Aristocratic scaring

I WAS lonely. Papa was a preacher and we lived and travelled in a painted wooden wagon, pulled by Jessie, a large and docile shire horse. We had few possessions; there was no room for what Papa called

A war of nerves

TWO choc ices and an orange Kia-Ora, please.” He didn’t need to tell me what he wanted. As soon as the house lights went up, and he appeared in the aisle, I was already reaching into the illuminated t

Taking as many guises as his names, the Prince of Lies turned at times into a man-devouring ogre, a mutant medley of claws, horns and wings, or the brooding rebel that lit the imagination of Romantic painters, as Carla Passino discovers

Guillermo del Toro’s version of Mary Shelley’s myth