Ordinary decent crims.

Damn, I nearly forgot to cover this in my new blog. I just remembered it because I was phoning them to get my art back. This was a job I drew in the middle of 2005. I spoke a little about it in my Comics Journal interview a year ago. It was for an exhibition described as follows:
City of shadows: inner city crime & mayhem 1912-1948 - Sydney at the Justice & Police Museum. (great old building, shown left)
"The extensive collection of police forensic negatives casts a fascinating light on the shadowy underworld of Sydney between the wars. In the mugshots we encounter people of that world - thieves, breakers, receivers, 'magsmen', 'spielers', 'urgers', 'gingerers', false pretenders, 'hotel barbers', shoplifters, dope users, prostitutes, makers of false oaths - and the occasional murderer."

Crime writer Peter Doyle is the curator of the exhibition, and also put together the marvellous book that goes with it.
My pal at Top Shelf, Brett Warnock came across it over Christmas and wrote on his blog: "In Sydney i revisited a gorgeous bookstore called Ariel... They had a copy of Lost Girls under glass, retailing for $175 Aussie!! I picked up a stunning book called City of Shadows: Sydney Police Photographs 1912 - 1948. My god some of these people looked rough & tumble." (I don't think he knows there's an exhibition and I'm connected with it).
Anyone with an interest in film noir would love this book. And it's all real, from police files of the period. Some of it is pretty ugly and horrible, bodies dragged out of the river, or found shot up in their living rooms. Characters on every page, and old cars too.

"Another room is devoted to the notorious Ernst Hofmann murder of 1942, which triggered one of the most comprehensive investigations ever conducted by Sydney police. Presented as a black-and-white comic strip by artist Eddie Campbell, it’s a compelling and salacious tale of prostitution, murder, false identities and very nasty crims."
Peter had the idea of bringing one of the documented cases to life by making it into an illustrated narrative running all around the walls of one of the small rooms of the museum, and contacted me to provide the drawings. I was in the middle of Fate of the Artist at the time, which I put aside for three weeks, as I recall. He used a line from the recorded dialogue as the title of the piece, "The fat shiela hit me!" (for my foreign readers, a 'sheila' is common Australian slang for a woman, or it used to be, in less pc times). It amused me when the statement that came with my cheque had the job itemised with that title, on the official headed notepaper of the Historic Houses Trust, maintainers and preservers of the museum, as well as publisher of the book. I filed it as one of the humorosities of the year. That's the illustrious Mr Doyle standing in front of my title panel.

Reproductions of relevant evidence, photos, fingerprints, handwritten police notes etc., were attached to the wall in appropriately relevant positions, footnotes as it were, to make for quite a complex read. These photos are from the launch night, taken by my pal Breach, who went along as my representative as I couldn't fly down there at the time.
The exhibition was supposed to run till last october, but has been so popular that it has been extended to 11 feb, which is next week. If you don't get to see my part of it on the wall, before it goes, all is not lost. It will be appearing in Deevee 2007 (cover shown) and will occupy perhaps 14 pages. We still have to figure out how to break it down into page portions, since it was designed to run a round a room.

The style of the piece changes according to who is giving their version of the story. Thus the detective's voice is represented by a style that looks like a movie detective story, like Gangbusters say, and another voice is given a more stressed artistic treatment, as you can glimpse here.
The job was quite a different experience for me, and Peter Doyle was a great guy to work with.



* * * *





Update 5.33 am Eastern standard (9 in the evening here). Hayley Campbell has a couple of better photos of the show. They also happen to have Neil Gaiman in them, from when he was over here for a convention last summer.

FROM HELL: 5/1

This is the first official outing with my redesigned space here at campbell blogspot. I've given myself a wider cloumn and I've boldened the header and colours and added a few jests in the sidebar. And after the criminal amount of time yesterday spent figuring out html codes, today I'm going with a post from my stash, typed last week by my daughter Erin. This is the tenth selection from Alan Moore's From Hell scripts.

This page of From Hell first appeared in Taboo 6, in 1992. It was something of a landmark. We were 109 pages into the project, and some three and a half years, and we'd only just arrived at the first of the murders. If I'd gotten into it for the horror I would probably have jumped ship by this time.
This chapter was also the one in which Pete Mullins started helping me out. I see his detailed touches first popping up around page 14. Steve Stamatiadis worked with me on the previous one, chapter 4, but he did jump ship. He has his own computer game company now, so all was for the best from his point of view I'm sure. This chapter reminds me of a predicament I used to notice in an artist such as Gene Colan, where he would start with a lot of energy and attention to detail but end in a hurry with things looking a bit scrappy around page 19. The deadline and a rapidly emptying wallet were getting the better of him. With Bacchus I used to do the pages in a non-consecutive order so that the gradual depletion of enthusiasm would not be obvious to the untrained eye. This page looks like I was arriving fresh after a lay-off, prepared to put in some effort.
(For anyone keeping track, this one is 1662 words long, which is on the heavy end of the spectrum)

