Panos karnezis biography of donald

In his latest novel, where the refugee crisis serves as a jumping-off point, Karnezis draws attention to characters operating under conditions of extreme pressure, delving into the way and the moment pressure and need transform people. “It is an intriguing topic, as each and every and every one of us has at some point, to a greater or lesser extent, wondered how we would have reacted under extreme conditions, real-life or imaginary, incidents we’ve read about in the papers or in a book, or we’ve seen unfolding in a movie. It is impossible to know beforehand what we would have done, whether we’d demonstrate courage or cowardice, panic or self-composure, selfishness or disinterest. I suspect that extreme conditions amplify our idiosyncratic feature, not what we think of ourselves, but who we truly are. Someone reckless by nature takes more chances, someone fearful freezes out of hesitation, someone merciful sacrifices for others.”

Panos Karnezis belongs to that breed of writers who never cease to renew themselves, both in terms of theme and style, with every new book they publish. Nevertheless, man and his moral adventure always takes center stage in his quest as a writer. “I can’t really tell how I came to choose my topics, but I am mostly inspired by current or historical events, images or landscapes that I catch sight of, or a personal experience. I find all these things more stimulating than a multilayered plot, as in a crime novel for example, maybe because I constantly try to pick up on others’ behavior, and mine as well, which sometimes – especially when I was younger, to be honest – feels so odd and unfamiliar, as if pertaining to a stranger.

Panos Karnezis’ novels, in a low-key yet crystal-clear way, are critical of Western societies. Issues such as the one of disrupted identities are constantly gaining ground, leading many people to go as far to tag modern-day societies as deprived of meaning. What is his personal stance on this? “The way I see it, this

photo by Ladik

by Gina Challen

I like stories that are alive – stories with a heartbeat I can feel beneath the words. I don’t mind whether it’s realist, fantastic or sci-fi. I’m not snobby about genre. I only want to believe that these things happened to these people in this place. I want to accept the truth of the story, if only for a short while.

It’s very easy to accept the truth of the stories in Panos Karnezis’Little Infamies, a collection of nineteen gently interlinking tales, all set in a fictional village in rural Greece. Each could be read individually, but there is much to be gained from reading the collection as a whole, as protagonists from one tale become ‘bit players’ in another. Gradually I recognised not only the characters of the village but also the important landmarks: the village square, the church and the café. This growing sense of familiarity draws the reader into Karnezis’ world and, once caught, it’s very difficult to leave.

Karnezis has a no-nonsense writing style that is, paradoxically, very descriptive; it is at times surreal, yet believable. Ordinary life walks beside strange happenings. He draws heavily on his Greek heritage, effortlessly blending mythology with folk homilies and realism, to weave narratives reminiscent of the best folk tales. I was interested to note that when asked about his motivation to write fiction, Karnezis said, “For me, writing was as much an outlet for my nostalgia as it was my creative urge.” However, his nostalgia is certainly not for a romanticised land of sun, olives and honey. Rather, Karnezis writes with great honesty about the fallibility of his characters; about their minor scandals as well as their atrocities.

The first story, ‘A Funeral of Stones’, sets the apocalyptic tone for the collection when an earthquake exposes a small coffin full of stones. This discovery reveals so much more than the sad life of the widower Nikiforo – it lays b

Panos Karnezis is possibly the leading Greek novelist of his generation, and one of Europe’s most distinguished storytellers.

His early novels, with Greek backgrounds, explored themes in his native culture such as disorientation, hope, fear and greed, which he has more recently transposed to a wider canvas. The Maze centered on the emotions aroused by the rout of the Greek army in Turkish Anatolia in 1922. The Birthday Party exposed the fears of an Onassis-type tycoon. But The Convent was set in Spain, and The Fugitives was laid in Latin America (the Mission territory, both physically and metaphysically). Each of them examines human weaknesses and strengths when confronted with challenges that seem to be sent by God from hell.

In We are Made of Earth he takes us, perhaps irresistibly, to the current refugee crisis and, although his location is dystopian, it can be readily imagined as a remote Greek island on which both the tragedy and the comedy of human weakness are acted out.

The main players—until the huge influx of refugees in the last part of the story—are a doctor, Mokdad, and a young boy, Jamil, possibly Syrian or Afghan, arriving on the island after surviving the wreck of their boat, only to be greeted, somewhat bizarrely, by an Asian elephant called Shanti (meaning ‘peace’), the star of a defunct circus with a horrible resemblance to the situation in Brian Friel’s Crystal and Fox. Their interplay with the circus owners is set against the island itself, a gradually intensifying drama that is catalysed by the sudden arrival of hundreds of similar refugees.

The developing relationship between the doctor, the boy and the circus owner and his wife, each with their own secret agenda, is subtly and compassionately drawn. In fact it is Karnezis’s characteristic compassion which defines a narrative skill which could otherwise become vindictive.

All of them, and the native islanders themselves, are prisoners not only of circumstance, but of necessit