In the footsteps of The Soul

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Adeline Carr, aka “The Soul”, wandering through the streets of Holborn while worrying about her future. Her dress is an Erté creation with curiously complicated sleeves.

After checking out of my Bloomsbury hotel on Saturday morning I decided to walk over to the nearby Atlantis Bookshop, London’s oldest occult bookseller, which is located in Museum Street close to the British Museum. I know the shop well but this visit was different since the route would take me past a number of locations mentioned in the fiction serial which runs throughout the Moon and Serpent Bumper Book of Magic.

The Dweller in the Abyss is a story about “The Soul”, a young woman in the 1920s who was originally going to be a kind of occult investigator for a comic series Alan Moore and I were planning for ABC in the late 1990s. This didn’t work out for a variety of reasons but The Soul has been reborn in the new book, with her character reinvented in order to demonstrate the personal evolution of a neophyte entering the world of magic. Adeline Carr, “The Soul”, is an artist’s model who lives in the first-floor flat above the Atlantis shop. I won’t go into detail about the story, the whole thing needs to be read with the complementary material surrounding it, but Adeline’s wanderings around this quarter of the city take her to a number of well-known locations which you can visit today, and which I illustrated to a greater or lesser degree.


1: Russell Square

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The first location I encountered—although my drawing of it appears near the end of the story—is the park in Russell Square, one of two such parks in the Bloomsbury area. It was raining on the morning I was there but Adeline’s walk through the park takes place on a sunny spring afternoon. The real place is rather more wooded than I showed it (there are more trees on the page which faces this one) but artistic licence is in operation here, and the park has been reorganised once or twice since the 1920s.

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2: The British Museum

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The next location is one I didn’t photograph, the British Museum. If it hadn’t been raining I might have walked through the gates to get a corresponding shot of the portico but the rain was heavier at this point and a large mass of umbrella-wielding tourists were crowding the entrance.


3: Museum Street

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Into Museum Street and the Atlantis shop where the Bumper Book of Magic is visible in the window! This view shows the windows above the shop where Adeline lives. (Adeline’s windows aren’t a precise match but artistic licence again… Also, windows get replaced, especially after the wartime bombing that London endured.) The shop hadn’t opened yet so I walked round the corner into Bloomsbury Way to face the imposing bulk of Nicholas Hawksmoor’s church.

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4: St George’s, Bloomsbury

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To date, this building and Christ Church, Spitalfields, are the only Hawksmoor churches I’ve visited in person. The church is an important location in Adeline Carr’s journey into magic, being the place where her spiritual revelations begin and reach their eventual climax. The pyramid-capped tower looks slightly different to the one I was drawing. The steeple, which is based on Pliny’s description of the Mausoleum of Halicarnassus, was originally decorated at its base with statues of lions and unicorns but these were removed during a restoration of the building in the 1870s. Like many London buildings, the church suffered from the ravages of neglect, wartime bombing and air pollution during the 20th century (Hawksmoor’s St John, Horsleydown, was destroyed entirely during the Blitz). Restoration of St George’s began in the late 1990s, a process which included the return to the steeple of the missing lions and unicorns. (See this website.) Visiting the place this time I was hoping to get a view of the tower from the passage that runs along the side but the gate to this was locked. You can, however, see the church from the rear via a narrow road where the steeple rises over the dingy back rooms which fill out the plot.

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5: The Atlantis Bookshop

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And so to the Atlantis shop again. It was a genuinely magical moment seeing the book in the window after spending so much time thinking about this very location and the events that take place in the flat above. By coincidence (or is it? etc), the book sitting next to it is by Gary Lachman who I’d been with the previous evening for the book launch. After the shop had opened I talked for a while with the proprietors, showing them the place on page 39 of the Bumper Book where their establishment is mentioned. The Atlantis isn’t the only occult bookshop in London (or even the only one in Bloomsbury…Treadwell’s is nearby) but if you’re in London it should be your first port of call if you’re looking for a copy of the Bumper Book.

The Atlantis Bookshop

Previously on { feuilleton }
Moon and Serpent Rising
Serious houses: The Lud Heat Tapes, 1979
London churches of the XVIIth and XVIIIth centuries
The Cardinal and the Corpse
Terror and Magnificence

In Carcosa

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Along the shore the cloud waves break,
The twin suns sink beneath the lake,
The shadows lengthen
In Carcosa.

Strange is the night where black stars rise,
And strange moons circle through the skies
But stranger still is
Lost Carcosa.