Alan Moore's script for: FROM HELL. CHAPTER V.
“THE NEMESIS OF NEGLECT” (40 PAGES)
PAGE 1.
PANEL 1.
HELLO, EDDIE. WELL, HERE WE ARE: MORE THAN A HUNDRED PAGES INTO THE STORY AND WE FINALLY REACH THE FIRST MURDER. IT STRIKES ME THAT HAVING DONE SUCH A GOOD JOB OF MAKING THE MUNDANE MEANINGFUL AND DRAMATIC FOR THE PAST FIVE INSTALMENTS. WE MAY HAVE SOMETHING OF A PROBLEM WHEN IT COMES TO THIS FIRST MURDER; THE FIRST CONVENTIONALLY DRAMATIC MOMENT THAT WE’VE BEEN CALLED UPON TO DESCRIBE. I THINK WE NEED TO MAKE IT AS FLAT AND UNEVENTFUL AS WE DID THE SEX SECENE BETWEEN ANNIE AND EDDY BACK IN CHAPTER ONE, ALTHOUGH AT THE SAME TIME WE DO NEED TO CONVEY SOME OF THE HIDEOUS FORCE AND MOMENT THAT HAS GONE INTO THE EVENT. ALSO, WHILE WE MAINTAIN THE AIR OF NORMALITY THAT WE’VE CAREFULLY BUILT UP, WE ALSO HAVE TO MAINTAIN THE ATMOSPHERE OF STRANGENESS THAT WE’VE IMPLIED BEHIND THE EVERYDAY VICTORIAN FAÇADE. A TRICKY ONE, BUT I’M SURE WE’LL HANDLE IT OKAY WHEN WE ACTUALLY GET TO THE SCENE IN QUESTION.
THIS FIRST PAGE IS ONE OF THREE THAT MAKE UP OUR OPENING SEQUENCE, A PUZZLING AND ANOMALOUS LITTLE VIGNETTE THAT TAKES PLACE IN AUSTRIA. THE FIRST PAGE HAS THREE TIERS. ON THE UPPERMOST TIER WE HAVE THE BORDERLESS WHITE SPACE TO THE LEFT WHERE WE TRADITIONALLY SET OUT EPISODE TITLE, AND THEN A DOUBLE WIDTH PANEL TAKING UP THE REST OF THE TIER. THE LOWER TWO TIERS EACH HAVE THREE PANELS, MAKING THIS AN EIGHT-PANEL PAGE, INCLUDING THE TITLE PANEL.
TITLES: CHAPTER V: THE NEMESIS OF NEGLECT

PANEL 2.
IN THIS FIRST PANEL WE HAVE AN AERIAL SHOT OF A SMALL TWO STORY BUILDING THAT STANDS ON THE OUTSKIRTS OF THE UPPER-AUSTRIAN TOWNSHIP OF BRAUNAU. WE ARE LOOKING DOWN AT THE HOUSE, WHICH STANDS IN A FAIRLY ISOLATED POSITION RELATIVE TO THE REST OF THE TOWN, THROUGH A FINE VEIL OF POWDERY, FALLING SNOW. WE ARE HIGH ABOVE IT HERE AS WE LOOK DOWN, AND THE ISOLATED HOUSE IS THE MAIN FOCUS OF OUR VISUAL ATTENTION, WITH THE REST OF THE TOWN MERELY A SUGGESTION; A DARK HUDDLE OF BUILDINGS SOMEHWERE TOWARDS THE UPPER REACHES OF THE PANEL THAT DOES NOT DISTRACT FROM OUR FOCUS UPON THE HOUSE. IT IS THE EARLY AUGUST OF 1888, AND IT IS NIGHT TIME, ALTHOUGH THE CLARITY WITH WHICH WE CAN SEE THE HOUSE FAR BELOW US, EVEN THROUGH THE FALLING SNOW, SUGGESTS THAT THE SCENE MUST BE ILLUMINATED BY THE LIGHT OF SOME OFF-PANEL FULL MOON. THE SNOW BLOWS IN WILD GUSTS ACROSS OUR IMAGE, BUT PERHAPS WE CAN SEE A TINY PIN PRICK OF LIGHT IN THE UPPER STOREY OF THE BUILDING: A LIT WINDOW. IF WE ARE TOO HIGH FOR THIS TO BE PRACTICABLE, THEN JUST LEAVE IT OUT AND WE’LL ESTABLISH THE LIT WINDOW IN OUR NEXT PANEL.
CAPTION: Braunau, Upper Austria. August, 1888.

