"She was a woman with a huge heart, very cultured and educated, and full of knowledge. Besides all the human concerns we shared, she taught me a lot of things of all kinds. And when she got sick, so young and so beautiful, it was almost impossible for me to understand that it was a reality, that death could come," he evokes with a melancholic smile Theodor Kallifatides (Molaoi, Greece, 1938), who admits that remembering her "with tenderness, I would say. Every time I think of Olga, my heart melts."
This Olga, his friend, is the protagonist of A Woman to Love (Galaxia Gutenberg), a wise and simple, twilight and vitalistic book at the same time, in which the Greek writer based in Sweden since the 1960s reminisces about one of his most faithful life companions, who died at just over 50 years old due to cancer. That fateful summer of 2002, Kallifatides was, as today, in his little house in Fårösund - a place well known to his readers - the most northern village on the island of Gotland, connected by ferry to the island of Fårö where the filmmaker Ingmar Bergman also found refuge.
"It was a matter of days, but when she finally passed away, I wasn't there, I could only make it to the ceremony," laments the writer, explaining that it was during that mass where Greek and Russian immigrants, as well as Swedes - the three nationalities of Olga - mingled, that he understood his friend would never return. "That's when I thought I should write a book, a book that reflected who she was, that kept her as alive as possible. I simply couldn't accept that that was it, so I thought as long as the book lives, she will live. And that's how it has been. More than 20 years later, we are talking about Olga thanks to this story that is a debt and a gift, the best way I found to show her my gratitude," he summarizes with a smile.
Full of time jumps and digressions of all kinds, the pages of A Woman to Love take us back to that 1965 when a newcomer Kallifatides met Olga at the home of her mother Anuska, a Russian exile who turned her home into the center of a whole host of immigrants looking for their place in Sweden. "At that time, I was an empty man, I had left everything behind, my home, my family, my language. They helped me, they became my new family," recalls the writer. "Then I understood, and still believe, that we actually always live among different cultures, even living in the same country. Adapting or not is mainly a matter of decision. I was determined to learn from Sweden what I could learn, starting with the language and culture, so I got to it," he remembers.
However, he does not romanticize immigration at all, considering it as "a kind of suicide. Despite having friends, I also suffered all the problems of leaving your home: loneliness, depression, lack of work at times, incomprehension at others. But I thought there were problems I could deal with, that did not exceed my human capacity," reflects Kallifatides. "Being able to live in another country is not a matter of intelligence, it's a matter of decision," he emphasizes.
Forged in that open and multicultural context, marked by a complex or, at least, divided identity, Kallifatides's friendship with Olga strengthened and solidified over the years, rooted in their shared passion for philosophy and literature. "Literature was our homeland, you could say", admits the author, who acknowledges: "during my childhood and adolescence, I lived more with writers than with reality. I read a lot and was constantly impressed by some writer: Dostoevsky, Oscar Wilde, Tolstoy, Cervantes, Balzac, Hamsun...", he lists. "Over time, I have come to think that reading a lot, seeing what has already been written, saves you from reinventing the wheel, so I hope I haven't unintentionally imitated one of these great masters," he jokes.
"The ideal of friendship has died because being young today is much harder and more competitive than 50 years ago"
Regarding friendship, he regrets that it is not a particularly valued trait in contemporary society. "Actually, I'm not very aware of youth customs, but I do see that in youth culture, friendship is not as important as it was in my time. And I think it's because nowadays there is much more competition," Kallifatides asserts. "I believe true friendship is only forged when you are young, then it can endure, but being young today is much harder than it was 50 years ago, as they compete for jobs, apartments, partners...," he opines. "In this context, it is one of the first values to collapse because friendship is more demanding than love. You can't be friends with someone you don't like, but it's perfectly possible to fall in love with someone you find repulsive," he assures.
Written in 2003 and framed in the most intimate and biographical literature of the prolific writer, like works such as Lo pasado no es un sueño, Otra vida por vivir, Amor y morriña or Un nuevo país al otro lado de la ventana, the vital story that Kallifatides unfolds here is also a vehicle for reflecting on many other things, especially the major themes that have marked his production: exile and uprooting, the tension between memory and identity, the irrationality of conflicts (such as war), reflection on the human condition, and also a very vitalistic exploration of desire and youth.
Themes to which in this book he adds in a special way death, which at 87 years old he considers he can "face". Something that for this former Philosophy student does not happen in our society, which "has lost the rituals that make death approachable. And this starts from Philosophy itself, which has abandoned its old mission of seeking the meaning of life," denounces the writer. "I have nothing against analytical philosophy, nor language philosophy, they are important things, but the main question I ask myself is: how do I live my life? What is a good life? How can I be a good person? These kinds of topics have become sections of psychology or self-help, but not of philosophical thought," he maintains.
And he illustrates it with an anecdote: "It is said that when the philosopher Anaxagoras found out that his son had died in battle, the only thing he said was: 'I knew I had fathered a mortal'. No revenge, no oaths, just a deep sadness that makes him human," Kallifatides recounts. "I believe that if young people are deprived of these stories, if we do not reflect nowadays on these great themes, it makes us less human. The purpose of thought, just like that of literature, is to show what we humans are and evaluate how we could or should be. And modern philosophers no longer do that. Occasionally, I try to read books on current philosophy, and I get terribly bored."
Another very present theme in these memoirs is Greece, as it was after Olga's death, a little over 20 years ago, the last time Kallifatides really considered returning, something that never happened. "Surely I did the right thing," he now thinks. "Here I still have some Greek friends, not many, because my generation is older and most are no longer here. And there in Greece, I have nothing left, I am the last survivor of my family and friends. Returning there is like going back to a cemetery, they have all passed away. It's sad, painful, but I can live with it," he explains. "Now when I miss my homeland, I calm myself by drinking a glass of red wine or reading, of course, the great eternal classics, which are always there."
The Collapse of Europe
It is from that immigrant experience that he looks with more concern at a present that already 20 years ago, as the book reflects, seemed bleak. "It is true that in the early 2000s the world began to seem more insecure and less optimistic, but I never imagined that in my old age I would see a world at war again like in my childhood. Two generations after that horror, the greatest crime of today is that politicians and leaders worldwide have convinced us that peace is an unattainable illusion," reflects the writer, who is particularly pained by the global situation that millions and millions of immigrants are facing.
"What angers me the most and is hardest for me to understand is the current outbreak of racism plaguing the world. For example, in Europe, where it is considered such a serious problem, it is evident that there is a lack of people. In Sweden, specifically, there is a need for workers. Have we really returned to something as ridiculous as believing that blacks are not as intelligent as whites?" he incredulously asks.
"It's as if European civilization has collapsed. In all countries, right-wing movements and racism and cruelty towards immigrants grow every day," laments Kallifatides, who argues that immigration should be seen as an opportunity. "For Europe, it's a win-win situation. In Sweden, certainly. It costs a lot to raise a citizen born in Sweden and reach working age. And suddenly, there are people who arrive at the right age, young, strong, and eager to work. I don't understand the rejection," he insists.
At one point in the book, the writer asks his friend how she wants to be remembered. We leave the reader to discover the answer, but how would he like to be remembered in the future? "As an epitaph, I would simply like them to write: 'He did the best he could,'" Kallifatides says with a hint of irony. After all, as he concludes with that wise smile, "it's the only thing we humans can aspire to, isn't it?".