The King in Yellow, Act i, Scene 2

It’s been a while since I posted anything here which has been created solely for myself rather than a commission. This new piece is a portrait of the King in Yellow, the sinister regent whose supernatural presence pervades the four weird tales that open Robert W. Chambers story collection of the same name. The drawing is a big one, big enough to fill an A2 sheet which I was intending to make available in print form at Etsy. Not having looked at my Etsy shops for a while I didn’t know that they’d changed the shipping section to such an extent that I’d be having to guess what the shipping rates were for different regions. The printer I use has rough guidelines for setting shipping costs on external sales sites but not in the detail that Etsy requires. Prints of this picture may still be ordered direct from me, however. A2 or A3 giclée on Hahnemühle Pearl paper; send me an email if you’re interested.

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To return to the artwork… Prior to this my sole drawing of Chambers’ King was for one of the illustrations in Lovecraft’s Monsters, but that depiction is only a reflection in a pub mirror. The new piece was the result of a number of impulses which coalesced after I’d finished work on the forthcoming Bumper Book of Magic. I’d been doing a lot of drawing for the book—there’s a 20-page section, for example, which is all full-page, colour illustrations—and I wanted to keep my hand in while working on the current round of design-related projects. I’d also been wanting to try a proper depiction of the King in Yellow for some time, the previous attempt being unsatisfying even when detached from its pub scene. I’d reworked the earlier drawing a while ago after a Chinese publisher asked for a couple of illustrations for a Chinese edition of Chambers’ book. They paid me for the drawing, and for an old painting which I’d titled The King in Yellow but I still don’t know if the pictures were used anywhere.

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A promotional poster by Robert W. Chambers, circa 1895.

A more general impulse has been the urge to get back to doing things for myself when I have the time. Time is always the problem when you’re engaged in commercial work. This new piece has been worked on over a series of months, chipping away at weekends and the ends of the working day. I had the idea at first of following Chambers’ own drawing of the King fairly closely, wings and all, but I’ve never been sure whether the wings are meant to be real appendages or symbolic shapes like the halo that Chambers also draws. The same goes for the guttering torch which the figure holds upside down, and which was used as a decoration on the spine of the third printing of the book.

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Among the other details, the Art Nouveau border is intended to connect the drawing to the 1890s, the decade in which the stories were written, but for the architecture I wanted something more severe and less earthbound. Most of the architectural design is my own but the arches are a variation on the vestibule that Peter Behrens designed for the German pavilion at the 1902 Prima Esposizione Internazionale d’Arte Decorativa Moderna in Turin. Behrens started out working in the Jugendstil mode but soon evolved a style of his own which prefigures the stylings of Art Deco. The inscription on the steps is Cassilda’s Song, a page of verse which opens the first story in Chambers’ book, The Repairer of Reputations. The words have been set in the Lingua ignota alphabet devised by Hildegard von Bingen. In the past I might have used the alphabet from The Voynich Manuscript but I like the appearance of Hildegard’s lettering even though I doubt she’d approve of this usage.

The King in Yellow at Standard Ebooks

Previously on { feuilleton }
Eldritch idols
In the Key of Yellow
Lovecraft’s Monsters
The Court of the Dragon
The King in Yellow

Magic Lantern: A Film about Prague

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There are many documentary films about the city of Prague but Magic Lantern is the only one written and presented by playwright Michael Frayn. Very good it is too, a personal view of the city’s political and cultural history which takes in the usual names and subjects: Rabbi Loew and his Golem, Emperor Rudolf II, Rudolf’s alchemists, artists and scholars, photographer Josef Sudek, the ubiquitous Franz Kafka, puppets, automata, and so on. While Frayn discusses the Communist and post-Communist periods there’s a brief clip of Jan Svankmajer’s The Death of Stalinism in Bohemia.

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Frayn’s film was directed by Dennis Marks, and broadcast in 1993 as part of the BBC’s long-running Omnibus strand. (There’s a further Svankmajer connection in the person of executive producer Keith Griffiths whose Koninck company produced this film at a time when they were also helping Svankmajer make his features.) Magic Lantern wasn’t the only film that Marks and Frayn made together, and not their first metropolitan essay either. Imagine a City Called Berlin (1974) is a portrait of the former capital of Germany during its Cold War isolation; there’s also The Mask of Gold: A Film about Vienna (1977), and Jerusalem: A Personal History (1984), all of which may be seen at The Dennis Marks Archive. My complaints about YouTube are copious enough to paper the walls of the Hradcany, but the site is at its best when it provides this kind of haven for television history that would be impossible to find elsewhere.

