Many readers have asked me "Why do so many pulp covers feature women in ripped red blouses standing in swamps while a man who looks a bit like David Bowie fights off an unusual animal attack?"
The answer is: pulp artist Wil Hulsey...
Wilbur "Wil" Hulsey was the undisputed king of the animal attack pulp cover. You name it, he'd paint it attacking you in a pool of stagnant water.
Very little is known about Wil Hulsey, but he worked on a number of men's pulp magazines in the 1950s and early 1960s including Man's Life, True Men, Guilty, Trapped and Peril.
Their audience for these was ex-GIs: during WWII the US Council of Books in Wartime had given away over 122 million books to American servicemen to read. This led to a post-war surge in paperback and magazine sales amongst these newly enthusiastic readers.
As a result the 1950s saw a raft of men's pulp magazines being published to tap into this market - almost 200 different titles!
For some reason the most popular types of story in the late 1950s were tales of men surviving attacks by vicious animals - the more unusual the better. Many pulp artists did their best to paint them.
But painting magazine covers is hard work, especially at speed, so many artists worked to a formula often set out by the publisher. Wil Hulsey certainly perfected his.
The main male character in a Hulsey cover generally looks a bit like David Bowie. Artists would often use photos of the same model for various covers and the 'Bowie' model clearly worked for Wil.
Next there would be a woman in a button-popping ripped red blouse. Bright red, like bright yellow, is a stand-out eye-catching colour for a magazine cover - especially if you're not sure how the blouse is staying on.
But why are they always in a swamp? Well, if you want the head and arms to be in the centre of the cover you have to lose the legs. Putting them in water or long grass is an easy way to do that, or you can paint people crouching.
There is a huge amount of male masochism in 1950s and early '60s pulp covers: men are trapped or bound, being flogged, eaten or bitten. The message seems to be "real men can take it - and live to tell the tale!"
But by the early 1960s pulp tastes had changed, and animal attack covers gave way to outrageous war stories. By the end of the 1960s these were replaced by tales of hoodlum bikers in leather jackets and hopped-up radical students running amok.
It just wasn't Wil's bag...
By 1973 the men's pulp magazine market was almost out of business: softcore girlie mags and physical fitness publications were selling far more copies. The days of the painted pulp adventure cover were over.
So let's hear it for pulp artist Wil Hulsey:
He could only draw one thing.
But it was a great thing!
And he drew it!!
Pulp salutes you Wil...
(Mind how you go...)
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What with you being so busy and everythign you may not have visited your local library in a while.
So come with me on a virtual library tour, courtesy of stock photography, to see what we do for a living...
The enquiries desk is normally your first stop in a library, and this is where you will meet The Angry Librarian!
Why is she angry? Because people keep asking her stupid questions!
"Are you open?"
"Do you have a toilet?"
"That chair's wobbly!"
"Why isn't it available in audiobook?"
"Someone else is on the computer and that's not fair!"
Today in pulp I look at the original white stripes: the world of dazzle camoflague!
Traditional pattern camoflague had been used by the British Royal Navy to break up a ship's outline for some time. But in 1917 artist Norman Wilkinson presented the Admiralty with a different idea - camoflague that confused enemy rangefinders.
Dazzle - known in the US as Razzle Dazzle - would use high contrast colours in irregular patterns to make it difficult for enemy gunners to calculate a ship's range and bearing. This would (hopefully) lead to them taking up a poor firing position when they attacked.
Friendship is universal. So are human-eating alien lizards in sunglasses. At least that's what we thought in 1983, thanks to one blockbuster TV mini-series.
This is the story of V...
Writer Kenneth Johnson had a strong background in TV drama and sci-fi, having worked on The Incredible Hulk and The Six Million Dollar Man. In 1976 he created The Bionic Woman series.
But his next project would be more political...
Johnson was interested in Sinclair Lewis's 1935 novel It Can't Happen Here, a story about how fascism might take hold in America. He worked up a modern retelling of the story - called Storm Warning - and pitched the idea to NBC as a mini-series.
Abraham Van Helsing may be the most famous of the early occult detectives, but there were many others who appeared in Victorian and Edwardian literature.
Today I look back at some of the early supernatural sleuths who helped to define a genre that is still going strong today…
Occult detectives explore paranormal mysteries, sometimes by using spiritual skills. They could be normal detectives investigating the occult, occultists who use the dark arts to solve crime, or detectives with supernatural abilities such as clairvoyance.
Occult detectives began in the mid-19th century: Poe’s Murders in the Rue Morgue (1841) had set the template for detective fiction, whilst spiritualism and paranormal research also began to interest the public. Séances and Ouija boards were familiar tropes for Victorian readers.
In the shadowy corners of the shortwave spectrum lurk the Numbers Stations: strange radio broadcasts of mysterious blocks of numbers in creepy monotone voices!
It's actually an old form of spycraft which is still in use today. Let's take a listen...
A Numbers Station is a type of one-way voice link for sending information to spies in foreign countries. Operating on Short Wave radio bands they transmit a secret code of spoken numbers.
Use of Numbers Stations peaked during the Cold War, but some are still operating today.
Numbers Stations are operated by various national intelligence agencies. At set times on a pre-arranged frequency a musical tone is played, followed by a speech synthesised voice reading out blocks of numbers. To most listeners it sounds both creepy and meaningless.
Today in pulp I revisit a mystery of the recent past: did ‘John Titor’ really travel back in time from 2038 to the year 2000 to warn us about an apocalyptic future? And why was he so keen on getting his hands on a 1975 IBM 5100 computer?
Let’s find out...
In 1998, US radio talk-show host Art Bell read out a fax from a man claiming to be from the future. Two years later the same man, calling himself Time_Traveler_0, left similar messages on the Time Travel Instutute’s internet forum.
They told a strange tale…
“Greetings. I am a time traveler from the year 2036. I am on my way home after getting an IBM 5100 computer system from the year 1975.”
For the next two years Time_Traveler_0, now calling himself John Titor, would leave many similar messages on internet forums.