papadopoulos. If the Greek people bear any responsibility for the ruin and disgrace in which they are now mired, that responsibility lies solely in the fact that they did not revolt. But even the possibility of revolt has been discredited and ridiculed by the nihilism and amorality of the so-called ‘left-wing progressive and modernising forces’.What do you mean when you refer to ‘revolution’ and ‘uprising’? Armed revolutions, as you understand, are now impossible. I mean, for the key institutions of collective life to react: the judicial authorities, university senates, bar associations, teachers in every school, cultural institutions and associations; for citizens to take to the streets and demonstrate their faith in freedom and dignity. It is unthinkable that people’s humanity should be put at risk and haggled over by politicians whom no one would ever entrust with running even a newsstand.Do the Greeks ‘suffer’ from immaturity, an obsession with the past, a superficial approach to handling difficult situations and ‘spoilt behaviour’, in comparison with other peoples, as they are ‘accused’ of? Has the ‘glorious past’ ultimately done a disservice to the current inhabitants of Greece?My personal opinion is that we modern Greeks suffer only or mainly from pretentiousness, just like all those newly liberated Third Worlders who are dazzled by beads and trinkets. We neither understand nor care about the cultural contribution that Hellenism has made and continues to make to humanity – we are only interested in the tacky kitsch produced by Elladex (Greek and Cypriot) for tourists. Ask an MP from AKEL or ‘New Democracy’ to answer this: why is the Parthenon a more important monument than the Eiffel Tower or the Empire State Building? When, from the generation of Evagoras Pallikarides, Karaolis and Dimitriou, Grigoris Afxentiou, or the generation of Seferis, Elytis, Tsarouchis and Manos Hadjidakis, we are separated by a mere few decades, to what factors can we attribute the rapid decline of Hellenism into today’s nightmare? It is abundantly clear that, in an era where technological progress has created unprecedented opportunities for mass manipulation, these opportunities have been exploited, primarily in Greece and Cyprus, by people of tragically low calibre.What connection do you think there is between the Greeks of Greece and the Greeks of Cyprus? Many people observe a different mindset, different ways of reasoning and different approaches to historical adversity, different points of reference and ways of thinking… Your question raises a very interesting issue: from my personal experience, my impressions and my reading, I have formed the opinion (without claiming that it is the correct one) that there was a crucial difference, up until the mid-20th century, between Hellenism in mainland Greece and Hellenism ‘in the periphery’, as they were called at the time – the Hellenism of Egypt, Asia Minor, Pontus, Crimea and the Danubian regions. Hellenism outside mainland Greece tended to preserve a sense of the superiority of Hellenic identity and no sense of inferiority vis-à-vis Western Europeans. This sense allowed the Greeks to adopt the achievements of Western modernity to serve their own needs, not to avoid lagging behind the Europeans in modernisation. Thus, the adoption of Western elements was assimilative rather than imitative; the critical adoption of Western customs and institutions did not in the slightest diminish the Greekness of the Greeks – they chose, they did not mimic. In mainland Greece, unfortunately, due to Bavarian rule following Kapodistrias, and the inferiority complex (coupled with snobbery) cultivated by the quisling collaborators of the era, followers of Korais, a servile inferiority complex and a lifeless imitation of the West prevailed, accompanied by a deep contempt for anything Greek… As this is a crucial issue, allow me to refer to a relevant book I have written, entitled: ‘Europe was born of the Schism’, published by ‘Ikaros’.Cypriot Hellenism, I believe, embodied the same sense of superiority over the West, right up until the island was declared an independent (?) state. The active Greek self-awareness of the Cypriots gave birth to Hellenism’s last great breath: the EOKA liberation struggle. I cannot forget, as a child at the time, the iconic figure of Polykarpos Ioannides, who wore, all his life, traditional Cypriot ‘alantza’ costumes, thereby undermining the English ‘cashmere’.This conscious Greek identity seems to have been lost for good with Cyprus’s ‘independence’. Cypriot society has changed rapidly and relentlessly into a sad imitation of Greek decline and disgrace. Why do you question Cyprus’s independence? And, furthermore, what do you mean when you say that ‘Cypriot society has changed rapidly and relentlessly into a sad imitation of Greek decline and disgrace’? In a single interview, it is not possible to present a documented and therefore convincing account of a social reality. I dare to