Previously on { feuilleton }
Le Golem, 1967
Gustav Meyink’s Prague
Stone Glory, a film by Jirí Lehovec
The Face of Prague
Josef Sudek
Liska’s Golem
Das Haus zur letzten Latern
Hugo Steiner-Prag’s Golem
Karel Plicka’s views of Prague

Weekend links 741

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The Empty Mask (1928) by René Magritte.

A Walk Across Northampton: Iain Sinclair and John Rogers wander the streets in search of significant historical locations before ending up at the home of the local magus, Alan Moore. I recently illustrated a new piece of writing by Iain Sinclair but can’t talk about that just now. Later.

• New music: The Invisible Road: Original Recordings, 1985–1990 by Sussan Deyhim & Richard Horowitz, and Through Other Reflections by The Soundcarriers.

• At Wormwoodiana: Mark Valentine reviews Joseph Hone’s The Book Forger: the true story of a literary crime that fooled the world.

• At Colossal: Across rural Europe, Ashley Suszczynski photographs remarkable and ancient masked traditions.

• Among the new titles at Standard Ebooks, the home of free, high-quality, public-domain texts: Poetry by WB Yeats.

• At Unquiet Things: Maggie Vandewalle’s enchanted autumns.

Richard Norris’s favourite albums.

Tapedeck.org

Preludes For Magnetic Tape (1966–76) by Ihlan Mimaroglu | Tape Hiss Makes Me Happy (1995) by Stars Of The Lid | Those Tapes Are Dangerous (1997) by The Bug

Weekend links 740

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Winged Figure (no date) by Mark Severin.

• At Wormwoodiana: News of the publication of two uncollected early stories by Cormac McCarthy. I happen to be reading McCarthy’s penultimate novel, The Passenger, at the moment. Very enjoyable and very different to what I was expecting.

• At Smithsonian Magazine: Yayoi Kusama‘s largest permanent public sculpture arrives in London.

• At Colossal: A futuristic 150-foot installation imagines Chicago’s never-built architecture.

The record sounded like nothing else, seemingly came from nowhere and related to nothing I could identify with any confidence: whistling, whispering, mumbling, pig grunts, exhalations of breath, chants and vocal imitations of nocturnal forest sounds, arco double bass and electric bass, nursery rhymes, impenetrable accents and languages, tambourines, unidentifiable tuned percussion imprecisely struck, mandolin, banjo, flutes, congas, bottleneck guitar, second line drumming with virtually no cymbals, dense percussion, organ bass, harpsichord, reed instruments played through electronic effects and organ lines sounding like anything but themselves. There was no piano, despite what some later commentators have claimed, and in fact very little harmonic underpinning in the majority of tracks. Instead of piano or guitar chords to fill out the ensemble sound there is the celebrated Gold Star echo chamber, into which instruments and voices sank as if dropping away into the abyss.

Zozo la Brique, Jump Sturdy, Coco Robichaux, Queen Julia Jackson, Mama Roux, Tit Alberta—questions flared like fireworks. Who were these characters who populated the lyrics. Were they voodoo practitioners, alive or dead, fictitious or real? Ishmael Reed’s visionary novel, Yellow Back Radio Broke-Down, was published not long after, in 1969. Years later I read it and was startled to bump into Zozo la Brique once more. So these were real people, or named phantoms, or figures of legend at least. “O Doc John,” Reed wrote, “Doc Yah Yah and Zozo Labrique Marie Laveau the Grand Improvisers if I am not performing these rites correctly send the Loa anyway and allow my imagination to fill the gaps.”

David Toop in an extract from Two-Headed Doctor: Listening For Ghosts In Dr. John’s Gris-Gris

• New music: Hidden Structures by Time Being, and Buried (Your Life Is Short) by The Bug.

• At Spoon & Tamago: Minimal and tranquil charcoal drawings by Masahiko Minami.

• New weirdness: Cat Location Conundrum by Moon Wiring Club.

• At Unquiet Things: The art of Dylan Garrett Smith.

• At Dennis Cooper’s: Toshio Matsumoto Day.

• RIP Alain Delon.

Gris-Gris Gumbo Ya Ya (1968) by Dr John | Gumbo (1971) by Santana | Roochoo Gumbo (1976) by Harry “The Crown” Hosono