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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.”

Dimitris Nollas, on the occasion of the publication of his book *Stories Are Always Foreign* (Short Stories 1974–2016), which brings together his entire body of short fiction to date in a single volume, gave an exclusive interview to Dimitris Fyssas for Athens Voice. Dimitris Fyssas notes, among other things: “Ikaros has produced yet another landmark book, and I, a long-time fan of Mr Nollas, was quick to secure the first interview he has given about ‘Stories Are Always Foreign’.” Enjoy the interview below:

The Greek poet and academic, Kiki Dimoula, on the occasion of the publication of her poetry collection ‘Ano Telia’, spoke with journalist Yiannis Hatzigeorgiou in the magazine ‘Filgood’ of the newspaper ‘Fileleftheros’ in Cyprus.The interview was published on Sunday 11 December and you can read it below: “Are there answers to ‘Must love be faithful? And if it isn’t, what should we do? Love with our arms crossed?”, Mrs Dimoula? I think the only one who would definitely answer “yes, we should love with our arms crossed” is Christ... As for mortals, they would answer according to the advice their endurance would give them... Please forgive me for prefacing every answer with ‘I think’. It is a polite, perhaps even prudent, cover for the honest ‘I don’t know’.What do you not know about life?… I do not know how it can be beautiful. Nor do I know how, whilst it is not beautiful – at least not constantly – it is constantly desirable and beloved. What is it that makes it so unpleasant at times? Whatever unpleasant things do. And above all, memory, the reminder that time is passing and so I will lose what I like or dislike. That’s no small thing – time is no small matter in life. Has the passing of time ever frightened you? When I was 16, it didn’t frighten me. When I was 20, it didn’t scare me. But after 35, I started to get the jitters… Now? Now I can’t even think about it. Now I’m really scared. Really, really scared. I’m not scared of anything else. And one way I found to combat that fear was to sit down and write a book. That takes time away from me a little… What is love to you? It’s an unknown thing… A completely unknown and uncertain thing. I don’t know what love is. Why do you say that? Because, my dear, we don’t know what the soul is. Just as we don’t know what feelings are either. We know nothing! Nothing is constant in this world and nothing has just one form all the time. So it is with love: it changes constantly. Think how great love can suddenly turn into no love at all! Therefore, I ask you too, what is love? Have you never had the certainty in your life that you were loved deeply? No. Now, if you mean whether my poems were loved, that is another story. I cannot say that I was loved deeply by many people. By my children, yes. By my mother, yes. By Athos Dimoulas, as much as I needed to be loved, because excesses aren’t nice. I, yes, loved very much. And Athos Dimoulas, and the days that passed, and the bad days that passed…In what way did you love the bad days too?… I loved those very much too. If I were told I had another five years of unpleasant days ahead, provided they didn’t involve the loss of people close to me, I would gladly live through five years of unpleasant days.How do you interpret the expression ‘I’m fine’? ‘I’m fine’ means I’m forgetting about death. Has something happened, has a little time passed—perhaps even three minutes—during which I’m not thinking about death? Then I’m fine! When I’m not thinking about it, I’m fine. How did you cope in the past with the loss of people very dear to you? Very badly. It was very hard. And I suffered from severe depression. My whole life changed. And when we talk about losses, I mean the loss of Athos Dimoulas. No other loss is as heavy as the loss of a person with whom you have lived for 35 years and who is suddenly gone. It’s not a simple thing; it’s nightmarish.Is there any way to ease this pain? Fortunately, time lends a hand and we no longer feel that acute pain that feels like madness – because we don’t forget. And it is madness, especially at first, because you cannot comprehend what has happened. How a person was lost. It’s not easy. It’s terrifying and impossible to describe the feeling that takes the place of this loss. Have you suffered many times in your life? I find that quite easy. It doesn’t take much for me to feel pain. Perhaps I get over the little things easily. But, in any case, I must say that I am sensitive; I am susceptible to pain. So what is joy? It is something entirely fleeting. Joy is being able to put your worries aside.Has happiness been a distant concept in your life? I have often, and with great regret, apologised for happy situations that I misinterpreted as sparse or even uncertain, when they were not. Is ‘happiness’, then, a difficult word for you?It isn’t difficult, no. Because happiness is, in any case, an unknown word. I don’t even know if such a thing exists in the world. Unless we’re fooling ourselves by saying ‘I’m happy’. What is this happiness which, if it exists, not everyone can have? So perhaps we all lead miserable lives? I don’t know. The things that cause our mood to change suddenly are elusive and unpredictable. You can’t foresee them. Something that is extremely unpleasant might not affect me at all, whilst something that is only slightly unpleasant for others might completely break me. It is a matter of the soul as to what a soul can face heroically. When does the soul become a heroine? Every day.In what way? Because every day it loses. And it’s terrifying to know that this soul, which you’ve never seen, which you’ve never touched, will one day leave along with the whole body. Fortunately, though, that’s how it is. Because it would be terrifying for the body to die and the soul to live on. Do both leave together? Yes. And one is inside the other. I think the body is the soul’s hiding place. What, in the end, is poetry, Mrs Dimoula? Passion or love? Or simply work – just as a bank employee goes to work every day? I think it is both passion and love, but above all a tireless, hard-working perseverance. Have words ever become a threat to the routine of your existence? For your daily life – which involves cleaning, cooking, going for walks, chatting on the phone with friends – without knowing what inspiration means and moving to another level, beyond this world?I deeply appreciate everyday life for its fertility. It conceives days, and it is itself the skilful midwife who gives birth to itself. Every day. And it is this precious regularity that inspires repetition. We criticise it as tedious, forgetting that it prolongs our lives. For how long? As long as time sees