Today I'm looking at Penguin Books from 1966. Why? Because that's the year they ditched the Marber Grid and brought in Alan Aldridge as art director to spice up their fiction covers!
He was a controversial choice, so let's see how he did...
Sleepwalkers, by David Karp. Penguin Books, 1966.
I really like this as a cover!
Farewell, My Lovely by Raymond Chandler. Penguin Books, 1966. Another favourite of mine.
Kiss Kiss, by Roald Dahl. Penguin Books, 1966. Art by Alan Aldridge.
Jubb, by Keith Waterhouse. Penguin Books, 1966. Richard Heimann did the photography on this one IIRC.
Boswell's London Journal: 1762-1763, edited by Frederick A Pottle. Penguin Books, 1966. Cover by Alan Aldridge.
Gunner Cade, by Cyril Judd. Penguin 1966. Cover by Ian Yeoman.
A Kind Of Loving, by Stan Barstow. Penguin Books, 1966. I do like this edition!
Island, by Aldous Huxley. Penguin, 1966. Cover by Ross Cramer.
Maigret's Special Murder, by Georges Simeon. Penguin Books, 1966. Cover by Karl Ferris.
The Penguin John Lennon (1966). Cover by Alan Aldridge.
The Unpleasant Profession of Jonathan Hoag, by Robert A Heinlein. Penguin, 1966. Cover by Alan Aldridge.
Personally I'm a fan of Alan Aldridge's work at Penguin, though that does put me into a minority! De gustibus non disputandum est, as they say.
And finally... The House on the Borderland, by William Hope Hodgson. Panther Horror, 1969. Cover by Alan Aldridge (who had just been sacked as Penguin's art director that year!)
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Given the current heatwave, I feel obliged to ask my favourite question: is it time to bring back the leisure suit?
Let's find out...
Now we all know what a man's lounge suit is, but if we're honest it can be a bit... stuffy. Formal. Businesslike. Not what you'd wear 'in da club' as the young folks say.
So for many years tailors have been experimenting with less formal, but still upmarket gents attire. The sort of garb you could wear for both a high level business meeting AND for listening to the Moody Blues in an espresso bar. Something versatile.
Today in pulp I look back at the publishing phenomenon of gamebooks: novels in which YOU are the hero!
A pencil and dice may be required for this thread...
Gamebooks are a simple but addictive concept: you control the narrative. At the end of each section of the story you are offered a choice of outcomes, and based on that you turn to the page indicated to see what happens next.
Gamebook plots are in fact complicated decision tree maps: one or more branches end in success, but many more end in failure! It's down to you to decide which path to tread.
He was the terror of London; a demonic figure with glowing eyes and fiery breath who could leap ten feet high. The penny dreadfuls of the time wrote up his exploits in lurid terms. But who was he really?
Today I look at one of the earliest pulp legends: Spring-Heeled Jack!
London has always attracted ghosts, and in the 19th Century they increasingly left their haunted houses and graveyards and began to wader the capital's streets.
But one apparition caught the Victorian public attention more than most...
In October 1837 a 'leaping character' with a look of the Devil began to prey on Londoners. Often he would leap high into the air and land in front of a carriage, causing it to crash. It would then flee with a high-pitched laugh.