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Lina Rokou, on the occasion of the publication of her first novel, The End of Hunger, gave a very interesting interview to Womantoc.gr and Efi Alevizou. You can read it below: Lina has vibrant, red hair and a lively writing style. She tackles many things. From poetry to city reporting and from interviews to the latest trends. She is what – for the sake of brevity – we would describe as a ‘child of her time’. A time that is strange and edgy, cheerful and gloomy. An era that is changing rapidly, with new existential questions springing up to join the list of those already unanswered and fundamental: How do you deconstruct the other to reach their core? Can you buy their wisdom, and at what price? Could a lollipop serve as payment? Her first book, The End of Hunger, may well hold all the answers. If, of course, such answers exist at all.-What is the story of The End of Hunger? A strange series of transactions begins between the unemployed Emma and the junk dealer San when the former sells the latter her organs and body parts, whilst the shadow of an old love falls over the relationship that develops. How are the body, reason and emotion deconstructed when we give ourselves to someone? Is there a price to pay for the joy of love? How do we pay it back? I would describe it as a next-door story with strong doses of paranoid romanticism.-Give me a summary of your story. Where are you from and where are you going? I grew up in Corfu until I was 19. My parents live there, so I go back often. My relationship with Corfu has shaped me more than anything else in my life. For me, Corfu is a living organism; it nourishes me, it torments me, it heals me. But it’s better from a distance. Relationships that intense don’t last long in everyday life. I love Pagrati and Mets. I don’t think I could live anywhere else in Athens. I work at Popaganda, I’m out and about in the city a lot, I try to make the most of what it has to offer. I have no idea where I’m going. I’m interested in the present; I reflect on the past but don’t feel nostalgic for it; I think about the future but recognise that I can’t predetermine it—perhaps only build it, and even that only to a certain extent.-You’re a prolific journalist. What does writing mean to you? As a journalist, writing is my job. A job I chose and love. It’s torture, I think, to do something professionally that you don’t like, because just think how many hours a day we work. I almost liken doing a job I don’t fancy to sleeping with a man I don’t desire.-How difficult is it for someone to write a book? What else, apart from writing ability, is required? I don’t know if it’s easy or difficult, generally speaking. For me, the easiest part was the writing itself, and the most demanding part was the editing and proofreading. I read the book countless times, editing, changing, tweaking. I was mainly preoccupied with the ‘editing’, by which I mean that the whole story wasn’t written in a linear fashion. I proceeded using both my logic and my instinct. There were, however, chapters that were written in one go and I hardly touched them at all. I think it requires dedication. You have to be preoccupied with writing your book not only when you’re actually writing it, but also during the rest of the day. In a way, the book becomes an integral part of you; you can’t get it out of your head. Credit: Dimitris Koulelis – Name three books of contemporary literature that have left you speechless.‘Bring Me Maria Kensora’s Head’, the collection of short stories by Panos Tsirou that gives me palpitations every time I read it. ‘Amberludachamin’, a long poem by Samson Raka, the most important poet of our generation. Thirdly, ‘Fin’s Hair’ by Eva Stefanis, for the raw paradox it exudes. – How many hours a day did you work on your book, and how long did it take you to finish it? There was no set schedule. There were days when I didn’t write anything (but I was constantly thinking about it) and others when I spent hours, with the necessary breaks, in front of the screen. I started writing in March 2014 and finished the first draft in August 2014. However, I picked it up again and worked on it intensively from August 2015 until October of the same year. And once more, in early 2017, when I actually changed the ending. Thankfully! – A line from your book that means a lot to you.‘Desire undermines my human existence. I love daisies and hedgehogs. When you come near me, I’ll growl at you. Don’t be afraid. It’s my nature.’ Read the first few pages of the book here.

Listen to the very interesting interview given by the creators of the graphic novel Gra-Grou, Tassos Zafeiradis, Giannis Palavos, Thanasis Petrou and Michalis Siganidis on the ERT3 radio programme ‘Kalimera’ on 31 January 2018.Journalist Anastasia Grigoriadou spoke with the creators of the publication about their atmospheric story, set against the backdrop of the eponymous restaurant in Vermio, outside the village of Kastania, a landmark of an entire era for Northern Greece. The programme also featured the music composed for the book by Michalis Siganidis. The material comes from the ERT S.A. Archive.

