Folk myths are nothing more than folk worldviews. These myths are sculpted by time, aggregated with others, and sometimes chaotically composed and self-organized into the form of epics. The epic is the highest literary genre and the only form of poetry in which human existence is justified, in which the happy ending is not ridiculous. In Crete, thirty years ago, before the universal imposition of rambling television speech, epic song-narration was part of everyday life, on the lips of illiterate but highly educated people. We learned about Erotokritos from oral tradition. In fact, I have the hard luck of belonging to the last generation ‒ in Greece and Europe ‒ that learned an epic by ear. Historical events and heroic deeds were recounted in the form of epic song narratives. And tragicomic events, too. This wonderful art has nurtured generations and generations, from Homeric antiquity to recent times. The Dragontooth was given to me, I didn't think about it. I experienced it strangely, metaphysically, exactly as it is represented in the book, one autumn, ascetic in the Cretan hinterland. It is an epic, metaphysical song story, an apocalyptic tale, which begins with the hero promising his beloved that he will bring her the Dragon's tooth. His adventures, between light and darkness, order and chaos, lead him to the discovery of the great eternal secrets of life. And they lived well and we better...
