Kyriakos Margaritis: ‘I perceive everything as a vast novel.’

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?