How are words born, destined by fate to become a book? When does the "other" life begin for poets, the secret and unseen one? What is the deeper connection between love and writing? Are bridges and passages built, or only borders, obstacles, and prohibitions? The eight characters of this book, who saw their blood transformed into ink, carve out their own version: the Homeric Nausicaa, Theodoros Kolokotronis, James Joyce, Alexandros Papadiamantis, Thomas Mann, Kostis Palamas, Nikos Kazantzakis, Marguerite Yourcenar. Along with them, an obscure wandering gypsy. But he excels not with his pen, but with his unruly instrument, a robust, honey-sweet clarinet...
8+1 heretical stories about the wolf-friendship between love and writing. About the blessing (or perhaps curse) of being born a poet.
"The night deepens. The world dwindles. A star shines far away. You. A voice hesitates to confess the truth. Me. I am alone. In silence. In delirium. In excitement. The hours slip across my skin. They bring pain. They bring agony. I am selfish. I am demanding. I, the one who has passed, want you to pass with me. Again tonight I conjured your image. I breathe, I see, I remember you. A distant vision. A caress for my lips. I live in tension. I want to worship your knees. Your face. The darkness leaves and I become the darkness."
Excerpt from the book
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One enjoys here not only the originality of the composition, but also the flexibility of the plot, which is ensured thanks to a solid and carefully designed narrative architecture.
Vangelis Chatzivasileiou, Eleftherotypia
