Soloúp’s bittersweet graphic novels | Interview in LIFO.

To mark the publication of his new graphic novel *The Collector: Six Stories About a Bad Wolf*, Soloúp gave an extremely interesting interview to Maria Pappa for LIFO. You can read it below:Following the award-winning ‘Aivali’, a graphic novel that caused quite a stir four years ago and landed its creator in legal trouble, Soloúp has returned with ‘The Collector’, a bittersweet comic about the breakdown of a marriage and parental alienation as seen through the eyes of outside observers. Often, Antonis Nikolopoulos, as he is known in real life, blurs the lines between reality and fantasy to address more ‘serious’, existential themes. With years of experience in cartooning and as a sketch artist, Soloúp has gone through all the stages faced by creators attempting to make comics in Greece. One of his major works, ‘Greek Comics’, was the most detailed study ever undertaken of the domestic comics scene. He is currently preparing a major exhibition at the Benaki Museum featuring original drawings from his new work, prints, canvases, videos and installations, as well as numerous parallel events. The opening is on 23 January. — Is it better to use a pseudonym? I started signing as ‘Soloúp’ in 1986, when I was a student at Panteion University. I had the impression that most cartoonists used a pseudonym, so I did the same. This decision was probably also influenced by a fear of the public that had been tormenting me since then, and I thought that this way I would avoid exposure. In the end, I didn’t escape my fear of the public, and I was left with Soloúp.— How did you come to write a social story? As you get older, you don’t really go looking for social stories and social issues; they come and find you. That’s how it happened with ‘Aivali’ and ‘The Collector’. These are things you can’t convey through caricature, humorous comics or comic strips; you can’t explore them in depth. So, because of my need to be able to give shape to these stories, I turned to the form of comics which, rightly or wrongly, we now call graphic novels.— Are the characters real? I think that the basis of most narratives in art—in film scripts, for example, or in literature—is that the primary material in the writers’ minds consists of images from their own lives, whether they experienced them themselves or witnessed them happening around them. This raw material, drawn from real life and transformed into a source of inspiration, is present even in science fiction films featuring aliens. However, from reality to the heroes of a fictional narrative, there is a vast journey through filters, social influences and subjective distortions that culminate in a self-contained world, in the closed universe of a book, a play or a film. In the case of ‘The Collector’, in the story of Dionysis and Fotinoula. — How did you come up with it? In the example I mentioned to you about science fiction scripts, if you notice, even the aliens have human passions. They fall in love, they die, they feel jealousy and hatred, they have weaknesses. Their writers are more likely to have drawn inspiration for such behaviours from a neighbour or their barber than from an actual alien. I would say, then, that the basis for most events in a script or text is things that the writers have at some point seen happen in their own lives. I don’t think the reader is so much concerned with whether the characters in *The Collector* are real or not, as with the fact that this book touches on an issue that is all around us and is entirely true. Cases of parental alienation between parents and children following a divorce are, unfortunately, in their thousands. — How autobiographical are you in your work? It depends. Back when I was drawing for the magazine ‘Babel’—in the stories of Anthropolyko and Mitsos Kyklaminos, that is—you’ll find quite a few autobiographical elements. Mitsos’s jokes and blunders were largely self-deprecating – my own blunders. In the more mature ‘Aivali’, on the other hand, there are chapters that are entirely autobiographical, with real events and details, such as the references to my grandparents who hailed from Asia Minor. In ‘The Collector’, again, as a writer I find myself in the position of the observer. I watch Dionysis and his surroundings. But let’s not forget that the observer, every observer, from the moment they record their thoughts, captures their own ideas, their own perception of things. And this, to some extent, has elements of self-reference.— Generally speaking, do you like symbolism? How much of it is needed in stories of this kind? I tend to refer to other works. To other texts, music, paintings, films. We live in a globalised culture of ideas. Many works, rightly or wrongly, have become identified with broader concepts. Thus, for example, a reference to another text, as occurs in ‘The Collector’ with Kafka’s ‘The Trial’, to other images, such as that of the Hatter and the Rabbit from ‘Alice in Wonderland’, or to other references, such as Plato’s allegory of the cave, add another layer of depth to the reader’s understanding. They simultaneously open up windows of concepts and thoughts. — Is there a need for such stories? Do you mean stories about problems, such as parental alienation? I think the readers’ initial reactions and the way they have embraced *The Collector* say it all. We cannot speak only of distant stories from the past. We live in the present, in a daily life full of difficult, ‘hidden’ problems. Putting these concerns through the mill of thought helps, above all, us.— Why did you choose the fairy tale of Little Red Riding Hood? Little Red Riding Hood is one of the best-known fairy tales in the world, with countless different versions. The strange thing about the Brothers Grimm’s collection of fairy tales is that we find two variations of the story. The first is the best known and most frequently illustrated. The second, however, states that it was Little Red Riding Hood herself who killed the big bad wolf, by drowning him in the well. It was precisely this version, then, that I needed narratively, and so the fairy tale became the key that unlocks the whole of *The Collector* and the book’s other five stories.