Κοινότητα Αναγνωστών Βιβλίων - readers.gr

Yorgos Ioannou's "Refugee Capital: Thessaloniki Chronicles" shines a harsh, ironic, yet compassionate light on his birthplace, the city of Salonica. The human geography and consciousness of which were indelibly marked by the arrival of hundreds of thousands of refugees from Asia Minor in the 1920's. In the prose pieces and essays that make up Refugee Capital their story is told, often through the eyes of an adolescent narrator recreated by a writer at the peak of his powers. Yorgos Ioannou sets out to rescue the enduring from the clutches of the ephemeral, to reconcile t...

What happens when three young lawyers set off at night into unknown parts of town in search of a stolen motorcycle? What happens when Minas visits a gay bar together with his uncle, the general - no stranger to the place it seems - or ends up in bed with Gia? When Petros, enjoying an evening away from his wife and kids, finds himself in the company off Soulis, handsome bike thief and sometime catamite? Or when poor Stelios is strapped to a lie detector cum personality analyser at the American base? And what about the adventures of the pack of stray dogs roaming around th...

That is Acheron? A river in the north-west of Greece, in Epirus, which, in ancient Greek mythology, was the boundary between life and death. What is Kalamas? It too is a river, in the same region, which Byron associated with the Acheron in "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage", and History, after a hundred and fifty years was to give it, and in a dramatic way, the same meaning. What is "Kalamas and Acheron"? A cycle of stories, closely connected, which can be read as a novel, where the two rivers become the boundary not only between life and death, but also between human passions...

We are sad creatures. I am a prostitute running to seed and my last asset is an idiot son. I am a street-sweeper collapsing under the weight of time and my own obesity. I am a foul-mouthed and repellent daughter desperately in need of a man. Sad creatures. Simple needs. Mr. Dimitriou conjures us into existence in the space of a few lines, and we live, poised between hope and its extinction, for a few brief pages in the harsh world of his pared down prose. Sad creatures, dumb creatures: our spokesman ultimately is a dead or dying dog... woof, woof, dear Lord.