Brain Pickings

Posts Tagged ‘vintage children’s books’

21 FEBRUARY, 2012

Henri’s Walk to Paris: Saul Bass’s Only Children’s Book, 1962, Resurfaced 50 Years Later

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Half a century of anticipation, or what Parisian buses have to do with little yellow birds.

Saul Bass (1920-1996) is considered by many — myself included — the greatest graphic designer of all time, responsible for some of the most timeless logos and most memorable film title sequences of the twentieth century. In 1962, Bass collaborated with former librarian Leonore Klein on his only children’s book, which spent decades as a prized out-of-print collector’s item. This month, exactly half a century later, Rizzoli is reprinting Henri’s Walk to Paris — an absolute gem like only Bass can deliver, at once boldly minimalist and incredibly rich, telling the sweet, aspirational, colorful story of a boy who lives in rural France and dreams of going to Paris.

In his wonderful essay on Bass’s talent, Martin Scorsese observed, as if thinking of this book in particular:

Saul’s designs…speak so eloquently that they address all of us, no matter when, or where, you were born.”

For a related treat, don’t miss the excellent recent Saul Bass monograph, one of the 11 best art and design books of 2011.

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16 FEBRUARY, 2012

Stone Is Not Cold: Miroslav Šašek’s Playful Vintage Children’s Illustrations of Classical Sculpture

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Medusa goes to the hairdresser, or what Cicero has to do with press conferences.

Czech illustrator Miroslav Šašek is best-known for his fantastic and timeless This Is… series of vibrant vintage travel books, designed for children but beloved by adults as well, which he produced between 1950 and 1970. But in 1961, in a lesser-known yet no less wonderful project, he took on a subject at once more intimate and more esoteric than cities. In Stone Is Not Cold, unearthed by the lovely Vintage Kids’ Books My Kid Loves, Šašek brings to life famous sculptures from London, Rome and the Vatican City in irreverent vignettes from everyday life. The subdued black-and-grey drawings are nonetheless infinitely playful and lively, a feat of contrasts that reflects Šašek’s rare gift for visual storytelling.

Yes, Hercules, too, had a mother — and she, like any mother, worried:

Curiously, despite the book’s humor and buoyancy, Šašek is quoted describing the illustrations as “very gray and black — very sad, as life is” — tragic validation for the myth of the tortured genius, even in the carefree realm of children’s books.

All of Šašek’s illustrated books are an absolute treat, but if you haven’t laid eyes and hands on the glorious This Is New York (1960), you are missing out on something particularly magical and exquisite.

Images courtesy of Vintage Kids’ Books My Kid Loves

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13 FEBRUARY, 2012

The Bomb and the General: A Vintage Semiotic Children’s Book by Umberto Eco circa 1966

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How symbols become symbols, or what keeping atoms in harmony has to do with language acquisition.

Novelist and philosopher Umberto Eco once said that the list is the origin of culture. But his fascination with lists and organization grew out of his longtime love affair with semiotics, the study of signs and symbols as an anthropological sensemaking mechanism for the world. In bridging semiotics with literature, Eco proposed a dichotomy of “open texts,” which allow multiple interpretations, and “closed texts,” defined by a single possible interpretation. Since semiotics is so closely related to language, one of its central inquiries deals with language acquisition — when, why, and how children begin to associate objects with the words that designate those objects. Most children’s picture books, with their simple messages and unequivocal moral lessons, fall within the category of “closed texts.”

In 1966, Eco published The Bomb and the General (public library) — a children’s book that, unlike the “open texts” of his adult novels with their infinite interpretations, followed the “closed text” format of the picture book genre to deliver a cautionary tale of the Atomic Age wrapped in a clear message of peace, environmentalism, and tolerance. But what makes the project extraordinary is the parallel visual and textual narrative reinforcing the message — the beautiful abstract illustrations by Italian artist Eugenio Carmi contain recurring symbols that reiterate the story in a visceral way as the child learns to draw connections between the meaning of the images with the meaning of the words.

This particular page presents a lovely wink at Brian Cox’s The Quantum Universe, featured here earlier today:

Mom is made of atoms.
Milk is made of atoms.
Women are made of atoms.
Air is made of atoms.
Fire is made of atoms.
We are made of atoms.

The Bomb and the General is a fine addition to these littleknown but fantastic children’s books by famous authors of adult literature.

via the lovely We Too Were Children, Mr. Barrie; images courtesy of Ariel S. Winter

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20 JANUARY, 2012

Visions of the Jinn: A Visual History of Arabian Nights

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From Aladdin to Lewis Carroll, or what Buddhist deities have to do with understanding the Middle East.

Among 2011’s best sort-of-children’s books was a magnificent volume culling the best illustrations from 130 years of Brothers Grimm fairy tales — a visual history of some of the most memorable storytelling ever published. Visions of the Jinn: Illustrators of the Arabian Nights is a remarkable tome that applies a similar lens to another infinitely influential piece of timeless storytelling, whose impact spans from the poetry of Goethe and Rilke to the contemporary fiction of Borges and Proust to the visuals and narratives of video games.

