Cabinet of Curiosities by Catherine Hokin

My chosen item for the cabinet of curiosities is perhaps not such an usual choice for a writer as it is a book, in this case a 1933 edition of the Arthur Rackham Fairy Book. It probably ranks as my prize possession and the first thing I would grab if we ever got hit by a fire - or more likely a flood given I live in Glasgow.

 Arthur Rackham Fairy Book

Firstly apologies for the photograph: the copy has been well-loved and its once white cover and gold lettering have faded badly; it also bears more than one set of grubby fingerprints. I'm glad of that - it is clearly no museum-piece and I hope it passed through many happy hands before landing, very recently, in mine.

Arthur Rackham was the leading illustrator in what was known as the 'Golden Age' of British book illustration which ran from roughly 1890-1914. He is particularly known for his fairy drawings with his most famous works including Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens (1906), A Midsummer Night's Dream (1908) and the posthumous Wind in the Willows (1940). He began his illustrating career in 1893 and was widely exhibited and bought in his lifetime. After 1918 the market for lavishly-illustrated books collapsed in Britain but Rackham's work is once again in vogue and editions of his work are highly collectible (and frighteningly expensive).

 Titania

I first came across his work when I was an impoverished student taking my over-active imagination and empty purse fantasy shopping in antique book shops. I fell in love with his fairies: they were mischievous, wicked and strong - no soppy Victorian fluff here. I was no artist (I learnt to appreciate his technique, which combined woodcut-style work with advances in colour-printing, much later) but I was entranced by the mix of pen and ink drawings, watercolours and line sketches he sprinkled liberally through the stories. I also loved his women - I once played Mustard Seed (as a silver-clad scouse punk, as you do) in a production of Midsummer Night's Dream and the director took his inspiration for Titania from the Rackham depiction of her striding away, chaos in her wake. It's still one of my favourite pictures and hangs in my study.

 Signature

So why is this edition special? It is hard to get complete original editions of Rackham's work anymore - most of them seem to have been dissected to feed the antique stalls in Portobello Market - so owning a copy of one at all is pretty good. But this is no ordinary edition, it has been signed by the great man  himself. There is something about a signed copy of a book that makes it intensely personal. As a writer, being asked to sign your novel is incredibly flattering - a real rock star moment. To be honest, I'm at the stage where I'll sign them whether people ask me to or not. So to own a book signed by someone whose work I've loved for years is thrilling and, with a book that has clearly been so well-loved, it is hard not to weave  stories round it. There is a pink smudge across the signature which I rather hope belongs to the Pamela Taylor who this edition was presented to in 1935. It looks suspiciously like lipstick and I want to imagine she was so excited, she kissed it. Which, I'm not ashamed to say, was what I did - I was probably meant to kiss the husband who was responsible for the gift, but he didn't seem to mind. 

 Self-portrait

The stories are wonderful, a mixture of traditional English and French fairy tales and the Arabian Nights, but it is the illustrations that make me go back to this book over and over again. They are witty and beautiful with just the right amount of edginess, the perfect Rackham mix and extend even to his 'self-portrait'. I love the work but I am also increasingly intrigued by the man. A little like our own Glasgow artistic hero, Charles Rennie Mackintosh and his wife Margaret MacDonald, it seems marriage had quite an influence on Rackham's work. In 1903 he married the portrait painter Edyth Starkie who he apparently regarded as his most stimulating, if severest, critic. I fell in love with her most famous painting (The Spotted Dress) in the Musee D'Orsay without having any clue about their relationship until very recently. When you know the link, it's hard not to see a connection between their work and it's certainly something I hope to explore at some point in far more detail. My cabinet choice continues to feed my curiosity - now I've just got to find a way to pay for what could prove a costly addiction...  

From the Sketchbook: Dickens and the Illustrators

By Teresa Flavin

If I hadn’t seen their illustrations, I probably would not have read the works of Charles Dickens, whose 200^th birthday has just been celebrated. I admit I sometimes buy a bottle of wine because of its beautiful label or pick up a book from a display because its cover is so compelling. Sometimes the contents disappoint, but not in Dickens’ case. The text and images complement each other so well, I can’t think of one without thinking of the other. An article in the i newspaper this week mooted that Dickens will not pass into obscurity, as other authors have, “because his famous characters still speak to us”. I would suggest that this is in part due to their illustrations, which brought the characters to life and have since informed so many film and television adaptations. The illustrators who created them were the storyboard artists of their time, visualizing characters and setting key scenes for each installment of Dickens’ stories. Of course he originated the characters and plots, though two of his illustrators strongly disputed this, and I think they would stand up without illustrations, but I am so glad the pictures are there.

