News

An example of the rigorous application of scientific methodology By Evanthis Hatzivassiliou* It is an open secret that, as a form of historical study, the biography causes waves of panic in Greek academia, if not in society: it is usually treated as a politically motivated form of discourse, and therefore biased or at least suspect. Other objections are raised, however: it is argued that individuals do not play a pivotal role in history, in the face of the great, impersonal economic forces; an argument that is also political, reflecting a left-leaning dogmatism.This panic takes on even more peculiar forms when the figure of Constantine Karamanlis is discussed. Bizarre, because in Karamanlis’s case it is not the scholars sympathetic to him who display anxiety: they appear far more certain of the correctness of their interpretations. On the contrary, the panic is evident among those who seek to cast doubt on this particular historical figure: it is they who are discontented, because they cannot do what they want, namely to diminish his contribution. This is one of those cases where the anxiety of pre-judgement becomes so obvious that it becomes amusing.Konstantinos Svolopoulos’s project is intended to mark a turning point in the development of Greek scholarship, primarily because it offers a model of the rigorous application of scientific methodology to a field as difficult and as slippery as biography. It is based on the findings of one of the most significant methodological works in world historiography: the work by Renouvin and Duroselle, which is divided into two volumes, one on the ‘deeper forces’ (which Svolopoulos has translated into Greek) and one on the political figure (homme d’état). This solid theoretical grounding enables the author to assess the figure and the era dynamically, whilst avoiding the unscientific excesses to which either the simplistic tendency towards deification (on the one hand) or, on the other, a shallow emphasis on trivialities.Reality: The examination of Karamanlis’s life and work involves not only the verification of the objective facts dictated by reality and the international context, but also of subjective elements that characterised the Macedonian politician throughout his life: the austerity of his personal style, the creativity stemming from a deep sense of mission, the capacity for clear thinking even at the height of a crisis. Finally, his insistence on prudence: Karamanlis was not a ‘player’ – says Svolopoulos – but in the Greece of his time, did he need to be? On the contrary, he was called upon to project a sense of Greek stability, which was a prerequisite for the fulfilment of his goals. And his steadfast commitment to these goals (development, democracy, Europe) demonstrates the coherence of his historical trajectory. I have a feeling that the reader will consider the most ‘bold’ section of the book to be the one dealing with the period after 1980. There, Svolopoulos offers a first historical – that is, source-based – interpretation of the 1980s (and the ‘cohabitation’ with A. Papandreou), as well as of the personal dimension (lifestyle, habits, psychological tendencies of Karamanlis). These are topics that have not yet been dealt with in detail. However, the value of the work lies not only in the facts it presents, the assessments it puts forward, or even in the effervescent and charming style of the writing. It lies, first and foremost, in the fact that it shows us how a historian thinks and writes, one who knows his subject so deeply that he is free from the anxiety of ‘justification’ or ‘condemnation’. The success of the project is based on sobriety and calm, which are themselves the fruits of two fundamental prerequisites of the historical science: knowledge and integrity.* Mr Evanthis Hatzivassiliou is an associate professor in the Department of History and Archaeology at the University of Athens. Published in Kathimerini, 11/03/2012

In December 2011, we published a post about ‘The Dewdrop’, a children’s story by Antonis Dimitrakopoulos, illustrated by Ersi Spathopoulou, which is due to be published shortly by Ikaros. It remains one of the blog’s most popular posts to this day. Today, we are delighted to present the cover to you!The dewdrop wanders through the clouds, the rivers, the lakes and the flowers, searching for an answer to her question: Do you know my name?A tender story for children of all ages.

