Old Stories, Old Desires I do not remember when I first began to wish that the mirror would answer. The impulse is so old that it is rarely experienced as a conscious desire — more as something inherited, a reflex of the imagination that we all acquire as we grow up and become…

I was nine years old when I first realised that what I was speaking wasn’t simply the Bulgarian language, but something stranger, labelled by the incomprehensible word dialect. I was visiting my cousins in the romantic little town of Kavarna (“romantic” means nothing more here…

„Hello,“ said someone behind him, and he nearly slipped off the seat of the worn, spinning chair – his faithful comrade in the endless battle with words. He turned slowly, cursing the pain in his neck that no longer allowed faster movements. The blurred figure across from him…

A Week in Paradise Shame rides on the edge of the familiar The sky above Berlin glows as if polished by careful German hands... Sounds flat, Vladko thinks. Pure kitsch. A sky is a sky—nowhere does it say Made in Germany. He gazes again at the tangle of steel scaffolding,…