The Messenger of Athens: A Novel (38 page)

Why the seven sins?

The seven sins are a very old concept, surprisingly still relevant today; our ideas of morality have not changed much in hundreds of years. In these modern times, we are all still susceptible to these “vices,” and all the seven sins are still regarded as bad behavior. And bad behavior is much
more interesting to readers—and writers—than good behavior!

And why did you choose the Greek islands? Can you imagine placing your stories (maybe other stories) in different scenery?

I am not Greek by birth, but my heart belongs to Greece, more so than it belongs to England. Writing this series connects me very deeply to a place I love. Also the mythological aspects are important in these books, and Greece is of course the natural place for that. I have written many stories with a British background, but I feel less passionate about those stories, probably because I feel less passionate about Britain! And no really good story can be written without passion for the subject. I have a passion for Greece that inspires me; up to this point, I don’t feel that way about any other place.

Would Hermes Diaktoros be your ideal man?

Whenever I meet readers, there are always women who say they want to marry Hermes. I don’t feel that way; although I think he is a very attractive man, to me he is a slightly scary character, and I would not want a romantic relationship with a man I am afraid of. But he is my perfect man in another, nonromantic way. He is a figure of justice who puts right everything that is wrong and makes the small worlds he visits better places. In that way, he is very much my ideal man.

In your second novel
, The Taint of Midas,
you deal with land development. Do you plan to keep dealing with other contemporary issues in your subsequent books?

I dealt with land development because it has the potential to affect Greece very badly, if it is not controlled, and in some ways I think I dealt with another contemporary issue—the role of women—in
The Messenger of Athens
. But it is not my primary aim to tackle contemporary issues: my books are old-fashioned in their mood, because I feel we are all in danger of losing old values and morals that were—to me—better guidelines for life than we have now. If I can in any small way guide people back to those older values, I would regard that as an achievement. So I am more backward-looking than contemporary!

There are some critics who see Hermes Diaktoros as a modern version of Hercule Poirot. What do you think about it? Do you like Agatha Christie?

I am a big fan of Agatha Christie—I do not think any writer has ever equaled her skill for plotting and for baffling readers. I am very flattered by comparisons between Hercule Poirot and Hermes, but I think the similarities are superficial—both are careful in the way they dress, both are a little overweight and in their later years. In the way they work, however, they are very different. Poirot is a man of logic who depends on his “little grey cells.” Hermes I see as working much more from his heart, and soul. He is not a logical man at all; in fact, much of what
he does defies logic! To me, similarities between the characters are only skin deep.

Which contemporary crime writers do you feel close to, in a literary way? Which of them do you most admire?

The crime writers I most admire are American, but I don’t think my work is anything like theirs! My books are not typical crime novels—no blood, no police procedures, no lawyers or courts or blue flashing lights. Michael Connelly is my favorite, and I like Jonathan Kellerman, John Grisham—all the usual suspects who can tell a gripping story.

What kind of books do you read? Could you tell us what are your seven favorite books?

I read a wide range of books. Crime fiction, of course, and modern fiction. I read classic novels too—Dickens is a favorite. I like biographies of people who interest me, and I also enjoy ghost stories.

My seven favorite books are (this is a tough question!):

The Lincoln Lawyer
by Michael Connelly. A real page-turner. I’m really looking forward to seeing how it’s translated onto the big screen.

Cloud Atlas
by David Mitchell. A masterpiece that breaks the mold—brilliant.

A Christmas Carol
by Charles Dickens. One of the best stories ever; I read it every Christmas.

Perfume
by Patrick Susskind. Another masterpiece.

Zorba the Greek
by Nikos Kazantzakis. A lesson in life for us all.

The Road
by Cormac McCarthy. Bleak, devastating, amazingly written.

Elidor
by Alan Garner. My favorite book from childhood.

Where do you get your ideas?

I live a quiet life—literally. I live in a quiet place, and the house is always quiet during the day. For me, this is the ideal environment for ideas to grow; my mind stays calm and empty so there’s plenty of room for ideas to germinate. Good ideas appear randomly—while I’m peeling potatoes or walking the dog, for example.

Do you have a favorite place or time to write? What is your routine?

My usual routine is to start early in the morning, maybe as early as 5 a.m. I have a break for breakfast and walking the dog when my son goes to school. I try to work every day; it develops a rhythm. But writing isn’t always so predictable. Sometimes I’ll wake in the middle of the night and know it’s time to write, so I make a cup of tea and get on with it. I drink an awful lot of tea. My hours are not always “normal.” I always write at home, though; it’s my sanctuary.

Do you write with a pen and paper, or do you use a computer?

I write my first drafts in notebooks with a fountain pen, because I find a fountain pen gives the smoothest, fastest flow. I have a variety of inks, and I choose the color to
suit my mood. I type my handwritten work on a laptop sometime later—maybe the same day or week, maybe much later. As I type I do my first edits, making improvements to the original as I go—though it’s still several drafts away from being publishable at that point.

Besides writing, what other activities are you currently engaged in?

Recently I’ve been doing a series of events to meet readers all over the UK, and that has taken a lot of my spare time. I do volunteer work in the British courts to care for victims of crime, and I’m active in local politics and am involved in environmental issues in the area where I live (I live in a National Park that is—amazingly—not always protected by British law against damaging developments). I’m a sociable person and writing is a very solitary occupation, so not surprisingly, when I’m not writing, I spend plenty of time socializing!