Kyriakos Margaritis gave a very interesting interview to Tetragwno.gr and Eva Filiou to mark the publication of his latest book, *Kronaka*. You can read it below: Mr Margaritis, what event sparked your interest in writing? I would say it was my entire childhood. I was blessed to grow up in a world full of stories: my grandfather’s tales, mythology, Homer, the Bible, those wonderful adaptations of Dumas, Scott and Stevenson, comics, films, even music – these taught me to perceive the world in terms of narrative economy, as a novel in which everything is in constant relation to everything else. Until I was twelve, I tried to ‘write’ it through drawings and comics, but at that time I read Xenopoulos’s work, My Life as a Novel, in an edition by Biris, and I felt that writing was a kind of destiny. Since then, for the past twenty-four years, I haven’t stopped writing. I could say: I am living a novel. Your latest work, entitled Kronaka, published by Ikaros, centres on the history of Cyprus. How did this idea come about? What was your motivation for writing the book? Look, Kronaka is the introduction to what is likely to be a lifelong project, which I’ve grouped under the same title. My plan, admittedly audacious, involves some thirty volumes – as many as I can manage. Of course, something like this could not have come about suddenly. As I said, I perceive everything as one vast novel. My motivation lies in my previous answer; it is my life, my relationship with the world. I have been consciously pursuing this since 2003. Everything I have written has been an introduction to a broader fictional cycle. Some fell by the wayside, whilst others progressed but were never published. All of them, however, were channelled into Kronaka (the series) around 2013. Cypriot history is not exactly the central theme but the starting point, the point of reference and the catalyst for subsequent developments, which I believe will be fascinating, especially if you consider that the walk marks the Apocalypse – the only happy ending I recognise: the beginning.In the novel, there is a dialogue between the past and the present. How difficult is it to combine history with personal experiences or even with fictional elements? I believe that the combination you mention (the link, the relevance, the connection) is a given, since we live in the world, engaging, willingly or not, with all its contents, with History and its stories. The difficulty lies not in the act of combination (in which case we risk ending up with a mishmash) but in identifying it, in highlighting the erotic connection in which everything exists—all that has been, is, and will be. Perhaps we are talking about the alertness required to set Chaos free, not to cram it into half-baked ideas, and to watch its dance as that eschatological moment of Harmony, which is not some future finale but the profound condensation, in meaning, of each of our days: a revelatory everyday life. In such a context, fiction is superfluous. The only thing that concerns me is sight and the accompanying senses, chiefly touch – with the clarification that I am referring above all to the touch of Light, the uncreated.The central character of the book is Arsenios Theseus, who undertakes to investigate the history and mythology of the island. Could you introduce him to us? Who does he represent? What is he supposed to represent? Do you remember that line in Seferis’s ‘Narrative’? He doesn’t represent anything; it’s just that, somehow, I want to speak too, now that we’ve all got used to everything. Let me just note that Arsenios, who first appeared a decade ago, in the text ‘Requiem for the Absent’, is not some alter ego, but my narrator as the author’s shadow, perhaps his soul or his truest self, whom the written word allows me to approach. We shall meet one day, where will he go? As for his introduction, you will find it in Kronaka, in an excerpt from Raymond Chandler, with the detective’s portrait. And you will know, of course, that Chandler is essentially describing Sir Galahad, Arthur’s purest knight. That is (or should be) Arsenios, with the addition of priestly devotion, an element that makes him (a favourite word of mine) a monk-knight. And that is what I want.  What process do you follow to write a book and how long does it usually take you? The truth is that, as time goes by, the texts (the thirty-odd volumes we were talking about) develop in my notebooks almost simultaneously: one leads to the other, literally. At some point, one of them comes to the fore, based on the structure of the series and my own state of mind. Then, the flow of thoughts turns more intensely towards the dominant theme, the notes multiply, lists are drawn up of the references I will use, and a table is devised showing the position of each ‘micro-narrative’ within the overall framework. The actual writing, on the computer, can take a month or six months, depending on the content and so on. Let me also say that the plan is strictly loose, so that any critical moment that occurs during the writing process can find its way into the text: as if I were keeping a diary, as the title of my work suggests: Kronaka, that is to say, the Chronicle. When you are not writing, what is your daily life like? You will have guessed by now that my daily life consists mainly of the novel, of unceasing work. A good friend of mine calls me a monk in this respect. I wish he were right! What is certain is that I did nothing on purpose. My life has ended up in this state less out of personal choice and more as a redemptive necessity: it was the only way I had to survive spiritually in Athens. And, you