The book Tintin picks up in Professor Topolino’s house, in THE CALCULUS AFFAIR (1956), is completely real. Written by Leslie E. Simon (a Major General in the US Army), it was published in 1947 under the title German Research in World War II: An Analysis of the Conduct of Research. The rocket depicted on the cover isn’t a fantasy design, it’s a German V-2 rocket, which was the world's first long-range guided ballistic missile. When Hergé, Tintin’s creator, made DESTINATION MOON and EXPLORERS ON THE MOON in the early 1950s, he based the iconic red-and-white checkered design of Professor Calculus's moon rocket directly on the V-2 rocket.
(This image comes from the original Belgian magazine publication, my go-to edition.)
Flashback! I'm 4 or perhaps 5 years old. My brother, some two years older, is in hospital. Why, I don't know. This hasn't been explained to me. Nor do I ask; I’m just happy to stay at my grandparents' castle, safe from the darkness I sense around me. (Castle? Yes. Because this isn't a house. It's an old, slightly unreal construction, an enclave of the 19th century, built by my ancestors. It sits slightly elevated, comparing to the other houses in my village like an eagle compares to a chicken.) When my brother returns, he brings some things with him: a strange hospital smell that vaguely frightens me, stories of other kids--some who have become one with the Force (bless their souls)--and a few comics. There are two in particular that catch my eye. They look more luxurious than the others. More adult. They are: DESTINATION MOON, and EXPLORERS ON THE MOON. They intrigue me. Has my brother been to the moon? I open one of the books--but yikes, that's a lot of text. Lots of techno-babble, too. The art looks kind of sterile, traced. This isn't a comic; it's some kind of illustrated manual for astronauts, apparently. I put it away.
For years, this would be my attitude toward Tintin. The art is too polished, too perfect. The stories feel like excuses to show off plane models and tech specs. And Tintin, blech, he isn’t a character, he is just a bland collection of virtues. Also, there aren’t any women in it. Well, only Bianca Castafiore, but she’s a drag queen.
This all changes when I come across some of the original facsimile editions of the books, and see the difference between this:
The first one I read was THE CRAB WITH THE GOLDEN CLAWS (1941). What struck me was how well the characters act. A favorite would be THE CASTAFIORE EMERALD (1962), because of how Hergé plays with conventions and clichés. ("Mercy! My jewels!")
In CRAB, you'll come across this panel:
Hergé himself considered it one of his best. The narrative progression in a single, static image, Haddock’s curses flying out over the armed men’s heads like rotten fruit—he’s not in the frame, yet he’s dominating it—those are the kinds of touches that make Hergé’s work so enjoyable, so memorable. When you first read Tintin as a kid (or a casual reader), your eyes glide riiight past panels like this because the storytelling is so seamless. But when you stop to look at how Hergé achieved that effect, the experience changes from just reading a comic to Appreciating Fine Art (yes yes).
I still never really got into the MOON adventure, however… Although I admire its ambition. And I've always been fascinated by its ending. I won't spoil it, so I'll just say: "Perhaps by some miracle I shall escape too."
PS. Shout-out to Leslie Lonsdale-Cooper and Michael Turner, who collaborated on the English translation of Tintin's adventures, and did it so well.
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