PANEL 3.
NOW THE FIRST OF THE THREE SMALLER PANELS THAT MAKE UP THIS CENTRAL TIER. SLOWLY, WE ARE CLOSING IN FROM OUR OPENING IMAGE, ZOOMING SLOWLY DOWN TOWARDS THE HOUSE BENEATH US. (YOU SEE WHAT A SEMANTIC MUDDLE YOU GET INTO WHEN YOU START USING CINEMATIC TERMINOLOGY? “ZOOMING SLOWLY”.) ALTHOUGH THE SNOWFLAKES STILL BOWL IN A LUMINOUS FREE-FALL ACROSS THE FOREGROUND OF THE PANEL, WE CAN NOW SEE THE HOUSE IN MUCH GREATER DETAIL, SINCE WE ARE HOVERING JUST ABOVE THE ROOF AND LOOKING DOWN. WE CAN CLEARLY SEE THE LIGHT IN THE UPPER STORY WINDOW, ALTHOUGH THE REST OF THE WINDOWS ARE DARK. ALTHOUGH IT IS MADE NOWHERE EVIDENT IN
THE TEXT THAT FOLLOWS, THE HOUSE IS THAT BELONGING TO THE CUSTOMS OFFICIAL ALOIS HITLER AND HIS WIFE KLARA. I’M AFRAID THAT THE BIOGRAPHY OF HITLER THAT I’VE CONSULTED FOR MY REFERENCE HAS NO PICTURE SECTION, SO YOU’RE ON YOUR OWN AS FAR AS FINDING REFERENCE FOR THIS ONE GOES. IF YOU CAN’T LOCATE A SPECIFIC IMAGE OF HITLER’S PARENTS' HOUSE THEN JUST DO A PIECE OF TYPICAL AUSTRIAN ARCHITECTURE FROM THAT PERIOD. AS WE LOOK DOWN ON THE HOUSE HERE, THE ILLUMINATED WINDOW ON THE UPPER STORY IS BECOMIING OUR VISUAL FOCUS OF ATTENTION.
No Dialogue

PANEL 4.
WE CONTINUE TO CLOSE IN UPON THE ILLUMINATED WINDOW THAT SHINES BENEATH THE OVERHANGING QAINTNESS OF THE PERIOD AUSTRIAN GABLES, ITS WAN YELLOW LIGHT PICKING OUT THE SNOWFLAKES AS THEY TUMBLE DOWN PAST IT. WE ARE LOOKING DOWN AT THE WINDOW FROM SUCH AN ANGLE THAT WE CAN SEE A LITTLE OF THE ROOM BEYOND IT, ALTHOUGH THIS NEEDN’T BE VERY VISIBLE OR DETAILED AS YET. JUST SO LONG AS WE ESTABLISH THAT WE WILL BE ABLE TO SEE A LITTLE OF THE ROOM IF WE CONTINUE TO CLOSE IN ALONG OUR PRESENT COURSE. A SINGLE, TAILLESS SPEECH BALLOON HANGS IN THE SNOW-SPECKED DARKNESS OUTSIDE THE WINDOW.
TAILLESS BALLOON: ungh

