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!”…

After the Goring

  “Papa, why are we eating tacos on a bus?” “Have we ever done it before?” “No.” “That’s why.” From the windows of the bus the Puerta del Sol pupated into the Gran Via of Madrid. The line of trees came into view and the whiteness of the buildings gave them their architecture. It was…

The Tide At Our Feet

    “I’m not who I used to be.” “What does that even mean?” “I need to find myself.” “You never used to talk bullshit.” The couple were talking in a restaurant on the edge of a rocky bay. It was a dry summer day, the waves neither foaming nor rolling. They were drinking digestifs…

By the Lights of Cappadocia

  There’s nothing to being a man but flying. Alex and his friends were in Cappadocia to fly in the hot air balloons; most of his friends were cooks turned travel bloggers. Everyone was a travel blogger now. And somehow they see themselves as men? Alexander the Great would never have filmed himself conquering Persia…