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“Apognosis” – besides forming part of the title of To Cross an Ocean: Apognosis – means something very unique. As you might guess, it is a Greek work (Απόγνωσις), fairly common in Greek. It basically means “despair”, but its etymology is revealing. Apognosis literally means to willingly abandon knowledge. Although I didn’t coin the original word, I would claim its first usage in the English language.

But what does the phrase “to willingly abandon knowledge” could possibly refer to? How can you pretend not to know something? Instead of offering a long philosophical diatribe on the matter, I’ll have two of the characters of the novel do the hard work. That’s one of the roles of fiction, anyway: to make complex issues accessible and relatable.

To Pretend You Don’t Know Is the Starting Point for despair

Before we get to the scene itself, here is a quick blurb of the book:

For Danny, a young American residing in Athens, Greece, life is all but an eternal present. Traumatized by the past and scared of the future, he leads an enigmatic existence sharing a rundown apartment with Yasir and Nazim, two illegal immigrants who try to continue their long journey to Germany. Danny’s best friend is Sophia, a young British-Greek woman that clearly desires more than a friendship.

The turning point comes when Danny’s roommates announce they have finally found a trafficker to get them out of Greece. Danny is now forced to acknowledge his past and face his fears, wondering whether it is too little too late.

As you can see, the story heavily revolves around the elements of trauma, despair, and action. Danny, traumatized by the past and the despair he experienced then, denies the future. The text that follows is the critical scene, where Mario – an acquaintance with important insights into Danny’s problem – explains what is at stake.

Despair is not really about losing hope; it is about denying knowledge

“You know…” Mario said while fishing for his house key. “I would have now normally said something cliché, like ‘Sophia is lucky to have you,’ or something like that. But the truth is more complicated. You’re the one in need of some Sofìa. In Greek it means ‘wisdom,’ did you know that? You can see it in words like ‘philosophy’ for example.”

Danny’s eyes gleamed with an enigmatic spark. “I… I did know that, in fact. But I had never thought of it, somehow. I had never thought of it in connection with Sophia. Wow, how can it be?”

Mario snickered, his eyes now on fire, as if he had finally reached a very secret spot in Danny’s consciousness. He approached him, holding his key in his right hand. He lifted it, displaying it as if it were an enchanted amulet.

“Precisely,” he said with a didactic firmness in his voice. “Answers are sometimes in our grasp, we already know them. We just refuse to accept them. Have you ever heard the Greek word ‘apognosis’?”

“I think it means ‘despair’?”

“It does,” Mario said softly, “but most people don’t realize the deeper meaning. You see, ‘despair’ means to lose hope. ‘Apognosis,’ in its truest, ancient Greek sense, means to voluntarily abandon knowledge, to refuse the fact that you know something and to shut yourself off. It’s a very dangerous state of mind, honey. Don’t allow it to hold you for too long.”

Lessons to learn in fiction…

I conceived this article as one talking about despair. I didn’t intend it to become a lesson in writing fiction, but it is now veering in that direction. Metatextually speaking, this is in fact the very thing I am about to expand on: When writing fiction, you rarely end up where you intended. Books are subconscious processes – they ought to be – and as a result, they take you to journeys you hadn’t imagined.

To Cross an Ocean: Apognosis began as a work of personal experiencing. As I once mentioned in an interview, there is a lot of personal experiencing in this book, in the sense that it reflects the way I remember (or would like to remember) spaces and places different from my current condition. It is a manifestation of the processes of nostalgia and idealistic reminiscence.

…and in life

Ultimately, perhaps despair (or apognosis) is this very conflict, namely the inability to juxtapose the real with the ideal; knowledge with its repercussions. Denying what we already know is a coping mechanism that might work in the short run. However, there can be no real catharsis without facing your fears directly. Sadly but inevitably, the very act of denying the truth is what can push us further into the dark.

Most of my novels are available as an immediate free download – simply visit the Fiction page on the main site. And remember, you can also just email me and ask for a free, no-strings-attached (e.g. review etc.) digital copy of any of my books.