The form of the short story seems to fit him like a glove, since his writings are blessed with the virtues of an outstanding narrative density, a staccato internal tempo, as well as a pervasive suggestiveness. What’s his take on the over-simplistic view that dismisses short stories as a mere intermediate step in the rough pathway towards the ultimate goal of a novel? “When writing short stories, the more common question that pops up, especially in moments of awkwardness, when the conversation leads nowhere, revolves around the prospect of writing a novel. It is true that many regard short stories as nothing more than the groundwork that paves the way for the “proper work of literature”, which is no other than the novel. Needless to say that this misconception has been resolved for quite some time now, if it ever existed in the first place. A short story and a novel are two separate and distinct forms of literature. The former focuses on intensity and depth, the latter aims at amplitude and range. Both are literature, as they are molded in the same raw material of language, implementing different techniques and methods. It may sound pompous but both of them, when carried out at a high level by writers who are dead serious about their work but don’t take themselves too seriously, aspire to the vision of poetry, in other words a kind of intuitive revelation of an invisible world that holds us together no less than the visible one. The key elements of the short story are condensation, innuendos, diligence of style, rhythm, emphasis on the most elemental units of language, ambiguity, surprise, compressing the entire world into a grain of sand. A noble fight, no doubt” he explains.

The books of Yannis Palavos are endowed with a bond of origin, dispersed in many forms and deployed in many axes: the connection to the birthplace of Velventos, the eternal motherland of childhood, the obsessions, desires, phobias and complexes that haunt us, as a never-ending repatriation at once redeeming and painful. “One of the many lyrics written by Dionysis Savvopoulos that I treasure is a perfect fit here: “In the divine drama if he could only intervene / to be played out more fair and square”. I suppose that’s exactly what we are striving for when writing, when getting caught up with anything that falls into the category of artist creation. We try, by building a symbolic edifice, to intervene in something – whether it is a specific moment, an occasion or an experience – that did not unfold the way it was supposed to, that was not played out fair and square. We struggle through artificial means, that is to say we stage the whole fight, to mend and repair what has already occurred for real. In most cases this process takes place unconsciously, even though many writers and artists either dismiss the mechanism or fail to grasp what they’re trying in vain to set straight. However, my experience tells me that the most gifted and self-aware artists are fully conscient of the mechanism, without ever abusing it. As for me, the notion of nativeness, memories and childhood, along with my phobias, complexes and obsessions, are the recurring motifs in everything I have published so far. Nevertheless, the real stake lies elsewhere; to what extent all the above are shaped into a fully-rounded work that emotionally and mentally draws, stirs and challenges a reader
completely (and rightfully) unaware of its roots.”

In addition to his already noteworthy stint in the literary field of short stories, Yannis Palavos has shown his credentials both as a comics’ co-scriptwriter and as a translator of renowned writers and poets. What role do these two parallel artistic activities play in his life? Here’s what he has to say: “Both these activities, the scripts co-written with Christos Zafeiriadis for the comics designed by Thanassis Petrou and the translator’s work, could be described as going into the same war armed with different weaponry, a manifestation of the same need to express something, to intervene in the divine drama we talked about so that it can be played out in a more stand-up way. I would never have dared to write a comic scenario if it hadn’t been for my two lifelong friends, Tasos and Thanassis. I love comics, but I would have never taken such an initiative, if they hadn’t sneaked me into their world. On the other hand, I feel much closer to the process of translation. I may not be a professional translator, but I do occasionally translate texts that I find fascinating and that have not been translated to Greek. Whenever I find the necessary time and courage, I forward these translations to any publishing house that may be interested and sometimes they go all the way to the bookstores’ shelves. My scope includes the works of writers or poets with whom I feel an affinity in terms of emotions, gaze and interests. It is a highly demanding, time-consuming and particularly well-paid work that can teach you a lot: read a literary work in depth, take notice of the techniques used by top-notch writers – this way you eventually end up learning a thing or two yourself –, perform a fiddly task, get reacquainted with your mother tongue from scratch. Despite the difficulties, the certainty that no matter how hard you try you will never find adequate solutions for all the problems that may come up, the meager earnings and the bitter awareness that only a handful of adept readers will appreciate your work, but many more will get in line to criticize the mistakes you’ll inevitably make, there’s still a lot to gain” he concludes.