— The central theme of *The Collector* is alienation. What alienates people? There are countless excuses. ‘It’s your fault’, ‘no, it’s not your fault’ and the usual lot. What happens, however, in human relationships that lead to alienation—and I’m talking about romantic relationships, friendships, relatives, parents and children—is that from a certain point onwards, one person no longer cares what the other is doing. They aren’t interested in trying to put themselves in the other’s shoes.— Why did you leave the interpretation of the couple’s break-up so open? The point isn’t to assign blame to one person or the other. In these cases, after all, everyone is, to a greater or lesser extent, a victim of the circumstances. Mainly the children, but also the parents, especially if they are unaware of their own problems. This is where we say that psychologists are needed too, otherwise we become at the mercy of our emotions and egos. The aim of the book, therefore, was to capture the pain and the silent violence that people endure when they find themselves in such difficult situations. A social and institutional framework, such as a justice system that is obsolete in such matters, which is indifferent to human suffering. Trials that drag on for years, absurdly favouring only one side and disregarding the psychological and emotional toll on the litigants. A justice system which, instead of offering solutions, becomes part of the problem. — From cartoons to graphic novels, which is the more difficult genre and what are the differences between them for a creator? Each genre serves different expressive needs. In political caricature, you literally have to say ‘a thousand words in a picture’, which is roughly the equivalent of the text on a newspaper page. You have to convey the report and the editor’s opinion with very few or no words in the speech bubbles of the sketch. On the other hand, in the medium of comics and their specific form, graphic novels, you have to contend with other things: the script and the unfolding of the narrative, the characters, the artistic rendering, and so on. Each has its difficulties and, of course, its rewards. You realise, of course, that the volume of work involved in a graphic novel is enormous. You might even spend years working on it to complete it. That in itself adds an extra degree of difficulty.— How difficult is it to make comics in Greece? The difficult part is making a living from comics in Greece, not making them. That’s why we have so many excellent but impoverished comic creators who, in order to survive, are increasingly turning to collaborations abroad. Making comics in Greece today is synonymous with making comics on planet Earth. It is now a global subculture, with its own devoted audience and its own references. — I read that you had legal problems with ‘Aivali’. Were they eventually resolved? Yes. There was a misunderstanding on the part of Fotis Kontoglou’s heirs, who thought I was exploiting his work. However, the public reaction was extremely strong, from readers, artists and academics, as the issue essentially concerns the use of art within art. At the same time, there was also the unreserved support of other copyright heirs. Ultimately, the charges were dropped in court. Subsequently, we met with the heirs, friendly explanations were given, and the matter was resolved. I believe that the work of the great author Fotis Kontoglou had everything to gain from ‘Aivali’ rather than lose. In the Mytilene library, for example, following its publication by Kedros, Kontoglou’s books were constantly on loan for months on end. — Which of your works do you consider the most demanding to date, and why? And which the best? All works—and this applies to every creator—are nurtured, painstakingly crafted and, at the same time, cherished. Each one is a part of one’s personal life, one’s thoughts and everything that happened to them during the years they were working on it. The ‘most difficult’ project, then, wasn’t exactly a comic book, but my seven-year research into comics. A demanding research project that successfully culminated in a PhD and a book, ‘Greek Comics’, published by Topos. The best is always, and subjectively, the most recent one, ‘The Collector’, to which I now live my life, a typographically superb book that was edited with particular care by Ikaros Publications, and I thank them for that.— Do you think things have improved recently for the comics scene? Is there a scene? Of course there is. It’s limited, with a dedicated circle of readers, which, however, is constantly growing. We have excellent creators and things are happening.— What do you think is missing from Greek comics? Confidence in the medium itself and its potential. It is not possible, when we have such an expressive medium at our disposal, to seek crutches in literary and other classic works. Comics cannot be popular and accepted as art solely through literary adaptations. They can stand on their own two feet, make the most of their potential and do truly great things.— Do you read in general? Have you enjoyed any books recently? I read a lot, all the time. It’s one of the most wonderful things that happens to me in life. One of the books I’ve recently finished was the ‘brick’ that is ‘4321’ by my favourite author, Paul Auster. But at the moment I’m running around like a madman preparing for the ‘Collector’ exhibition at the Benaki Museum. There’s no time left for reading. I do, however, sneak away some evenings for the cinema or the theatre. — Is there a person or artist who has influenced you most deeply, and why? Of those I’ve met, Yannis Kalaitzis. Yannis managed to combine in his life the inspired artist with the self-deprecating humorist, the substantive teacher with the humble man and the conscientious friend. His lesson? It’s not just what you do, but how you do it and how you offer it.— Do you think the current political situation provides material for cartoonists? Politics and politicians have always provided material for cartoonists. However, I no longer see the public as being so relaxed and ready to accept satire and political humour. There is a fanaticism and a prejudice among readers which I think is greater than in other periods. Perhaps, of course, we cartoonists sometimes contribute to this, by becoming mirrors of that prejudice.— Do you believe in hope? ‘If you do not hope, you will not find the unexpected, which is unexplored and inaccessible,’ as Heraclitus says.— What do you fear most? Do you want the whole list? Instead, I’d say I’m really happy when I’m offered some of life’s little pleasures by chance.