I shunned greek writers. What could they say that others, more famous foreign ones couldn’t? What more could they offer me? The market had decided, the more books they sold, the more famous they were, they more important and must-read their books should be.
I shunned this book for a long time too. Nikos Kazantzakis is world-renowned, but what could an old book, written by a Greek correspondent of a newspaper who visited Japan just one time in the '30s, tell me about Japan? After all, I had read other books from Japanese authors or foreign writers who lived there. They must have had more knowledge, they even spoke the language.
“Ο νους μου καμώνονταν τον μπουχτισμένο, θαρρείς πως τα ξερε όλα, τα χόρτασε όλα και χαμογελούσε με ειρωνία γρικώντας τις κραυγές της χωριάτισσας καρδιάς μου.”
That was a humbling realization.
I also realized that, when it comes to fiction, there are writers and there are Writers. There are people who are well educated, well read, who can combine and recycle knowledge and make a living selling books. Those people will read a lot, think a lot, toil and write and do a good enough job. They may even attend creative writing seminars, polish their style further and eventually do a great job.
And then there are people who are born writers. From whom writing itself, prose, just flows out, effortlessly. It is obvious. Whatever it is they have, they have it within them and it affects the way they see the world and the way they describe it and put it into words. Kazantzakis belongs to the second category. You can see that in his similes and metaphors. Every movement, sight, sound or smell is described with his own, hearty, authentic language. Places and situations are often described by tactile and olfactory sensory inputs. He believes that mind must be in touch with the body, he intentionally lets his body, his five senses, influence and steer his mind.
“Μια φορά, στην πρώτη νιότη μου, πολέμησα ν’ ασκητέψω την πάρα πολύ λιμασμένη ψυχή μου θρέφοντάς τη με αφηρημένες έννοιες. Έλεγα πως το κορμί είναι δούλος, και χρέος του να κουβαλάει τις πρώτες ακατέργαστες ύλες και να τις ρίχνει στο περιβόλι του νου για ν’ ανθίσουν, να καρπίσουν, να γίνουν ιδέες. Όσο πιο άσαρκος, άοσμος, άηχος λαμπικαρίζουνταν μέσα μου ο κόσμος, τόσο θαρρούσα πως ανηφόριζα στην πιο αψηλή κορφή της ανθρώπινης προσπάθειας. Και χαίρουμουν. Και κατάντησε ο πιο μεγάλος θεός που αγάπησα και ύψωσα μπροστά μου ως πρότυπο να είναι ο Βούδας. Ν’ αρνηθείς τις πέντε σου αίστησες. Ν’ αδειάσεις τα σπλάχνα. Να μην αγαπάς τίποτα, να μη μισείς τίποτα, να μην πεθυμάς τίποτα, να μην ελπίζεις τίποτα. Να φυσήξεις τον κόσμο, και να σβήσει.
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Μα τα σωθικά μου - δοξάζω το Θεό! - ήταν γιομάτα αίμα και λάσπη και λαχτάρα. Και μια νύχτα είδα ένα όνειρο. Είδα δυο χείλια, χωρίς πρόσωπο. Μεγάλα χείλια σπαθωτά, γυναικίσια. Κουνήθηκαν. Κι άκουσα μια φωνή: « Ποιος είναι ο Θεός σου; » Κι εγώ αδίστακτα αποκρίθηκα: « Ο Βούδας! » Μα τα χείλια κουνήθηκαν πάλι: « Όχι, ο Έπαφος! »
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Τινάχτηκα από τον ύπνο. Μεγάλη ξαφνική χαρά και σιγουράδα είχε πλημμυρίσει την καρδιά μου. Ό,τι μέσα στον πολυθόρυβο, γεμάτο πειρασμούς, παράταιρο ξύπνο δεν μπορούσα να βρω, το βρήκα μέσα στην αρχέγονη μητρική αγκάλη της νύχτας. Από τη νύχτα εκείνη πια δεν παραστράτησα. Ακολουθώ το δρόμο τον εδικό μου. Προσπαθώ να κερδίσω τα χρόνια της νιότης, που τα έχασα λατρεύοντας άσαρκους, ξένους από μένα κι από τη ράτσα μου θεούς. Μετουσιώνω πια τις αφηρημένες έννοιες και τις κάνω σάρκα και θρέφουμαι.
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Όλες οι χώρες που γνώρισα, τις γνώρισα από τότε πια με την αφή. Αλάκερη τη θύμηση τη νιώθω να μερμηγκιάζει όχι μέσα στο κεφάλι, παρά στις ρώγες των δαχτυλιών μου και στην επιδερμίδα μου όλη. Και τώρα που φέρνω στο νου μου την Ιαπωνία, τα χέρια μου μερμηδίζουν σα ν’ αγγίζουν το στήθος αγαπημένης γυναίκας.”
It reminded me of a phase in my twenties, reading as much as I could about eastern philosophy, and then sitting cross-legged on the floor eating rice or peas one by one with chopsticks, trying to put ideas into action, to rule over my body by taming my hunger, to discipline my greed. It also made me think that just seeing a new place is not enough, there are other layers. To get a deeper understanding of something new, don’t just passively look, but stop and consciously hear, smell and yes, touch if you can. If you cannot touch a faraway mountain then imagine how it would be if you could. All that stimuli will make a more vivid experience and memory.
Kazantzakis was insightful too. He could sense that, hidden behind the cherry trees and the superficial politeness of Japan, there were cannons of a nation in military fervor impatient to conquer and expand. He could see that, behind the dirt, poverty and simplistic life of people in China there was envy, and the desire to revolt from the exploitation of the west, follow their own way and achieve the place in the world that they deserved. Prophetically perhaps, after his visit in the sin city of Shanghai, he wrote that sooner or later the indolence of the west will have to face the cold, calculating, relentless growth of the east. He disliked both.
This book is also a lesson in humility when one imagines the countless people who lived in those days and places working day and night in factories for pennies, or men and women trying to find their way out of dirt and mud and eons of parental and societal oppression.
In the end it was China that won the heart of Kazantzakis and the country that he longed to see and live in before he died. It was also Chinese people that didn’t forget him and offered money to cover for his illness, which he politely refused. A man of mind and body, I guess he appreciated the refined grace of Japan but in China he saw the raw, earthy people and roots of civilization that fascinated him.
Exiled from his own country for his political and religious views, he made a second trip to Japan and China in 1957 wanting to write another journal, but on the way back death caught up with him. His wife Eleni published his notes and letters in the second part of this book, and years later, on the day of his birthday, she also joined him in Crete where they are now buried, one with the earth that he so liked.