make allusions that refer to the attestations of shared experience. It is clear to any rational person that the Greek Cypriot community has established a state, yet its state is not independent; it is a captive of the power of an international terrorist, Turkey, which provocatively denies the very basics of logic and international law, rewarded by the ‘enlightened and illustrious nations of the West’, our own, those pretentious idols. As for the sad Cypriot imitation of Greek decline and disgrace, it is up to each individual to recognise the parallel. At least in terms of intelligence and dignity.In many of your writings, you speak of ‘Greeks’ rather than ‘Greeks from Greece’. Why? Yes, because the majority of the population, simply and coincidentally, inhabits Greek soil, with the mindset and behaviour of a globalised consumer. A Greek under the age of 50 today does not understand Papadiamantis or Roidis; he does not know what ‘I fight for the victorious General’ means. When one hears the ‘Greek’ spoken by George Papandreou, Costas Simitis, Dimitris Christofias and Nicos Anastasiades, one is convinced that a history of three and a half thousand years of Hellenism is ending in disgrace.Isn’t what you say about these particular politicians rather harsh – and perhaps unfair? That, dear Mr Hatzigeorgiou, let us leave to our readers to judge. I judge the ‘Greekness’ of our politicians as a teacher, not as a supporter or opponent. Has realism always been the compass of your thinking, writing and teaching? Have you never resorted to… ‘magic’?I think we have become addicted to operating in a consumerist manner, and our consumerist naivety is fed mainly by ‘impressions’. And even the most insignificant or wretched product can lay claim to titles of quality thanks to ‘packaging’ that makes a good impression. Even someone who is blatantly delusional or utterly corrupt can be elected prime minister or president of the Republic, if they spend a fortune on their advertising and succeed in ‘brainwashing’ the masses. With this ‘logic’, we label as ‘optimism’ or ‘pessimism’, ‘realism’ or ‘utopia’, whatever the well-oiled mechanisms of impression-making would have us believe. We are slaves to ‘effects’, to emotions, to sensational headlines, to the propaganda of television ‘news’.I wonder: over all these years, have you ever been ‘inconsistent’ in your views, exercising the right of a person to reconsider what they once believed, given that the surrounding environment and circumstances change?Allow me to observe that a person’s ‘views’—every person’s—their ‘opinions’ and ‘beliefs’ are, as a rule, individual choices, preferences and inclinations that are, at their core, arbitrary in nature. In today’s cultural ‘paradigm’, this arbitrariness is enshrined as an individual ‘right’ – the conventions that enshrine individual rights have the authoritative force of laws that are ‘binding on all’. The basis of our ‘civilisation’, in other words, is the enshrinement of ‘freedom’ as an individual right of choice, a legal shield for the unchecked indulgence of impulses, appetites and interests. This is why the protection of rights, when it establishes the terms of collectivity, equates civilisation with the barbarism of individualism, not with the exercise of freedom that is the society of relationships. Consequently, whatever is an individual choice (views, opinions, beliefs) we can easily change. However, whatever is the fruit of the endeavour of self-transcendence—that is, freedom from the ‘self’ in order to attain the shared truth of the relationship (of faith and trust, of love and self-giving)—does not change. Its expressive form may mature, but the intended goal remains unchanged. Many describe you as a ‘philosopher’ – and ‘heretical’. Certainly one of the very few in Greece who continue to articulate a discourse. What do such labels mean to you? In the Greek tradition, we attribute labels that embody moderation and modesty. A ‘philosopher’ is not the wise man, the one who possesses wisdom; he is the ‘friend’ of wisdom, the lover of knowledge, the one who loves the truth and seeks it. The title of ‘philosopher’, therefore, is an honour and a compliment. The meaning of the word ‘heretic’ has today strayed far from the original meaning the Greeks attributed to it. Today, ‘heresy’ refers to the notion of truth as ideology, that is, as an individual choice of definitively (or even infallibly) formulated ‘beliefs’. The ‘heretic’ questions or even rejects the codes of certainty of ideology; they have chosen individual ‘beliefs’ that do not align with the ‘principles’ and certainties that are obligatory for the ‘faithful’ followers of the ideology. Thus, the word ‘heretic’ has today taken on a rather positive connotation: it refers to the person who questions the ‘infallible’ dogmas of ideologies, the rigid, mandatory ‘beliefs’. It refers to a person who seeks empirical access to the truth. These, then, are roughly what the terms ‘philosopher’ and ‘heretic’ mean to me. Much has been written and said about your views in relation to religion. In simple terms: what does Orthodoxy mean to you today? Orthodoxy has come to be the name we give to the Greek version of the Christian Church, the Greek experience and witness of the ecclesiastical reality. The Church is not just another religion, even if it is ‘better’ than the others. It is a reality, a way, a means of revealing the truth – and ‘truth’ is existence free from time, space, decay and death. The Greeks had called it the ‘church of the demos’, not merely a general assembly of citizens, but the act, the work of ‘poiein’ the political: for citizens to realise and reveal the ‘polis’, that is, another way of being and coexisting that aims no longer merely at necessity (the society of need) but at truth (the society of the true, at harmony according to reason, at civility). It was with this very same Greek meaning that Christians adopted the word ‘ekklesia’: a gathering that realises and reveals the true ‘way’ of existence and coexistence, freedom from the necessities of self-centred impulses – freedom of erotic self-transcendence and self-offering.To conclude, a question – a personal query of mine – to a man like you: what is the meaning of life, Mr Giannaras? The meaning of life cannot, fortunately, be found in a formula, in a ‘should’. Can we ever experience love by following recipes, advice or exhortations? The meaning of life, just like love, is bestowed as an antidote to the exercise of realising freedom from the ‘self’. That is why, within a cultural ‘paradigm’ founded on the absolute priority of shielding the ‘self’, both the ‘meaning’ of life and love are achievements reserved for only a few stubborn souls. Photo: Penelope Masouri

Anthony Marra gave an extremely interesting interview to Lena Papadimitriou for BHMAgazino magazine, on the occasion of the publication of his book The Tsar of Love and Children (translated by Achilleas Kyriakidis). A tsar is making his mark in Trump’s America. The novelist of the youngest American generation, obsessed with Russian and Chechen history, returns with his new book and explains to BHMAgazino why history is the most inventive storyteller.The interview was published on Sunday 29 January and you can read it below: Following the multi-award-winning Constellation of Vital Phenomena, perhaps the most significant prose writer of the newest American generation, who already has many fans around the world (including Sarah Jessica Parker), returns with the book *The Tsar of Love and Children* (published by Ikaros), in a masterful translation by Achilleas Kyriakidis. Without hiding his obsession with history, the 32-year-old Anthony Mara creates a sweeping, episodic novel or a collection of nine short stories that read as a single novel (whichever way you choose to interpret it), set against the backdrop of the Soviet Union, before and after its dissolution. Mara gathers snapshots of life, with protagonists whom historiography often attempts to erase: ordinary people. The first story, for example, is set in 1937, at the height of Stalin’s purges, featuring the painter-retoucher Roman Markin, who ‘erases’ faces with an airbrush on behalf of the propaganda department. In conversation with BHMAgazino, the American author who insists on delving into the Russian and Chechen universe speaks about Putin’s Russia, Trump’s America, and why history is the most inventive storyteller.It is more than obvious that you have an obsessive relationship with history. So, what are you, ultimately, a storyteller or a history nerd? ‘A wonderful question, but I don’t think it lends itself to a black-and-white answer. Above all, I’m a history nerd, and there is no more inventive storyteller than History itself.’ The US was largely unaware of Chechnya’s existence, at least until the Boston Marathon bombings in 2013. Your own interest in the region began as soon as you arrived to study in St Petersburg, just a few days after the murder of the journalist Anna Politkovskaya, who had exposed human rights abuses by Russian troops in Chechnya. Truly, were you not afraid to tackle such a sensitive international issue through fiction? ‘Literature has a duty to engage with complex and controversial issues. For readers who are fortunate enough to live in countries that enjoy peace, a novel is perhaps the closest they will ever get to places like Chechnya, Syria or Iraq. Readers are willing to travel anywhere in literature, provided the story is good enough. Asking readers to feel compassion for the victims of these conflicts and to identify with them seems even more crucial today, as Europe faces the refugee crisis. In a broader sense, I have focused my attention more on those about whom we learn the least: ordinary citizens. Although The Constellation of Vital Phenomena delves into the history of that specific region, the story of the war’s impact on ordinary people could, geographically speaking, have been set