We’d like to think Nosferatu’s Count Orlok is watching over this podcast with pride. April – is it really (groan) the cruellest month? Probably not – but this month’s subject of podcast discussion is not the nicest of characters… Count Dracula! Joining Teodor, Marco and Kris is Bram Stoker scholar Charmaine Tanti, and the subject
Month: April 2012
by Alistair Rennie To begin with a few staunch facts: Bram Stoker visited Slains Castle in 1894 when on holiday in Cruden Bay where he was a regular visitor. With the Bullers of Buchan to its north and the perfect sands of the bay to the south, the castle sits on a rocky promontory on
A woman, a book and a secret. Schlock’s celebration of Bram Stoker begins with this series of photos from Vienna.
A number of artists and photographers have gathered under the Milkshake initiative to explore what the ‘queer body’ means, complicated by the (largely Catholic) context of contemporary Maltese society. This ongoing project is worth a look, and the crew have generously donated a sample of the works to Schlock. Enjoy them below. *** Photo by
In desperate hopes of boosting hits and notoriety to both Schlock and this column, I was going to review controversial local (as in Maltese) documentary Dear Dom. Unfortunately, unlike some other reviewer , I cannot review what I didn’t bother to watch. Damn you, ethics! Talk on DOM MINTOFF, most divisive of Maltese politicos (he
Hugo Calibri had not planned to die so soon. He pulled up the shade on his living room window a crack, just enough to glimpse the front yard. He had a sleepless night. Still in his pajamas, he raised the shade to get a better look at the driveway, while rubbing the stubble on his
At a speed that could almost warp reality, Celer’s hooves flung mud from the road into the dark night beyond Parthicus’s vision. He could feel his gladius hilt catch against his chestplate’s ribs. It hurt, but they would be there soon. Parthicus ignored the pain and kept on. He looked over his shoulder for Mark’s
Marsha stood in the doorway, hands on her hips like Mom, exuding that older sister attitude Mark always adored. “Chuck saw you.” He pulled a dry T-shirt from his dresser and tugged it over wet, disheveled hair. “Better beat it,” he said, yanking out a pair of shorts. “Unless you like getting mooned.” She cursed