PANEL 5.
NOW WE CLOSE IN SO THAT THE WINDOW FRAME ALSO FILLS THE ENTIRE PANEL, STILL WITH SOME FLAKES OF SNOW TUMBLING PAST IN THE FOREGROUND. AS WE LOOK DOWN AND THROUGH THE WINDOW WE CAN SEE INTO THE BEDROOM BEYOND, AND WE CAN SEE THE TOP HALF OF THE DOUBLE BED THAT IS PRESUMABLY POSITIONED NEAR TO THE WINDOW. THE SCENE INSIDE THE ROOM IS LIT BY AN OIL LAMP, SOMEWHERE OFF PANEL. SPRAWLED UPON THE BED, ONLY PARTLY VISIBLE TO US HERE, ARE A MAN AND A WOMAN. THEY ARE HAVING SEX IN THE MISSIONARY POSITION, THE WOMAN’S LONG NIGHTGOWN PULLED UP IN A CRUMPLED RUCK TO JUST ABOVE THE BREASTS AS SHE LIES FACE UP BENEATH HER HUSBAND. THIS IS KLARA HITLER, FORMERLY KLARA POLZL, AND AS WE SEE HER HERE SHE IS TWENTY-EIGHT YEARS OLD. THE MAN ON TOP OF HER IS ALOIS HITLER OR HIEDLER, AND HE IS FIFTY-ONE YEARS OLD. AS WITH THE HOUSE IN WHICH THIS IS HAPPENING, I HAVE NO VISUAL REFERENCE FOR EITHER OF HITLER’S PARENTS. IF YOU CAN’T FIND ANY EITHER, THEN JUST GO AHEAD AND MAKE THEM UP. I SEE BOTH OF THEM AS BEING QUITY FLESHY PEOPLE, NOT ESPECIALLY ATTRACTIVE IN ANY OBVIOUS PHYSICAL SENSE. AS ALOIS GRUNTS AND THRUSTS ON TOP OF HIS WIFE, HIS OWN NIGHTSHIRT HAVING RIDDEN UP TO HIS WAIST TO REVEAL A DIMPLED AND CORPULENT BEHIND, BOTH OF THEIR EYES ARE CLOSED. ALOIS CLOSES HIS EYES WITH A SQUINT OF MIGRAINE-INDUCING EFFORT, WHILE KLARA CLOSES HERS TO ESCAPE TO SOMEWHERE WITH A MORE PLEASING VIEW. FROM OUR VANTAGE POINT AS WE LOOK DOWN INTO THE ROOM WE CAN SEE MOST OF THE BED, AND WE CAN PROBABLY SEE THE TWO BODIES MORE OR LESS FULL FIGURE HERE AS THEY LIE THERE ON TOP OF EACH OTHER. LIT BY THE CREPUSCULAR YELLOW GLOW OF THE OFF PANEL OIL LAMP, THE LEANING SHADOWS MAKING SOMETHING STRANGE AND FANTASTIC OF THE SCENE. IT IS THE LIGHTING OF A CRIMEA SURGICAL TENT, OR THE MURDER ROOM IN A VICTORIAN MELODRAMA. THE BALLOON, BELONGING TO ALOIS HITLER, IS NEVERTHELESS TAILLESS AND FREE FLOATING, HANGING THERE IN THE FOREGROUND AMONGST THE TUMBLING SNOW.
TAILLESS BALLOON: ungh

PANEL 6.
WE CONTINUE TO CLOSE IN. WE ARE NOW WITHIN THE ROOM, LOOKING DOWN UPON THE BED UPON WHICH THE COUPLE ARE… UH… COUPLING. BECAUSE WE ARE CLOSER TO THEM HERE, WE CANNOT SEE SO MUCH OF THEM. HERE, WE SEE THEM ROUGHLY THREE QUARTER FIGURE AS THEY LIE THERE BELOW US. THE FOCUS OF OUR ATTENTION, VISUALLY, IS THE FACE OF KLARA HITLER AS SHE LIES THERE PACING UP TOWARDS US FROM BENEATH HER THRUSTING HUSBAND, HER FACE VISIBLE OVER HIS SHOULDER. THE ROOM IS SLOPPY AND LIVED IN, MAYBE WITH THE SIGNS OF HAVING HOSTED TWO PREVIOUS HITLER CHILDREN, GUSTAV AND IDA, WHO BOTH DIED IN INFANCY. THE SPEECH BALLOONS ARE STILL TAILLESS AS THEY REMAIN THROUGH THIS SEQUENCE, ALTHOUGH IF THEY COULD BE PLACED ON ALOIS’ SIDE OF THE PICTURE TO CONVEY THE IMPRESSION THAT THEY ORIGINATE WITH HIM, IF ONLY SUBTLY.
TAILLESS BALLOON: ungh

PANEL 7.
WE CONTINUE TO CLOSE IN. SO THAT NOW WE ARE LOOKING DOWN AT THE HITLERS FROM JUST ABOVE THEM, AND THUS SEE THEM ROUGHLY HALF FIGURE. THE FOCUS OF OUR ATTENTION IS STILL KLARA’S FACE AS SHE TWISTS AND WRITHES BENEATH THE WEIGH OF HER HUSBAND. HER FACE, VISIBLE OVER HIS SHOULDER, HAS A BROW THAT IS STUDDED WITH BEADS OF SWEAT AND THE EXPRESSION OF ONE WHO TOSSES AND TURNS IN A FEVERISH AND ANXIOUS SLEEP. OBLIVIOUS TO THIS, ALOIS CONTINUES TO GRUNT AND THRUST ABOVE HER, ONLY THE BACK OF HIS HEAD VISIBLE TO US HERE.
TAILLESS BALLOON: ungh