Do you see yourself writing stories different from crime fiction?

I do write noncrime fiction, as a break from Hermes (like many relationships, we need time apart, sometimes). I write short stories just for myself—but all the ideas I have for books seem to be for crime novels! So I think I must accept that crime writing is in my blood.

Questions and topics for discussion

1. “From the sea, the island of Thiminos showed exactly what it was: rock, one huge rock, so undercut by the salt water of the southern Aegean it seemed to float free, rising and falling in the swell” (
here
). How important do you think the island setting is to this novel’s plot? In your opinion, are small communities like Thiminos more caring places to live than cities?

2. “I expect you’re surprised at my name: Hermes Messenger. My father’s idea of humor. He was a classical scholar” (
here
). What clues does the author give to the identity of Hermes, the mysterious “messenger of Athens”? What do you think is the significance of the references throughout the book to the myths of ancient Greece?

3. In what ways is the character of Aunt Sofia representative of the role and status of women on the island of Thiminos? Do you think her ending will be a happy one?

4. “Men and women don’t mix. Don’t think the same way, don’t want the same things” (
here
). Do you
agree with Lukas’s view of the relationship between the sexes?

5. What are Theo’s most significant characteristics? Is his dissatisfaction with his life justified, or should he be grateful for what he has? To what extent is he a free man? Do you feel that his punishment at the fat man’s hands was appropriate?

6. Eleni says, “Let me tell you about my husband. My
man
. I put up with it for years, his running around with every whore who’d drop their knickers for a wink and a smile. He wasn’t fussy” (
here
). What differences between men’s and women’s attitudes toward infidelity are revealed in
The Messenger of Athens
? Do you think those attitudes are shared in the wider world?

7. To what extent is
The Messenger of Athens
a love story? What do you make of the portrayals of love in the novel, especially the relationships between Irini and Andreas and Irini and Theo? Which has more value: love or passion?

8. Seemingly, the event that brings Hermes to Thiminos is Irini’s death, but he has other tasks to accomplish while he is there. Considering Hermes’ interactions with all the characters—particularly Aunt Sofia and the chief of police—what do you think is at the heart of his mission?

9. Did you anticipate who murdered Irini, or was the identity of the murderers a shock? Did you find the women’s violence inexcusable, or did it seem inevitable, given what you had been told of their lives?

10. Is
The Messenger of Athens
a crime novel? How do the fat man’s “unorthodox” methods factor into your response?

11.
The Messenger of Athens
is the first in a series of novels based on the seven deadly sins. What sin do you think is at the heart of the book? Do you think the seven sins have any contemporary relevance outside small, old-fashioned communities like Thiminos?

In July 2011 Reagan Arthur Books will publish
The Taint of Midas
. Following is an excerpt from the novel’s opening pages.

T
he sun was blazing, and its heat was intense; the stains of sweat spread at Gabrilis’s armpits, and on his bony back his shirt was damp. The watermelons lay fat among their foliage, their green, cream-mottled skins fresh on the powdery dirt. He bent, and rolled one side to side to gauge its weight; judging it ready, he reached down among the prickling leaves and, with a kitchen knife, sliced through the stem. He wrapped his arms around the melon, and heaved it to his chest, laboring with it to the tricycle and laying it carefully in the trailer.

But as he went to cut a second melon, Manyiatis struggled barking to his feet.

Listening, Gabrilis heard what had disturbed Manyiatis: the pop and snap of stones beneath a vehicle’s tires. As the sound grew louder, Manyiatis’s bark grew bolder, and he limped a few arthritic steps toward the track; but Gabrilis whistled, and ordered silence, and Manyiatis, wearied by barking, was glad to sit.

Around the bend in the track, navigating with care around the pits and potholes, a sleek new car appeared, its silver gloss dull with chalky dust. To maintain its
air-conditioned coolness, the car’s gray-tinted windows were tightly closed; an orchestra playing Skalkatos on the sound system was muted behind the windows’ seal. The car stopped; the engine and the music were switched off. With the noise gone, the cicadas’ rhythmic shrilling seemed intense.

A young man stepped from the car. He smiled, but his eyes were hidden behind dark glasses, and Gabrilis thought of flies’ eyes, which seemed sightless but saw everything, from every angle. The young man’s shirtsleeves were rolled above his wrists, his collar was open at the neck, his buff-colored trousers held a knife-pleat even in the heat. He seemed a handsome man, but as he drew close to Gabrilis his flaws became clear. With not a touch of tan, his skin was pale as an invalid’s, and where a man his age should be muscled there was flaccidity and fat, so his chin—which could have been noble—appeared weak, and an older man’s soft stomach spilled over his trouser-belt.

Attempting another challenge, Manyiatis gave a single bark and trotted growling after the young man. But the young man’s stride was quick, and Manyiatis, noticing the coolness of the tricycle’s shadow, gave up and lay down there instead.

The young man reached the fence, and shouted a greeting through the wire.

“
Kali spera, kyrie!
How are you, Mr. Kaloyeros?”

Gabrilis squinted, and focusing his cloudy, red-rimmed eyes, recognized his visitor. He bent to a watermelon, searching among its drying leaves for the umbilical length
of stalk and slicing it through. As he lifted the melon, heavy as a small child, into his arms, a bee resting on an opening flower took flight. Gabrilis made his struggling way toward the gate, where Pandelis Paliakis waited.