Though the first edition of Arabian Nights contained no pictures, the late 18th century saw a flourishing of illustrated editions, the first of which were almost comically amiss in their visual depictions of Arab culture, most notably a widely pirated 1714 edition with engravings by Dutch artist David Coster, who had no grasp of the cultural differences between medieval European and Islamic cultures, so he portrayed the characters in European dress, on European furniture, amidst European architecture.

Shahrazad tells her story to Shahryar, while her sister Dunyazad is listening. Other stories occupy the smaller frames, including 'The fisherman and the jinn.' Illustration by Dutch artist David Coster, 1714.

In the subsequent decades, other artists took a similarly hazy approach to exoticism. It wasn’t until the 1839-1841 publication of The Thousand and One Nights, translated by ethnographer Edward William Lane, who had spent several years in Egypt himself, that the stories began to reflect the Arab world with respectable accuracy. Lane, who aspired to make the text an educational introduction to everyday life in the Middle East, hired acclaimed British engraver William Harvey to do the artwork and saw to its accuracy by giving Harvey historical engravings of Egyptian and Moorish architecture to copy, approaching the project as an educational primer rather than a visual journey of the imagination.

Illustration by William Harvey, 1841.

The first unabashedly imaginative edition of the Victorian age came in 1865. Titled Dalziel’s Illustrated Arabian Nights Entertainments, it featured engravings by a number of notable artists from the era, including perhaps most notably Sir John Tenniel, famous for his whimsical and brilliantly comical illustrations for Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, published that same year.

Sidi Nouman's vengeance on his wife. Illustration by Sir John Tenniel, 1865.

The sleeping genie and the lady. Illustration by Sir John Tenniel, 1865.

The first color take on the tales came Walter Crane in his 1876 Aladdin’s Picture Book. Crane was also among the first to consider the visual tastes of children, reining in a new era of designing storytelling for young readers.

Children, like ancient Egyptians, appear to see things in profile, and like definite statements in design. They prefer well-designed forms and bright frank colour. They don’t want to bother with three dimensions. They can accept symbolic representations. They themselves employ drawing… as a kind of picture writing and eagerly follow a pictured story.” ~ Walter Crane

Aladdin’s Picture Book Arabian Nights. Illustration by Walter Crane, 1878.

Even though the editions since Lane’s scholarly translation had progressed in the realm of visual imagination, the content had remained rather sterilized and prudish. It wasn’t until the 1885-1888 publication of Richard Burton’s sixteen-volume translation that themes of sexuality emerged, complete with extensive notes on topics like homosexuality, bestiality, and castration. Though Burton’s original edition featured no pictures in order to avoid prosecution for obscenity, shortly after his death in 1890 a young friend and admirer of his by the name of Albert Letchford, who had trained in Paris as an orientalist painter, created 70 paintings, which eventually became the basis for the next edition of Burton’s translation. With a keen sensibility for fantasy and a shared interest in the erotic to complement Burton’s own, Letchford’s artwork featured many nudes and were infused with sensuality. Ironically, Letchford contracted an exotic disease in Egypt and died at a young age.

Illustration for Richard Burton's The Book of the Thousand Nights and a Night by Albert Letchford, 1897.

Illustration for Richard Burton's The Book of the Thousand Nights and a Night by Albert Letchford, 1897.

In the early 1900s, Anglophile Edmund Dulac illustrated the highly successful gift books Stories from the Arabian Nights (1907), Princess Badoura (1913), and Sindbad the Sailor & Other Tales from the Arabian Nights (1914), blending the British tradition of book illustration with the vibrant colors of Persian miniatures and motifs from Chinese and Japanese art. His artwork endures as arguably the most memorable and widely recognized visual footprint of Arabian Nights.

The Story of the Wicket Half-Brothers. Illustration by Edmund Dulac, 1907.

The Fisherman and the Genie. Illustration by Edmund Dulac, 1907.

The Princess Deryabar. Illustration by Edmund Dulac, 1907.

The Story of the Magic Horse. Illustration by Edmund Dulac, 1907.

In the early twentieth century, artists abandoned the obligation to historical and ethnographic accuracy, experimenting instead with the explosion of color and the cross-pollination of world mythologies. Illustrators like Danish artist Kay Nielsen looked to the fantastical monsters and whimsical landscapes of Asian folklore, weaving Buddhist deity iconography, Chinese cloud bands, and near-surrealist elements into the familiar stories.

Sheherezade. Illustration by Kay Nielsen, 1917.

Arabian Nights. Illustration by Kay Nielsen, 1917.

Arabian Nights. Illustration by Kay Nielsen, 1917.

The latter part of the twentieth century saw an even greater explosion of color, among which were the arresting illustrations of British artist Errol le Cain.

Aladdin. Illustration by Errol le Cain, 1981.

Aladdin. Illustration by Errol le Cain, 1981.

Aladdin. Illustration by Errol le Cain, 1981.

Aladdin. Illustration by Errol le Cain, 1981.

Aladdin. Illustration by Errol le Cain, 1981.

Visions of the Jinn explores these and many other treasures, as well as the fascinating historical and sociocultural context in which they were created, to paint a rich and vivid mosaic of the visual legacy of Arabian Nights.

HT The Times Literary Supplement, The Guardian

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