anywhere.”Did you discover anything paradoxical during your research into Russian and Chechen history? ‘Many paradoxes! The other day I was reading Arkady Ostrovsky’s book *The Invention of Russia: The Journey from Gorbachev’s Freedom to Putin’s War*. He writes that in the 1930s, workers in British shipyards found messages written in charcoal on imported timber. They came from prisoners in the Siberian gulags; these messages on the logs they were cutting were their only means of communication with the outside world. Ostrovsky devotes no more than a line or two to this in his book, yet an entire novel could spring from such a small moment. ‘Given that you have researched Russia and the Russian mindset in depth... how would you actually describe Putin’s Russia? Does it have any hope of becoming great again? ‘When I started writing about Russia nine years ago, I still harboured some hopes. The last decade has largely managed to extinguish them. The democratic reforms of the 1990s have been dismantled under the Putin regime. The rule of law no longer functions. Putin has turned the presidency into his own personal prison cell; he cannot escape, for fear of reprisals. I suspect he will rule Russia for the rest of his life. However, states are greater than their politicians. The same country that produced Putin has also produced ‘Pussy Riot’. Putin’s Russia will never be great, but the Russia of ‘Pussy Riot’ already is.’ How popular are you in Russia today? ‘My books have not been published in Russia, which is hardly surprising, given that they do not paint a particularly flattering picture of life under Putin’s regime. I have, of course, given lectures at a few universities and interviews to opposition newspapers, but I suspect that outside intellectual circles I am unknown.”The stories in your latest book—so distinct yet so inextricably linked—are set against the backdrop of the turbulent history of the Soviet Union before and after its dissolution. And yet, the reader gets the sense that your central canvas is human stories. Would you say that, for the most part, you write about those whom historiography struggles to erase? ‘Undoubtedly, that’s a lovely way of putting it. And, yes, that has been the aim of my work so far: to reconstruct those scattered stories that History has forgotten, ignored or erased.” Would you say that *The Tsar of Love and the Child* is a political book? ‘When you write about highly charged moments in history, you are not really in a position to avoid politics, so, in that sense, yes, it is. And both *The Constellation of Vital Phenomena* and *The Tsar of Love and the Child* focus on characters who are far from the sources of political power but close to its effects. Both books explore the ways in which politics can permeate and corrupt the personal sphere. Both are set in parts of the world where the price paid by those who oppose central authority is far higher than that borne by those who do the same in most Western countries. Neither, however, has its own political agenda.’ From the very first page of ‘The Tsar’, one gets a sense of science fiction. I think the final pages confirm this... ‘We tend to think of dystopias and apocalyptic future universes exclusively as products of science fiction. “Star Wars”, “The Hunger Games”, “Mad Max”, etc. And yet, for someone living in Grozny in 1999, the apocalypse has already arrived. For someone in Moscow in 1937, dystopia is everywhere. We don’t need to look to the stars or to the future. For many people, it is already here.’ Correct me if I’m wrong, but it is said that your involvement with the Russian world has now come to an end and that you are currently writing a novel set in Los Angeles and Italy. Would you really consider writing something about Greece? With the unprecedented economic crisis that nearly destabilised the whole of Europe and the waves of refugees, plenty of history is being written here. I assure you there are countless, semi-educated ordinary people... ‘One of the reasons I became involved with Chechnya was the absence of novels examining its modern history in the English language. This is not the case with Greece. You are right, there is no chapter in modern European history more dramatic and more urgent than that of Greece. However, Greece can boast a vibrant literary tradition, which is already producing the texts that will breathe life and meaning into this entire chapter of history. However, if anyone is willing to host me in your country, I would be truly delighted to begin my research.The book is, among other things, prophetic. I would remind you that one of your characters, Sergei, reads Donald Trump’s autobiography when he begins intensive English lessons. ‘It was purely coincidental. I wrote that particular passage long before Trump announced his presidential bid and I really had no idea what fate had in store for us. In that story, I tried to imagine what the ideal model would be for an aspiring hustler. In the category