PANEL 8.
IN THIS FINAL PANEL WE CLOSE RIGHT IN FOR A HEAD AND SHOULDERS SHOT OF KLARA AS SHE FACES UP TOWARDS US FROM UNDER HER HUSBAND, HER EYES TIGHT SHUT AS HER HEAD PITCHES TO AND FRO WITH THE RHYTHM OF THE
COUPLING. THE SWEAT STANDS OUT ON HER BROW, HER FACE RED AND FILLED WITH BLOOD SO THAT THE SKIN BECOMES TIGHT AND SHINY. IF WE CAN SEE ANYTHING OF THE BACK OF ALOIS’ HEAD IT SHOULD ONLY BE ONE EAR OR A BIT OF ONE SHOULDER, VISIBLE OVER TO THE EXTREME RIGHT EDGE OF THE PANEL, WITH THE FOCUS OF OUR ATTENTION BEING FIXED SQUARELY UPON KLARA’S FACE. TO BE MORE EXACT, THE FOCUS OF THE PANEL IS KLARA’S EYE, SINCE THIS IS THE POINT THAT WE WILL BE ZOOMING IN UPON NEXT PANEL. (I KNOW THAT YOU HATE MEANINGLESS TIGHT CLOSE UPS OF EYES, BUT THERE IS A VALID STORYTELLING PURPOSE BEHIND THIS ONE, SO TRUST ME.) THE EXPRESSION OF KLARA’S FACE IS THAT OF SOMEONE WHO IS TWISTING AND TURNING IN A RESTLESS NIGHTMARE RATHER THAN IN THE THROES OF PASSION. THE TAILLESS BALLOON HANGS IN SPACE, SOMEWHERE OVER TOWARDS ALOIS’ SIDE OF THE PANEL.
TAILLESS BALLOON : ungh

All's well

I see some other complaints of 'blogger vomiting error mssages' earlier today, so my panic over the complete loss of my archive was unneccessary. However, my 'profile' is still buggered, so I just took it out completely. Everything you need to know about Eddie Campbell, and much that you didn't care to, is accessible from the sidebar.

Please by-pass all this blather. There is a proper long post for today a little further down.

sigh

Well, I finally got that sidebar fixed up, complete with grinning jackanapes, and now nothing works properly.
That'll be me off to bed then.
sorry.
have a good day.

(there's still the post from earlier today. Don't forget to check that.)

Diamonds on the soles of my shoes.

For those of you who want to see some more of Black Diamond, my publisher has put up a handful of consecutive pages for you to look at. Also, the Kirkus review, which I'll show here too. There's also a cinema style trailer for the book, which I'm kind of queasy about, but what the hell, go have a look and laugh at my expense. My pals up the pub have already done their best. I did mention it on this blog already, but with my hand half over my gob. There's also a special 32 page release for Free Comic Book day on may 5, so watch out for that. Or just wait till June and get the whole thing in one piece. Speaking of which, I still haven't seen a copy of the book. Are you holding out on me there at First Second?
(while trying to find a copy of the image on the right I googled "The train was bang on time" and it gave me back: "Did you mean: "The train was being on time?')

First Second also have previews of the other five books that will appear in the spring 2007 line-up. All from the same page linked above. The Professor's Daughter looks especially appealing.

REVIEW IN KIRKUS
The Black Diamond Detective Agency
First Second Books
ISBN: 1-59643-142-3
$16.95
Eddie Campbell
A visually stunning graphic narrative with all sorts of complicated plot twists.
The latest from visual artist Campbell (The Fate of The Artist, 2006, etc) represents something of a show-business reversal. Where it has been commonplace for Hollywood to adapt graphic novels and comic book series into movies, this collaboration finds Campbell working from (or "inspired by") a screenplay by C. Gaby Mitchell. The result is a turn-of-the-century (19th to 20th) pulp thriller concerning a railroad attack, domestic desertion, a series of double (or even triple) crosses by gangs and a conspiracy that ultimately reaches so high that the Black Diamond Detective Agency has no idea what it's really investigating. The complications have implications that reverberate a century later, but even those who have trouble following the plot will marvel at Campbell's visual detail, use of color (particularly an explosive red) and extensive stretches of wordless panels.
The veteran artist rises to a new challenge.

* * * *

My pal Christopher Moonlight has posted a nice scan of a color original of mine, which I know you won't have seen before as it was published in black and white (plate signed by me and Alan in collector's special edition of Disease of Language). I think it became a colour job by accident when my mind wandered. He must have scanned it at very high res.
A few days earlier he told his version of the night he and his wife took me to dinner. As anecdoted in comments here a few days back, he neglected to tell me he'd booked the restaurant under his nom de plume instead of his regular everyday name. So we were sitting in different parts of the joint for 45 minutes. Bloody artists! :)

* * * *

Anita Virgil is the widow of Andy Virgil (1925-80), one of those great stylish illustrators of the 50s/60s. She has written an excellent little memoir of Andy, which Leif Peng is serializing on his blog, Today's Inspiration. It has wonderful observations and details of how commercial illustration studios ran back in those days, and the whole thing is brimming with affection. And of course you can always depend on Leif to have a splendid selection of images. I've simplified it into parts for you. intro, 1, 2, 3. and it will be continuing...