fit. Have you ever felt you were reaching God whilst writing a poem? As if it were not your own? As if someone else were dictating it to you? No ambition of mine has ever troubled God by asking Him to fulfil it. His own great creation demands His constant protection. Simply, if a poem, whilst impossible to write despite my efforts, is suddenly written, I do not claim it as my own; I say that the mysterious wrote it, or perhaps chance, whose DNA I believe is akin to that of the mysterious.You mentioned the word ‘ambition’. Have you ever been ambitious? Is it possible for me not to be and yet sit here writing a book? Of course I am. The first stage is that I have something inside me and I want to bring it out, but there is also the expectation that people will like it, because if they don’t, I can’t take it back.Why is poetry, in most cases, identified with melancholy and silence? Is it forbidden to embrace the joy and bustle of the world? Of course not. It is neither forbidden nor does it turn it away. It simply does not convince it that they have the lasting value to be included in its inspirations. How are ‘melancholies derailed’, Ms Dimoula? But how else – poetic licence. This very verse was written with that same licence.When you finish a poem, how do you feel? Relief? Or does it ‘torment’ you, days later, over its perfection, over the ‘what if’—what if a word had been placed elsewhere, perhaps the result would have been better?I don’t have blind faith in my poems, and so I let myself be gnawed away by a persistent, nagging anxiety. What about you? Is it possible not to have faith in your poems? No faith at all! None whatsoever, ever. I have a constant sense of uncertainty, even when the poems are applauded. And I think it’s quite right that I feel this way. It makes me more careful, more restrained in general; my head doesn’t get carried away and I’m very down-to-earth. I often think, ‘If I like this poem, does that mean it’s any good?’ I don’t know what a good poem is! They say that everything in life is mathematical. Even the way you arrange the words in a sentence. What is poetry?In my own opinion, of course, poetry is a very reverent ‘I don’t know’. Is poetry logical? Or perhaps not? Poetry has a logic that can only be deciphered by its half-brother, known as inspired absurdity.Does poetry sometimes tell lies? They aren’t exactly lies. They are a noble veiling of the unbearably crude truth. Are there moments when you would prefer your mind not to create poetry? Where, at times, does all this become a torment? I did not choose my temperament and its symptoms. I found it ready-made and respected it, adhering to it to the letter.Do you believe you were born with the destiny to become a poet? I regard ‘poet’ simply as a nickname for ‘human being’. Your poetry grapples with immortality. It has almost been imposed upon it. Are you happy that your poems will still be read even when you have departed from this mortal world? Let me state in advance my indifference as to which of my traces will survive, when I shall be compelled to submit to a second mortal world after this one…What comforts you today, amidst humanity’s many problems – which are ever increasing? So far, no comfort has seemed capable of reassuring me. Nor have I received any auspicious sign from distant prophecies. I am simply adding my two cents to the collection organised by faint hope in favour of the instinct for self-preservation. Are dreams old-fashioned after all, Mrs Dimoula? (smiles) Old-fashioned, yes. In the sense that they do not keep the promises they make to our naive slumber or our impoverished desires. What passions do you retain from your youth? Or have they all been ‘covered up’ over the years? You are almost asking me for an autobiography. But that has been taken over by secrecy. Christ lost ‘the delight of his all-holy love’. What have you gained from love? What have I gained? That I welcomed it without asking for a letter of introduction, and that I cared for it when it died… When does love die? That is very simple. It is no riddle at all. Love dies when it dies. We realise it immediately. Immediately! From a profound sadness that replaces that fragile feeling which is love. Are you lost to love? I am lost only to my obedience to my parent, fear. Does love have logic? Love is something completely illogical.Is it also an illusion? It is an illusion. It is also often something false. Love may not exist, but we may think we are in love because it elevates everything – everything soars when this happens; you are no longer earthly, you are heavenly.Is there no happiness in love? Of course there is. When? When you are the one in love and not the other way round, I think that is a state of happiness. Because the happiness of love is what you feel, not what the other person feels. Has it ever made us happy when someone is in love with us but we are completely indifferent to them? Things, you know, are very carefully balanced, with a certain wisdom, so that people can cope with conflicts and disappointments. Are there many such disappointments?Every minute. A minute ago I was different, and that is now contradicted by something else. What are you crying about, Mrs Dimoula? If you mean the reason I am crying, I won’t answer because tears are silent and their cause is introverted.Then how do you define your sensitivity? Where do you find it? I find it where it is called upon to ache. If someone asked you, ‘What kind of life have you lived, Mrs Dimoula?’, what would you answer? What kind of life have I lived? Well, the one that has passed. That is its most poignant feature. Was ‘this destiny of life’ that you have experienced so far a ‘long, tiring journey’? I shall answer that question of yours when I discover whether I am going or coming…What kind of life do you hope to live from now on? I don’t hope for anything. I only wish that certain things would not affect my children – health issues, because there are various such things that pose a threat. Beyond that, I’d like not to realise I’m dying – I wouldn’t want that. For it to happen simply, in my sleep, so that I never find out. What could be more terrifying than never knowing you’ve died! Quietly… Not just quietly. Not knowing that you are dead. Whereas you know when you are alive, that you are living. Is this not the ultimate rebellion of things? Do you still have unanswered ‘whys’?… Many. To which only fate is competent to answer. Which either turns a deaf ear or wonders itself who anointed it as inevitable. The ‘full stop’ at the end of your latest poetry collection suggests a continuation. And something unfinished. What have you not yet finished, Ms Dimoula? What remains unresolved in your life? The unknown remainder of my life, which is still unfolding…