Imaginationist Manifesto – Then and Now

Imaginationist Manifesto (2011) So fragile is the reality of life, that it is not real at all. Man is increasingly discontent with his destiny, for he makes himself more aware of it daily. A destiny he sees to be one of disquietude, disappointments and failures – and yet he does not know what his destiny…

Art as a Revelation of Human Nature

What is the currency, the ultimate goal of the art historian when he looks back at the art of the past? Is it simply to explain art, to engage with beauty, to come to a definition of beauty? I don’t think art history as a discipline has one unifying aim, but rather it is split…

The Destruction of Art

I have just finished watching Mary Beard’s new series Forbidden Art and my mind whirls with new insights into the nature and power of art. It’s something I’ve been thinking a lot about over the last few days. Yesterday, as I read for my Zuloaga assignment over a beer at a dive bar, I thought…

Why I Love Japanese Literature

  Literature, just as porn, is a reflection of a nation’s identity. Whilst porn reflects a certain truthful stereotype – the harsh, blonde German woman, the sultry French girl, the busty, flashy American, big-assed Brazilian, etc – literature reflects a more profound way a nation sees the world. In France, the literature is philosophical, erotic…

Beauty and Freedom – The Soundtrack

  Soundtrack available on Spotify here   Music is the art form that elevates all art forms. Everything is made richer by its presence. Novels included. I am as influenced by music as I am by stories. Every novel I write I have a soundtrack in mind for it. It’s either the music I listen…

Top 8 Quotes From Beauty and Freedom

It is every novelist’s wet-dream to have his characters take control of a story and watches them helplessly running away with it. That is what happened with me with the characters of Beauty and Freedom – a literary novel about star-crossed lovers set in Budapest.   Christopher and Cassandra, the novel’s only two characters, have…

The Exile

The plaster peeling off the walls in the Alfama looked like a weeping woman’s running mascara. Trams shunted past like the sound of endless rows of slot machines. From yawning windows old women peered outside like gargoyles, their skin as mat and tired as the faded azulejos. Joaquim drank his fourth shot of ginjinha and…

Sette Guigno

  7th June 1919   It was when he saw a man walking through Valletta with his intestines in his hand that Indri learned the meaning of happiness. The man’s blood, dripping like rain off a palm frond, looked even brighter against the white limestone pavement. In the sun, the red and white reminded Indri…

Venus in Exile Sample

Four or five men around the bar were talking about the next EU elections. They were foreigners living in Budapest. Christopher watched Cassandra’s fixed stare. She watched them, her eyes acrobatically following their lips and hands as they gestured. She wants them, Christopher thought, she wants any one of those men, in a way she…

#YouToo, Dear Author

  There once was an author who wrote about construction. He had long, curly hair, wore a baggy shirt and he had a tattoo of Bob Marley on his leg. He wrote about construction with great passion. He wrote, “my lovely island is becoming a capitalist’s plaything. Down with history and up with phallic skyscrapers!”…