* * * *

If you can get through this reflection upon cartoonist and childrens book author, the late Harry Horse, and his wife, without bursting into tears, you're a better man than I am, Hayley Campbell.
(via Journalista)

I've been outed!

Here’s another from the Campbell sketch portfolio. Wee Eddie Campbell growing up on Straight Street, hoping one day to make his way in the world as an artist, as seen in After the Snooter.

First to claim it in comments can have the original in the mail.

I was reluctant to show it here as I have lately worried that Straight Street is not where I thought it was. It may have found itself in a different borough after one of those reshuffling of the boundaries that happen just before an election. What made me think this is that I noticed the street sign graphic in the opening titles of a daytime rerun of the tv show Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. So Obviously I wouldn’t want to be alluding to it if it has acquired a sexual connotation. Not that there's anything wrong with that. But you know what I mean; a writer wants to express his thoughts very precisely. You do know what I mean, don't you... it's not like I'm fretting about what you're thinking of my sexual orientation. You know that, don't you?

However, my fear has been allayed by George Martin, famous record producer, featured last week in the Weekend Australian (not online), ruminating about the sixties again:
“Young people had the space, the time , and the income to indulge themselves in the endless experiment of self. If you couldn’t make it in straight street (and who wanted to?), you could make it in counterculture."

Uh, hold on… the phone. It’s my pal Best.
"What’s up?"
"Al Columbia … (whom you may remember from such books as How to Be an Artist… and if I one day find myself waking up in Hell, it will be because of the wickedness I perpetrated in that one book. I know Steve Bissette was deeply hurt for one. I'm waiting for the rest of them to find out.)

(these excerpts are not consecutive)

(I drew Al as a smiley face because I've never met him and don't know what he looks like)


"He's on the Comics Journal forum?"
"He said what?"
“Eddie Campbell’s a fuckin’ homo."
"gasp!"
"It's near the bottom of the page? Hold on, let me find it..."
"Oh dear... but when the dust settles, I’m sure we’ll find out that he meant it in good fun."
"In the meantime, don’t let the wife hear about it. Okay?"
"Yup"
"And... thanks for roning."

Old Books, and rare.

When we did well with the release of the complete From Hell a few years ago, I indulged myself by purchasing a couple of very expensive books, including a very lovely copy of Apperley's LIfe of Mytton of 1837 with numerous aquatints by Henry Alken, a book I had dearly wanted to possess for many years.
"The nineteenth century equivalent of a boy racer, John Mytton's life has been described as simply "a series of suicide attempts", such was the reckless disregard he displayed for his own life and well being. Although it is worth remembering that since 'Mad Jack' was in the habit of drinking eight bottles of port a day, he was most likely in a permanent state of intoxication, which may well have had a bearing on his behaviour."
As a result, illustrious rare book dealers still send me their annual catalogues. This purple arsed baboon, by Charles Catton, is the earliest use of aquatint in a book of natural history (1788). You can have it, and the book it comes in, for 8,000 quid, apparently.



* * * *

After mentioning William Gaunt's 1942 book The Pre-Raphaelite Tragedy yesterday (which is kicking around here in a 1965 edition), I recalled that it was dramatized as a BBC 6-parter in 1975 with a very young Ben Kingsley (or King Bensley as he is called in our house) playing Dante Gabriel Rossetti. It was distributed variously as The Love School, The Brotherhood and Beata Beatrix
"The Love School (is an) examination of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, wherein Kingsley starred as a wild and wilder-haired Dante Gabriel Rossetti (yes, he did once have hair) with Peter Egan, once a fellow minor back in The Cherry Orchard at Chichester, as Millais."
I remember also an excellent portrayal of Jane Morris by Kika Markham. This chap would like to see it released in some viewable form almost as much as I would.
If you see it out there and don't tell me, I'll be very cross.

* * * *

A touch of bathos for my tailpiece.
Before I started this blog, Hayley Campbell emailed me this photo taken in a big London bookstore, I think Foyle's. That's my Fate of the Artist and other 'graphic novels' filed as 'Low-brow Art'.



Hayley says my pal Gaiman took the photie... "while giggling uncontrollably."

FROM HELL: 5/7

Another page of Alan Moore's FROM HELL script that partially found its way into the movie. Alan asked for a lot of specific refuse around the edges of the street here, but I omitted it as the remarkable thing I was finding about the poor areas of big cities in those days is that there was no garbage whatsoever to be seen. Just kids with bent legs from rickets and other evidence of deprivation. The girls in the movie version of this scene look much too loudly coloured to my eyes, like music hall girls. I figured if they were going to be sleeping upright (see four days back) in doss houses they would probably look more obviously shabby. That green would never be that green for very long in old sooty London.
I used to fret about stuff like that a great deal. William Gaunt in his book The Pre-Raphaelite Tragedy observed that the Victorians wore their clothes 'an unconscionably long time.' It should be noted that there are many other places where the movie looks convincingly more grim than my version.




