Gaming's literary roots.
Tom Humberstone’s weekly comic.
The Albarn-Coxon concoction sounds surprisingly robust.
The path up to Pendle. The sleeping beast. The purple skies.
Folk tell of witches burned or branded or drowned or hung
up there. They tell of failed crops, stillborn calves, murrain.
Always the women. Always the witches. Never the men.
Alan Titley's translation of Máirtín Ó Cadhain's Cré na Cille brings us a novel entirely in dialogue - and set in a graveyard.
He influenced writers from Salman Rushdie to Danilo Kiš - now a new novel by Maxim Biller takes us deep into the legend of the Polish-Jewish novelist.
Modernism's legacy seems to dominate refined taste - but you can't underestimate the power of a great story.
Perhaps what Dhillon was picking up on as patronising was that if you’re addressing a slightly younger audience you have a responsibility not just to keep distracting them with quotable outrages; their minds are less experienced.
We’ve seen too many Friday the thirteenth films to buy the sight of teenagers venturing into the deep, dark forest, but the deep, dark internet is another matter.
With Tom Hughes as lead and a script by Toby Whithouse, The Game gives us a lot to like - but doesn't do enough to surprise.
In a world so highly individualised, what we need is a cultural rather than an economic politics.
Melissa Harrison's At Hawthorn Time and Sarah Hall's The Wolf Border take us to the brink of the anthropocene.
Perhaps the most difficult word to pronounce aloud in the Turkish language is “soykirim” – genocide.
Introducing Mortal Kombat’s first openly gay character.
From the Grateful Dead to Arnold Schoenberg, via Tossers Wood.
Tom Humberstone’s weekly comic.
Before I even got near the reds, I found myself thinking of a short story by Tolstoy, “How Much Land Does a Man Need?”.
Toni Morrison has plenty of laurels on which to rest - and this new novel isn't terrible. But given the choice, I'd read Beloved anyday.
If the Marvel fan base, like an elephant, is large but easily startled, Roy Andersson's minimalist vignettes in A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence ask the viewer to endure discomfort.
Passing the age of "believable fuckability".
The story of an obscure munitions disaster during the First World War meets a fragile form of biography.
The Tate has vowed not to take money from the arms industry or tobacco firms - but the oil firm's support is just as contentious.
Naked at the Albert Hall is a history of singing that hums with freshness and passion.
Birds are able to discriminate between waveforms in a way we cannot - and their cries are mutating.
The mockumentary's second season opens with an hour long special - but some of it hits a bit too close to home.
A new book by Tim Bale takes us as close as possible to understanding the awkward enigma that is Ed.
Work is now something we are supposed to be "passionate" about. But Joanna Biggs' portraits of the British workforce show that cant and hypocrisy are as resilient as ever.
Today, Hitchcock is reverred for his contribution to cinema. But his reputation as a "serious" director came late, as new biographies from Michael Wood and Peter Ackroyd reveal.
On paper Tony Stark, aka Iron Man, should be a super villain. But somehow, he’s a hero, and what’s more, he’s the only American superhero you want to have a beer with.