Marialena Semitekolou: ‘Literature is a living organism’.

Marialena Semitekolou, on the occasion of her novella *Sundays, in the Summer*, gave an interview to the newspaper *Ta Nea*. Read it below: The last time I was moved by a complete narrative was… the day before yesterday, in a ballet class, listening to a piece on the piano, just four minutes long, called ‘Porz Goret’, which I thought referred to some enigmatic character, but I eventually discovered it is the name of a place.If I could write to music, I would choose… a soundtrack. I love the fact that in soundtracks you can hear the most seemingly ‘incongruous’ genres of music blended into a harmonious, narrative whole.The most painful part of the writing process… is the before and the after. In the ‘before’, images, words, thoughts and faces come to you, disjointed and without substance. And you don’t know what to do with them, how to fit them together or what form to give them. In the ‘after’, when you’ve written the very last word, you realise that the text ultimately has the last word. Not you. There is no pain in the moment of writing. There is a magical concentration that extends the present into eternity.Three books I would definitely recommend for a secondary school library would be… ‘The Trial’ by Franz Kafka: a modern work, painfully topical, open to multiple interpretations and discussions. “The Catcher in the Rye” by J.D. Salinger: because it makes you believe that a book’s protagonist can, if you so wish, become a lifelong companion. ‘The Double Book’ by Dimitris Hatzis: the tenderness and respect with which the author describes the greatness of his ‘humble’ heroes constitute a valuable lesson.The criticism I accept concerns… descriptions rather than judgements, observations rather than categorisations, suggestions that have nothing to do with the words ‘good’ or ‘bad’ and that smooth out their edges to include rather than exclude.Self-criticism begins… the moment it breaks off its insidious association with self-reproach and self-pity and joins hands with personal responsibility and taking action. Otherwise, its energy is tied up in creating endless loops of self-negation.The opening of a classic book I envy is… ‘Once in the spring, at the hour of an incredibly warm twilight, in Moscow, by the Patriarch’s Ponds, two citizens appeared’ from Mikhail Bulgakov’s *The Master and Margarita*. I’m not jealous, of course. I feel awe at literature’s terrifying ability to create parallel universes into which, every time you enter, you know you’ll emerge a different person.When I hear about the ‘crisis of literature’ or the ‘literature of crisis’, I think… first of all of the word ‘crisis’ and its meaning. In development, crises, despite the turmoil and destabilisation they bring, are inevitable and necessary for a living organism to evolve and, above all, to progress. And literature is (or ought to be) a living organism, whether it is itself in crisis or describes a crisis.