Illustrators interpret and illuminate a text, working to a “brief” and deadline set down by the publisher. They are problem solvers, used to altering sketches at the publishers’ request or delivering finished work after working all night towards a deadline. Dickens’ work was published as weekly or monthly serials, so his illustrators would have been obliged to come up with numerous acceptable sketches and finished drawings that could be engraved for print. They would also be working on specific illustrations before Dickens had even written the sections they belonged to. But whereas today’s illustrators might live a continent away from the author whose work he is illustrating and have little or no contact, Dickens developed close relationships with some of his illustrators and wielded a lot of power over their work.

So perhaps it’s a bit odd that I’ve chosen “Dickens’ Dream”, an unfinished painting by Robert Buss, to lead this post because he failed in his commission to illustrate The Pickwick Papers. The publishers, Chapman and Hall, were unhappy with the final product; Buss’ drawings had not translated well into etchings for print and he was let go. His story will resonate with any illustrators who have ever fumed over poor quality reproductions of their work or agonized over finished illustrations didn’t measure up to their preliminary sketches. Buss could have been bitter about the failure, but he was not. What touches me about his story is that he continued to admire Dickens’ work and painted “Dickens’ Dream” after his death. It’s a gentle tribute, paying homage to the author and to the illustrators who successfully illustrated the works after his dismissal. For me the painting’s sketchiness contributes to its appeal, with its characters appearing to grow out of thin air. This was not intentional. The painting is incomplete because Buss himself died before it was done.

There was no such admiration from other quarters. At the start of his career Dickens was paired with George Cruikshank (see image at left), one of the most prominent caricaturists of his time. This is still common practice today; publishers hope that the popularity of one will raise the profile of the other and help the book sell. In 1836 the publisher John Macrone commissioned Cruikshank to illustrate both series of Sketches by Boz, Dickens’ collection of short stories. Cruikshank collaborated with him on several other books, including Oliver Twist two years later. Their relationship deteriorated in later years when Dickens criticized Cruikshank’s moralistic books promoting teetotalism. Cruikshank struck back after Dickens’ death, claiming that the idea for Oliver Twist was his.

Controversy also surrounded the next artist to work with Dickens. The popular caricaturist and illustrator Robert Seymour was known for the characters in his sport-themed cartoons. Such was their success that he and publishers Chapman and Hall wanted to create a monthly serial about the “Nimrod Club” featuring his sporting characters’ adventures. Dickens, fresh from his success with Sketches by Boz, was hired to write stories linking the illustrations, but was not interested in working from Seymour’s illustrations, much less ones about sport. He convinced Chapman and Hall that he should write monthly stories about a club, though not the Nimrod Club, and Seymour should provide the illustrations to his text. This evolved into The Pickwick Papers and young Dickens dictated the look of the characters and scenes, even getting Seymour to change Pickwick from the thin character he had envisioned to the fat man we know so well. During work on the second issue, Dickens weighed in with suggestions for improving the proposed illustrations, upsetting the older and more established Seymour, who saw his original ideas disintegrating. He had already suffered a mental breakdown a few years before and, tragically, after meeting with Dickens to discuss changes to his work, Seymour committed suicide.

The Pickwick Papers rolled on, however. After Robert Buss was rejected, Hablot Knight Browne (see image at left), took up the commission and went on to collaborate with Dickens for over two decades. He became the well-known “Phiz” to Dickens’ “Boz” and illustrated ten of his novels, enjoying an excellent working relationship with the author, and managing to add layers of detail to his illustrations that go well beyond the tight brief.

These are just a few of the many illustrators who brought Dickens’ words to life.

I invite you to do an image search one day and wonder at the number of artists who illustrated later editions. There is an astonishing array of styles and approaches. They may even make you want to pick of a copy of that Dickens novel you never got around to reading.

Teresa Flavin is the author and illustrator of The Blackhope Enigma and The Crimson Shard, historical fantasy novels for young readers, published by Templar Publishing in the UK and Candlewick Press in the USA. She is currently at work on her third novel.