By Yannis Farsaris. Published on www.artmag.gr, 26/03/2012 Vangelis Raptopoulos is one of the most important contemporary Greek prose writers, with 23 works to his name. Detailed information about the author and his work can be found on his blog. His latest book, entitled ‘The High Art of Failure’, was published a few days ago by Ikaros Publications. Vangelis Raptopoulos writes in the first person about the story behind his book: “The High Art of Failure” is a cross between a diary, an autobiography, a confessional essay, a chronicle, a report, documentary, testimony, travelogue, dictionary and panorama of the 2000s. Let us take the first version, to which we can easily add not only the above, but also many others: the diary. In this case, we are not dealing with a conventional form of it, but with the diary in a broader sense. A kind of ‘public’ diary.The diary, in the sense of a confessional essay, a spiritual self-portrait or autobiography of a writer who, as the living conscience of his generation and era, writes de facto public texts, even when these are private.Had Dostoevsky not already claimed it, I would have titled it ‘A Writer’s Diary’.***We are talking about a book that has, above all, a political and social dimension, through which we witness life in Greece changing towards the more nouveau riche and European, real or pretended, until it is ultimately led down the path of collapse.But, at the same time, we are also talking about the working diary of a writer who constantly reflects on his work, and above all on its relationship with the spirit of our times, whilst at the same time offering testimonies about his colleagues, from Tachtsis to Samarakis and Koumantareas, right down to the much younger generation.We are talking, in a manner of speaking, of a journalistic journey through the landscape of the last decade, and at the same time of highly personal material, which nevertheless constantly tends towards generalisation, since a writer’s reflection inevitably operates in precisely this way.***If I were asked who this book is aimed at, I would naturally overlook my peers or those older than me. And I would go straight to the much younger generation, to all those who essentially did not live through, or did not fully understand, the decade covered by *The High Art of Failure*.To the younger generation, then, this detailed diary or written documentary will provide the necessary keys to understanding what was happening, in a way entirely different from that of news journalism, precisely because of my personal obsessions, through which the events and people are filtered.And in any case, for those who were absent from the 2000s as well as those who were present, it will offer an intuitive insight, peculiarly penetrating, aiming not so much to recreate the era as to summarise something of its deepest core, always under the guise of the topical.

Evi Karkiti, Angelioforos tis Kyriakis, 25 March 2012 It is difficult to find solace within Émile Zola’s literary universe. Believing that the novelist must be a ‘neutral observer and experimenter’, the great French writer expressed the view that literature is a field in need of a rigorous, scientific method, evidently inspired by the scientific developments of his time. Thus he emerged as a leading exponent of naturalism, perhaps the most extreme version of the vast and diverse current of realism, which has gifted European literature with some of its classic masterpieces.Naturalism, having chosen to move, through neutral observation, so close to reality, was criticised for its depressing themes and the suffocating atmosphere of pessimism it created around every story. However, this does not mean that the neutral observer is not also perceptive. Indeed, Zola’s pages clearly capture the harsh reality of the era, the customs and major social problems, the economic impasse, and the multifaceted human drama. These themes lie at the heart of his great and widely read novels. Whilst almost his entire body of novels has been translated into Greek, his short stories and novellas remain virtually unknown to this day. The collection entitled ‘The Marquise’s Shoulders’, recently published in a translation by Phoebus Piombino, not only fills a significant gap but also reveals a different Zola to us: the stylist and master of the short form. With him, the reader begins a wander through a Paris where the lights have gone out and in every alleyway misery meets poverty, despair, and economic, social and moral destitution.  Life as it is: A family dresses up to take to the streets and beg on New Year’s Day, since on that day in Paris begging is tolerated and there is a small hope that the family’s little girl might get a toy. One winter’s day, the author observes the beauty of the snow-covered urban landscape, but also the change in the scene, with mud and dampness running everywhere as soon as the snow melts. A young woman drives her husband to distraction so she can live out her love affair with another man, but her desire proves shallow and fleeting. Two wild animals escape from the Paris Zoo, only to discover that there is no society more unjust and savage than that of humans. Zola’s world is heart-rending. Social injustice, starving, sick children, people who are worse than beasts, killing out of hatred rather than to feed themselves, husbands who love money more than their partner, who dies alone and helpless in a bed. However, nowhere is the human drama of survival portrayed more heart-rendingly than in the short story ‘Unemployment’, characteristic of the author’s method, which culminates in the relentless question posed by the unemployed man’s pale and emaciated daughter: ‘Why, pray, should we go hungry?’ Zola’s approach to the problem of unemployment could make a Marxist blush with rage, as the misery of unemployment strikes both employer and employee alike. Particularly noteworthy is the use of death in the novella ‘How They Die and How They Are Buried in France’, where death—a subject that always preoccupied Zola—becomes the means by which he observes and reveals the mentalities and facets of the society of his time. These short stories reach the reader through the work of a distinguished translator, such as Phoebus Piombino, who ensures an even fuller understanding of this aspect of Zola’s work, by providing extremely useful notes for each story individually. The chronology accompanying the edition brings together the author’s complete works.