of ‘flashy, tasteless, gilded ass-kissing artists’, Donald Trump is king.Do you think there is a category of Americans ready to believe anything, even if it defies their common sense? Apart, of course, from the Tom Hanks fans you mention in the book... ‘Undoubtedly, I would put Donald Trump’s ardent fans at the top of the list. Anyone who bought one of his ridiculous red caps. It is disheartening how prone to delusion—however unrealistic, absurd and cruel it may be—many of my fellow countrymen prove to be. I grew up in Washington DC and the pizzeria in my neighbourhood is a place called ‘Comet Ping Pong’. My closest childhood friend was working there when, a few weeks ago, a madman turned up with an automatic weapon and opened fire (fortunately, without anyone being injured). What was the gunman’s motive? He had read a ‘fake news’ story claiming that Hillary Clinton was coordinating a satanic, cannibalistic child prostitution ring from inside that pizzeria (note: with ‘clients’ including senior members of her campaign team). And as if that weren’t terrifying enough, the national security adviser to the newly elected US President (note: Michael Flynn) had tweeted this conspiracy theory in recent months (note: according to which young children are being prostituted to Democrats). Now, the inmates are running the asylum.”What sort of American are you? “At the moment, a disheartened American. I have never been prouder to be an American than when Obama was elected, nor more ashamed than when Trump was elected. Obama’s track record, his belief in the possibility of hope and change, was confirmation that the hope I had for America was well-founded. The prejudice and stupidity of Donald Trump and all those he represents were nothing but the sad confirmation that my fear for America was also well-founded.’ In the introduction to her latest book, *Iron Curtain* , the naturalised Polish-American Anne Applebaum writes: ‘There have been regimes that sought absolute control not only over the organs of the state but over human nature itself.’ She concludes that we should today study in depth the ways in which totalitarianism operated in the past, since ‘we cannot be certain that mobile phones, the internet and satellite photographs will not end up as tools of control’. Do you agree? ‘The fundamental dangers of the “surveillance state”, which people like Edward Snowden have brought to light, were always projected into the future. Whatever one may hold against them, both George W. Bush and Barack Obama operated within the framework of democratic, liberal rules. There was never any great danger that either of them would engage in widespread spying or the systematic silencing of opposing voices. The real danger has always been the possibility that these powerful and privacy-invading technologies might fall into the hands of a completely unaccountable president, with no respect for or faith in the rule of law and institutions. For the past fifteen years, this possibility has been placed beyond the visible horizon, in the distant future. The problem with the future is that it always becomes the present.The rise of the far right in Europe and the rest of the world resembles a nightmarish echo of the 1930s. How, indeed, do you explain humanity’s almost inherent inability to learn from history? “It is a reasonable question that everyone is struggling to answer. One fairly strong argument I have read is that the last generation capable of recalling memories from the 1930s has passed away. In other words, there is no longer a living memory of where far-right, nationalist, populist demagoguery can lead. It is likely that those fortunate enough to have lived through the last seventy years of peace regard this as the status quo rather than an anomaly in European history, a fact that explains their tendency to act with less prudence. As for our inability to learn from history, I would say that we are capable of learning only what we are willing to hear.’ Ultimately, is *The Tsar of Love and Children* exclusively the product of historical research and imagination? Weren’t you tempted to weave in autobiographical elements? “Of course. There are quite a few small, autobiographical references. For example, the comments about Jim Carrey from ‘The Grozny Travel Agency’, I picked those up from a conversation I had with a Carrey fan in Chechnya. But also, quite a few of Alexei’s descriptions and experiences are my own genuine experiences, from the time I lived in Russia myself. As for my own doomed childhood dream of becoming an astronaut, it is the coda (ed.: the closing section in music) that brings ‘The Tsar’ to a close. Finally, the best lines in the book were first tried out in conversations between me and my parents or my girlfriend.” Could you describe a typical day for you? “I once heard a writer say that he only works when he’s inspired and makes sure he’s inspired from 9.00 to 5.00. That’s more or less what a typical day in my life looks like.”