Tasos Papanastasiou was born in 1964 in Thessaloniki, where he lives and works. He is a primary school teacher. He has published three other novels, all featuring Inspector Aptosoglou as the main character: 14 Days (Epikentro, 2017), Silence Doesn’t Keep You Alive (Metaixmio, 2021), and The Breaking (Metaixmio, 2023).
Your latest writing venture Κρυφό αίμα [Hidden Blood] featuring once again Inspector Aptosoglou was recently published by Metaichmio. Tell us a few things about the book.
Hidden Blood is a book that narrates a few days in the lives of three minors whom Inspector Aptosoglou meets by chance. Following his instincts, he tries to discover what they are involved in and what they are planning. In the book, the reader follows the path of these children as they sink into the dark shadows of fan violence, and watches Aptosoglou’s efforts to uncover and stop the evil that approaches at a dizzying speed.
The story of the book is inspired by the horrific murder of a 19-year-old, Alkis Kampanos, in Thessaloniki during an incident of fan violence in February 2022.
In Hidden Blood, you seem interested in not only the acts of violence but the systems supporting or enabling them — economic, educational, familial. How do you balance the novel’s crime elements with its broader sociological inquiry?
Violence – in any form, whether familial, political, or between rival supporters – is not born in a laboratory. It does not arise out of nowhere. Violence is born from social conditions, family roots, the stereotypes that are constantly nurtured, the lack of meaningful education, and a host of other factors.
In my book, I was particularly interested in identifying and highlighting the factors that give rise to fan violence, which is, let’s say, a part of youth violence. Before I started writing, but also during the writing process, I conducted extensive factual research in archives and publications. But I also spoke with people who know fan violence from the inside – lawyers, police officers, fans, supporters, parents of children involved in fan violence incidents, and people connected to football clubs. The material I gathered was, in a way, the raw material for the writing.
Then I planned the story. I didn’t want it to be just another story about bad hooligans breaking the law and the police trying to catch them. In my book, I wanted to show that these kids are not born violent. They don’t wake up one morning deciding to clash with rivals or to submit to a higher power – the idolized team. I wanted to show their path toward the dark room of fan tension, which ultimately leads to the violence that is recorded almost every day.
On the other hand, I wanted to show that there is always space and time to try to understand and help these kids escape from those nets. So, I used my hero to show the way – through understanding and awkward efforts to save these children. Inspector Aptosoglou clashes with those who pull the strings and recruit young people, while he also tries to convince the parents of these children to get involved and understand their kids in order to save them.
It is always a difficult balance when gathering factual material not to get overwhelmed by it and still manage to highlight what you want through your book, avoiding preachiness and easy condemnation. I hope that in Hidden Blood I managed to maintain that balance.
Inspector Aptosoglou has appeared in your earlier works. How has his character evolved in Hidden Blood compared to earlier novels? Would you say he is more fragile in this novel having to deal with issues of fan violence and youth recruitment?
Inspector Aptosoglou is a man who walks with his head down. Melancholic and introverted, he tries to be guided by reason and not be easily swayed by emotions. He reads philosophy books, studies Marcus Aurelius, the Roman Stoic emperor, and says he became a police officer to stop those who think they can do whatever they want without punishment.
In Hidden Blood, he is indeed more fragile, more human. He is not a superhero who can endure everything and do anything. He suffers from a serious health ordeal of his own, as well as that of the people around him, since the story takes place during the years of the pandemic. Facing issues of youth delinquency and violence, he summons his strength to save as many children as he can. A very difficult mission, as his opponents are the networks that recruit these children onto paths of no return.
How important is setting — particularly Thessaloniki — to the novel? Does the city itself function as more than just a backdrop? And, in turn, how has living in Thessaloniki shaped your perspective as an author, especially regarding social divisions, youth culture, and local violence?
Thessaloniki is a city with a very rich and compelling history. It is a place where many cultures have flourished, yet it is also a city marked by shadows as violence and obscurantism held sway through long periods of its past. It is here, too, that the crime that inspired the story I tell in Hidden Blood took place. Even the title itself echoes what unfolds almost nightly in the city’s darkened streets. Clashes between rival fans that remain hidden, as no one dares to speak of them. It’s as though we have all grown used to hearing that the blood of young people is spilled in secret, and no one sees it.
Thessaloniki is the city where I was born, where I grew up, and where I still live.
A city of stark contrasts. Wealth and poverty, social injustice, hatred between football fans, tension almost every night — all these shatter the cliché of the “city of love” that often accompanies it. This city, then, is not just a backdrop where the story unfolds, nor does it simply contain it: it gives birth to it.
What about language? What role does language play in your writings?
I try to write simply. Without embellishment, without strained similes or layered metaphors. I like to write in a straightforward way, using short sentences and clear dialogue. I avoid obscure or difficult words. What I want is for the reader to feel the tension that comes from simplicity, to sense the weight of each word, the clarity of each thought conveyed through language that’s familiar and precise. I have no interest in impressing readers with vocabulary that sends them to a dictionary. And I have no desire to stretch my words across more pages than necessary, just to make a book seem longer than it needs to be.
Greek crime fiction has often been shaped by social critique and political undertones. Do you feel a connection to that tradition, or do you seek to challenge or redefine it through your own work?
I see myself as part of the tradition of crime fiction that doesn’t seek to impress, but to reveal. In my view, there’s a fine line between stories that present crimes solved by a superhero detective, and stories in which the crimes emerge from historical, political, or social conditions, with the detective as part of that same world, subject to the same forces. Crime fiction can highlight social and political issues, while also offering the reader an engaging experience. That’s what I try to do with my work.
*Interview by Athina Rossoglou
TAGS: LITERATURE & BOOKS | READING GREECE