know, I love Athens very much. When I’m not writing or studying, I mostly walk around the city for hours. This year I’ve done away with public transport altogether; everything has become a walk, even though my destinations are few: two cafés, three bars, the Politia bookshop, and my favourite churches, mainly Zoodochos Pigi on Akademias Street, Simonopetritiko Metochi in Vyronas, Agioi Anargyroi on Solonos Street, and so on. I also watch films all the time, and some of those incredible TV series, and I listen to a lot of music. Surprisingly, I’m beginning to suspect what Bach was up to, and that’s a good sign; it suggests that everyday life is finding the rhythm of the Fugue: asceticism.Do you believe that literature today has been marginalised because the reality that overwhelms us has surpassed all imagination? Don’t get me wrong, but I’m not interested in literature as we usually understand it. I believe in the Art of the Word, a work of prayer (supplication, thanksgiving, doxology), the function of words to bring us into communion with the eternal Word of existence, and there to fall silent, to enter into music. My own literature, the writers I love, have never had anything to do with fantasy – unless one thinks that Dostoevsky or Papadiamantis, or so many others, sat down to invent stories. I fear, moreover, that this reality you say is overwhelming us (and you are right) is already fantasy, made real. You see, fantasy has always held power, and it still does. Its greatest achievements were Auschwitz, the Gulags, Hiroshima. Reality has no connection with our current, haphazard world. It belongs elsewhere, in the World as Jewellery. Are you optimistic about the future of literature in Greece? Yes, I have boundless hope, because I am convinced that this future will be inhabited by works and people we have not yet suspected, such as Nikos Gabriel Pentzikis, Fotis Kontoglou, Takis Papatsonis, and others, who are always on the way. Do you have your next novel in mind? I have them all in mind, all thirty of them! Since 2014, when Kronaka was written, four more have emerged, and I reckon that what I’m working on this year, if I factor in various other projects that aren’t strictly novels, might be published towards the end of the decade after next, which raises the crucial question: who lives? Who dies? Because I believe only in the Resurrection, I shall answer ‘no’ to both (no one), and I shall insist on the peculiarity of a post-mortem daily adventure: mortar, pestle, writing, reading, walks, etc. Above all, music, rhythm, harmony. What do you think: will I make it in time?

To mark the release of her first fairy tale, ‘To the Sky and Back’, Alexia Vernikou gave an extremely interesting interview to Alexandra Papadaki and All You about loss, coming of age and the little moments in life that make it so beautiful.You can read it below:  If you have a young child, you’re sure to be familiar with the My Playce pre-school centres co-founded by Alexia Vernikou, and you’ll have read her articles on psychology and parenting advice. The latest venture of this multi-talented mum of two girls is writing, and her first book, *To the Sky and Back*, tackles a difficult subject: loss, which affects us all, parents and non-parents alike.  I read your (wonderful) book to my 9-year-old daughter Ioanna and immediately... it went on the shelf and never came off again. She didn’t want to read it again. She just shook her head as if to say, ‘I know, but don’t tell me any more’. Having only two grandmothers, whom she loves ‘to the moon and back and three somersaults’, she refuses to talk about death. It’s a difficult subject. Tell us about it. Clearly, the subject is difficult (perhaps the most difficult) for both children and us adults. Nevertheless, it is part of our lives, and however much we want to avoid it, we cannot. So, as parents, it’s important to give children the chance to ask us questions on the subject without pressuring them. They need their own time and space to process it. So, Ioanna did the right thing by putting it back on the shelf, as she didn’t want to talk about it right now. When she’s in the mood, or when she needs to deal with it, she knows where to find the book and the answers she needs. I get the feeling that although your book is for children, it’s actually aimed at us adults. To us who are growing up now that no one calls us ‘my child’ anymore. Am I wrong? It started out as a children’s book, but along the way I realised it’s a book that really moves adults, precisely because we know how much this loss hurts. The child’s grandmother is our own mum, and in her eyes we are always children. With her passing, our own coming of age usually follows, and that is when nobody calls us ‘my child’ anymore. You were trained in the Merimna programme for managing loss and grief in children and adolescents. At the recent launch of your book, the proceeds from sales supported Merimna’s work. Tell us a little about your relationship with the association and what we should know about it. Merimna is a non-profit organisation that provides support to children and adolescents facing a serious illness or the death of a loved one. It deals with the management of loss and grief, both by supporting families and by training healthcare professionals. It has been operating since 1995 with counselling centres in Athens and Thessaloniki and is the only organisation in our country dedicated so comprehensively to this cause. Grief management is a subject that touches me both personally and professionally, which is why I decided to become a ‘friend’ of Merimna myself and support their work. You