I’m starting yet another short essay with a familiar mix of feelings: some pleasure, and – inevitably – some tension. The pleasure comes from the discussions that sometimes arise here. However incomplete or misshapen they may be, they remain one of the few genuine rewards for…

My father – my favourite Bulgarian – passed away a few months ago, standing. In this way, he gave his sons the last – and perhaps most important – example of his life, but that’s not what I want to speak about here. Bai Mitko Enev died while trying to climb the steps at the top…

Good evening, dear sir – would you permit me the modest pleasure of your company on this grey and rather unpleasant Berlin night? One rarely encounters countrymen here, and if one does, they usually hurry to turn into the nearest side street – most often out of embarrassment…

In a house filled with broken toys and forgotten dreams, nine-year-old Anne — called Firecurl for the wild red hair she cannot tame — stumbles into a game far older, and far more dangerous, than it first appears. When a strange model landscape bewitches her and a storm of anger…