Like a flock of black and purple bats, goths are back on our streets. They’re creeping down the catwalks. In Bournemouth they are celebrating the gothic novel via the town’s connections to Mary Shelley, sweet-faced wife of poet Percy, from whose 19-year-old imagination sprang Frankenstein, the book that put the entire literary genre firmly on the map.
The swooping, spiky architecture of course, never went away.
The signature pointed arches, flying buttresses and ribbed vaulting of the Gothic revival (the original movement started in the 12th century) can be seen liberally, even at St Peters Church in the town centre, the last resting place of Mary Shelley.