are involved in writing articles, so we can now call you an author as well. How did this new chapter in your life begin, and how do you plan to develop it? I’ve loved writing since I was little, so the articles and the book came as a natural progression. I’d like to write more children’s books because I have plenty of ideas, but also a book for parents on topics relating to children.A particular comment you’ve heard or read about your book... I feel lucky because the book was quickly loved, as was evident from the reviews and the emotional response it has generated. The nicest comments, however, have come from the children in the form of questions about Elli and her grandmother, life and love. What did your daughters say to you about the book?Both Nefeli and Amalia were delighted that their mum had written a book. They told me it was ‘a bit sad but also a bit happy’ and they were thrilled with the illustrations. As for the subject matter, it’s something both of them have brought up for discussion, and it seems that the answers they’ve found in the book are (for now) comforting.I remember when I was little and realised that my beloved grandmother was going to die; I avoided seeing her, as if I wanted to rid myself of her sweetness so that the loss would be less painful. How did you cope with your grandmother’s death? We often see this reaction in children, namely avoiding something they know will upset them. It is, after all, a way of protecting themselves, and (fortunately) they know how to do it very well. When I lost my own grandmother, I felt (and still feel) just like Ellie. I was heartbroken, I was angry, and the loss was immense. I missed her terribly and I still do, but I have kept the sweetest place for her in my heart and I carry her with me through all the good times...What prompted you to study Psychology and Art Therapy? When I had to choose what to study, I knew there were two things I loved: children and art. My studies back then and my work today allow me to combine both and enjoy what I do. To become a psychologist and deal thoroughly with other people’s problems, must one first have resolved one’s own? I would say that they need to be at peace with themselves. We humans are a ‘work in progress’, constantly evolving and learning to manage and resolve our problems and difficulties.What are your fondest childhood memories? Summers in Corfu. With those long barefoot days, the carefree atmosphere, the family, the endless children and the sea. You have co-created the MyPlayce pre-school centres. What do you think the children and parents gain from them? A space they trust, where they can get dirty, experiment, dance, climb, cook, share, learn and play. All of this in a way that is creative for them, relaxing for their parents and enjoyable for everyone. In your years of working as a parent counsellor, if you had to single out just one piece of advice for parents, what would it be? I firmly believe that we must tell children the truth. Whatever the question, whatever the subject. Always taking into account their emotional and developmental stage. What is the biggest mistake we make with our children? All parents have made, are making, and will make ‘mistakes’ because we too are growing and learning alongside our children. If I had to single out one thing, I would say that today’s parents struggle to set boundaries. They struggle to say ‘no’ and struggle to remain consistent in what they ask of their children. This confuses them and ultimately causes insecurity in the children. I suppose you’re in high demand among groups of parents because of your role (they ask for advice, tell you their problems, etc.). Or do they perhaps avoid confiding in you, preferring to bury their heads in the sand? I imagine both happen. As parents, we tend to sugar-coat situations, and this may lead us to bury our heads in the sand. However, there are many times when the exact opposite happens, and so I often hear the phrase ‘I’ve got a question for you...’. When should we seek help from a psychologist for ourselves or (and) our children? When and if we feel the need to do so. It’s not compulsory, but it’s important to know that we can if we wish to. A parent’s instinct is very strong, and it’s important to listen to it. Both in matters concerning ourselves and in matters concerning our children. What is the greatest truth you’ve heard from your children, Nefeli and Amalia? That... ‘the good always win and our good deeds make us feel good’. It has pretty much become our family motto. The best moments of the day with your daughters... When they wake up and just before they go to sleep. When we read fairy tales, when they tell me their news from school, when we draw at the easel, when they burst out laughing, when we get up to mischief together, and when they hug each other...Living in a constant hubbub, with lots of people and lots of children’s voices, do you occasionally long for complete isolation? For not even picking up your ringing mobile? Very often. And when I feel the need, I do it. I switch off my mobile, pull down the shutters and find the peace within me. ‘From a young age we learn to lose; loss could be our cradle; you can’t have it all; the first phrase we learn’. Lyrics by Gerasimos Evangelatos, performed by Natasa Bofiliou. Do you find truth in them? Of course. We encounter loss early on, and not just in the form of death. That is why it is important to learn to deal with it. What great thing have you discovered about life so far? That it is beautiful. And that it is all the little moments, which cannot be shared in words, that ultimately make it so beautiful.