“Weirdsley Daubery”: Beardsley and Punch

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Britannia à la Beardsley by ET Reed (1895).

Pickings grow slim for the dedicated Beardsleyphile after you’ve bought a few books. Despite his prolific career, Aubrey B was dead at 25 and the better collections of his work, especially Brian Reade’s essential monograph, Beardsley (1967), tend to contain almost his entire corpus, juvenilia and all. So you find yourself seeking out the work of his imitators, his successors, and even the weak but not altogether unsuccessful “Nichols” fakes from the 1920s.

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The art of Jessie M King, 1875–1949

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The Fisherman and His Soul : Her Feet were Naked
from A House of Pomegranates by Oscar Wilde, 1915.

A delicate piece of Orientalism illustrating Wilde’s book of fairy tales. Jessie Marion King’s work is a fascinating amalgam of the decorative post-Beardsley style exemplified by Harry Clarke and the Glasgow Style of Charles Rennie Mackintosh’s Arts and Crafts movement. It’s unfortunate that her associations with Mackintosh sometimes overshadow her career as an illustrator despite her being as talented and productive as many of her male contemporaries.

The rest of the Wilde illustrations can be seen at Art Passions along with a number of other works.

Jessie M King biography page

Elsewhere on { feuilleton }
The illustrators archive

Strange cargo: things found in books

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The Secret Oral Teachings in Tibetan Buddhist Sects by Alexandra David-Neel & Lama Yongden, City Lights Books (1972).

One of the additional pleasures of buying old books besides finding something out-of-print (or, it has to be said, something cheap) occurs when those books still possess traces of their previous owners. A recent posting on The Other Andrew’s page concerned book inscriptions, something any book collector will be used to seeing. Less common are the objects which slip from the pages when you’ve returned home. There are several categories of these.

1: Bookmarks

I have a substantial collection of bookmarks proper, from embossed strips of leather to the more mundane pieces of card of the type that bookshops frequently give away. But I also make a habit of using odd inserts to mark a place as did the previous owners of these volumes. The City Lights book (above) came with a very fragile leaf inside it which may well be as old as the book. Another City Lights book I own, the Artaud Anthology from 1965, included a newspaper article about Artaud. Newspaper clipping inserts are discussed below.

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Forty years of freedom after centuries of injustice

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left: Maggi Hambling’s Oscar Wilde monument near Covent Garden, London.

“Yes, we shall win in the end; but the road will be long and red with monstrous martyrdoms.” Oscar Wilde, after his release from Reading Gaol in 1897.

“Forty years ago in Britain, loving the wrong person could make you a criminal. Smiling in the park could lead to arrest and being in the wrong address book could cost you a prison sentence. Homosexuality was illegal and hundreds of thousands of men feared being picked up by zealous police wanting easy convictions, often for doing nothing more than looking a bit gay.

“At 5.50am on 5 July 1967, a bill to legalise homosexuality limped through its final stages in the House of Commons. It was a battered old thing and, in many respects, shabby. It didn’t come close to equalising the legal status of heterosexuals and homosexuals (that would take another 38 years). It didn’t stop the arrests: between 1967 and 2003, 30,000 gay and bisexual men were convicted for behaviour that would not have been a crime had their partner been a woman. But it did transform the lives of men like Antony Grey, who had fought so hard for it, meaning that he and his lifelong partner no longer felt that every moment of every day they were at risk.”

From “Coming out of the dark ages” by Geraldine Bedell, The Observer.

The Sexual Offences Act of 1967, passed forty years ago today, was a compromised victory, as the quote above notes. The age of consent was set higher for gay men at 21 (these laws and restrictions applied to men only?lesbian sex had never been forbidden), you couldn’t be a member of the armed forces, you had to conduct your business with one other person only and in private (ie: at home; no hotel liaisons). The new act also only applied to England and Wales; Scotland had to wait until 1980 while in Northern Ireland (often a backwater where gay rights are concerned) the law wasn’t changed until 1982.

Yet it was a start, and it’s surprising and heartening to see how far things have travelled since 1967, especially when we seemed to be moving in reverse with the iniquities of the Thatcher years. Tony Blair’s government can be accused of many sins but it was never homophobic, and gave us an equalised age of consent, civil unions and finally scrapped Thatcher’s Section 28 law forbidding “the promotion of homosexuality”. Yes, gay-bashing still occurs, gay teens are bullied at school and we still have people like this idiot spouting nonsensical drivel. But Britain finally feels like a civilised place these days, more than it ever did.

It took over a century Oscar, and the road was long and red, but we made it.

Previously on { feuilleton }
Joe Orton
The Poet and the Pope
Queer Noises

The Chronicles of Clovis and other sarcastic delights

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This week’s book purchase (yes, dear reader, it never ends, there are merely lulls between one indulgence of the vice and the next) is a small Bodley Head volume that comprises part of the collected works of Hector Hugh Munro (1870–1916), or “Saki” as he’s better known. I have Saki’s complete works already in a big fat Penguin collection but I like these small books that were the common format for portable reading prior to the invention of the paperback. Over a number of years I’ve managed to collect about half of the Tusitala Edition of Robert Louis Stevenson’s complete works which are similarly-sized blue volumes (one in a rare leather binding), simply through chance finds in secondhand shops.

This particular book is a 1929 reprint of The Chronicles of Clovis collection first published in 1911 and, like the Stevenson volumes, has the author’s signature blocked in gold on the cover. The introduction is by AA Milne and I’m taking the liberty of reproducing it in full below, partly out of laziness and partly because he does a good job of presenting the man and his work.

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