CHAPTER 5
PAGE 7.
Panel 1
BACK TO POLLY FOR THIS FIRST PANEL. SHE IS NOW IN THE EARLY MORNING STREETS OF THE EAST END. THERE ARE CABBAGE LEAVES IN THE GUTTER, AND THE GAUDY TISSUE-WRAPPINGS OF EXPENSIVE TANGERINES. ALONG WITH A COUPLE OF OTHER ANONYMOUS WOMEN, POLLY STANDS NEAR A PUBLIC HORSE TROUGH STRIPPED TO HER PETTICOATS. SHE SITS ON THE SIDE OF THE TROUGH, HOLDING A BROKEN PIECE OF MIRROR IN ONE HAND, COMBING HER FAINTLY-GREYING HAIR WITH A BROKEN COMB. SHE GAZES INTO THE MIRROR AS SHE COMBS OUT HER SURPRISINGLY LONG HAIR. SHE HAS HER MOUTH SHUT TO COVER HER MISSING TEETH, AND HER EYES ARE SERIOUS AS SHE STUDIES HER REFLECTION IN THE BROKEN GLASS. SHE REALLY DOES LOOK QUITE PRETTY, IN A FADED WAY, AND A GOOD FIVE YEARS YOUNGER THAN HER ACTUAL AGE. STARING INTO THE MIRROR, SHE SEEMS TO LOSE SIGHT OF HER DISMAL SURROUNDINGS FOR A MOMENT, COMPLETELY ABSORBED. NEXT TO MARY, STANDING FACING AWAY FROM US, ONE OF THE ANONYMOUS WOMEN WITH WHOM POLLY SHARES HER ABLUTIONS IS DOURLY LIFTING HER PETTICOATS AND SPLASHING WATER FROM THE TROUGH UP BETWEEN HER LEGS. IT IS STILL VERY EARLY IN THE MRONING, AND THE STREET THAT WE SEE STRETCHING AWAY BEHIND THE BATHING WOMEN IS PRACTICALLY DESERTED SAVE FOR THE OMNIPRESENT RUBBISH. THERE IS A LITTLE LIGHT BETWEEN THE SQUAT BUILDINGS, AND THE VISUAL TONE OF THE PANEL IS STILL DARK, AS IT IS THROUGHOUT POLLY’S RUN OF PANELS. POLLY’S BREASTS ARE BARE, AND HER FROCK AND OTHER CLOTHING ARE DRAPED OVER THE SLIDE OF THE HORSE TROUGH, OR ARE LAYING SOMEWHERE NEARBY, INCLUDING THE BLACK RIBBED STOCKING. POLLY IS ALSO BAREFOOT HERE. I SEE THE PANEL AS HAVING ALMOST A CLASSICAL COMPOSITION: LIKE SHOTS OF DIANA AND HER NYMPHS BATHING BESIDE A POOL, BUT GRIMLY TARNSPOSED TO A SQUALID NINTEENTH CENURY URBAN SETTING SO THAT THE GODDESS AND HER NYMPHS BECOME AGEING VAGRANT PROSTITUTES, AND THEIR POOL A WATER TROUGH. BEHIND THEM, BLIGHTED TERRACES REPLACE THE SYLVAN GLADES. NEVERTHELESS, A SORT OF INNOCENT, CLASSICAL QUALITY IS RETAINED, IF ONLY IN THE ABSORBED EXPRESSION OF THE SEMI-GLAD WOMEN.
No Dialogue.

PANEL 2.
NOW WE CUT BACK TO GULL. HE IS OUT OF THE BATH, AND HAS RETURNED TO THE ADJOINING CHAMBER TO DRESS. PERHAPS WE COULD SET UP THIS PANEL SO THAT WE ARE IN THE BATHROOM LOOKING OUT AT GULL, ENABLING US TO SHOW THE NOW-EMPTIED BATH, THE USED TOWELS CRUMPLED AS THEY HANG OVER ITS SIDE. LOOKING OUT BEYOND THIS WE SEE GULL AS HE DRESSES, PERHAPS CAUGHT HERE IN THE ACT OF FASTENING HIS TIE, OR ADJUSTING HIS HIGH, STARCHED COLLAR OR SOMETHING. HIS BLACK COAT IS DRAPED NEATLEY UPON A CONVENIENT HANGER SOMEWHERE NEARBY, PRESSED AND CLEANED AND READY TO PUT ON. GULL STUDIES HIMSELF IN HIS WARDROBE MIRROR (OR WHATEVER) WITH SATISFACTION. HIS SHIRT IS A HOLY, PRISTINE WHITE. IT CATCHES THE SUN BEAUTIFULLY, ALMOST BLINDING TO LOOK AT.
No Dialogue

PANEL 3.
CUT BACK TO POLLY. THE PANEL IS ARRANGED SO THAT THE CORNER OF THE HORSE TROUGH THAT WE SAW LAST PANEL IS NOW IN THE FOREGROUND ON THE LEFT, QUITE LARGE. WE LOOK ACROSS IT TOWARDS POLLY AS SHE STANDS DRESSING SOME FEW FEET AWAY. HER HAIR IS NOW DONE UP INTO A FAIRLY NEAT AND PRESENTABLE BUN, AND SHE HAS REPLACED HER FROCK AND HER STOCKINGS, ONE OF WHICH SHE IS PERHAPS ADJUSTING HERE. SHE LOOKS A LOT MORE PRESENTABLE THAT SHE DID UPON WAKING, AND HER EXPRESSION IS QUIET AND SEROIUS AND RESIGNED AS SHE ADJUSTS HER DRESS. BEHIND HER, WE SEE THE TERRACED DOORSTEPS OF FLOWER AND DEAN STREET, GREY IN THE OVERCAST MORNING LIGHT. PERHAPS ONLY THE VERY TOPS OF THE HOUSES, IF WE CAN SEE THEM, ARE LIT BY THE RISING SUN, WITH NO LIGHT FILTERING DOWN INTO THE NARROW STREETS BELOW AS YET.
No Dialogue

Tower twins

I’m mentioning Foer’s Extremely loud and Incredibly Close a third time on this blog, not because I like it more than books I’ve mentioned only once, but because it’s parked nearby and I keep tripping over its mooring ropes. The business at the end of the book …

Spoiler. If you’re precious about endings go and read somebody else’s blog.

The thing about this ending is that it’s a flick-book, which means that you see and read that part of it before you get the book out of the shop. Stills from the video of a man plunging from one of the doomed towers are reversed so that he is defying gravity and going back up. I had thought there would be a whole genre of books putting the matter of the towers right by just imagining it backwards. Foer’s ending works in its context, "He would've spit coffee into his mug, unbrushed his teeth and put his hair on with a razor..." and I don’t mind the sentimentality, as some have done. This reviewer does but allows that the book is a linguistically sophisticated fable, and 9/11 is a smokescreen obscuring its true nature.

I found myself dutifully illustrating a similar wish fulfilment in Captain America when I drew the art for two issues in Early 2004 (it's the last 44 pages in the 176 page Captain America: Homeland, with all the art otherwise by Chris Bachalo. A tough act to follow, what? But don't go buying it unless you're interested in that sort of thing.). The script was by Bob Morales, and it worked on its own terms. Or it would have if Marvel hadn’t nobbled it. But Bob was way too hopeful. First he wanted to make Steve (Cap) Rodgers president of the USA. When Marvel nixed that one, just so he could get the story done, he had Cap whisked away to an alternate time-stream where the black Cap, Isaiah Bradley, got to be president. When we finally get to see him, Isaiah is wearing a t-shirt that says, “Han shot first!” which, in due course, gives Cap the idea of going back and changing history. Marvel nixed the t-shirt too, not wanting to invite a tangle with Lucas. That was after all the art had been done, so I got my assistant on this job, Stewart Mckenny to put a different emblem on all the t-shirts through the piece (I think I still have xeroxes with the original version somewhere around here…) and the narrative logic doesn't quite scan now. There was also a bit of time-twister malarkey where a problem gets solved in panel 4 of a page and then chucked back into panel 1 to head the problem off in the first place, but Marvel decided that metafictional devices don't occur in the Marvel universe. And that seems fair enough to me. You wouldn't want piss takers in your camp. I don’t know what gave Bob the idea all this was feasible in the first place. Me, I just wanted to do a job and get paid. But anyway, it all ends with the towers back up, suitably not quite right with huge blimps moored to them. It's the final page in the book:


(click to enlarge.)

It’s Sunday afternoon in Brooklyn, and happy people are out walking in the sunshine and yachts are sweeping by on the river in this sidelined continuity that never happened. Nobody has ever commented on this before, and I guess Marvel didn't notice it either, but I made the cheerful strolling people into poignant stages of might–have–been in the finished romance between Steve and Rebecca. They are the two children playing in the fountain, they are young parents with a baby-carriage and a toddler, and they are the elderly couple with the poodle in this sad sunday afternoon metafiction of impossible reversals.