#david larkin

The missing link! I’ve found the missing link! I’ve been fascinated by David Larkin’s editorial work in the ’70s pretty much since I realized that he was behind the majority of a white-covered art books that hit shelves during that time, but it is hard to find a definitive list of books that he produced — “editor” isn’t reliably credited in the usual databases, and in the case of a book like Gnomes, with clear author and illustrator credit, no one is going to flag that as a “David Larkin” book. I still don’t have a full accounting of his books, but I am pretty sure the art series started with Magritte, in 1972. From there, through 1975, he produced a number of books featuring 19th and turn of the century artists like Arthur Rackham, the Pre-Raphaelites and Carl Larsson. In 1976, Gnomes came out, and Larkin’s books suddenly showcased contemporary artists like Alan Lee, Sulamith Wülfing and even Salvador Dali, who was still alive at the time, and featured an increasing focus on fantasy. Lacking any evidence, I’ve had to just accept that Gnomes was a “Eureka!” moment for Larkin, but I’ve always suspected there was a pivot point.

I was right! It’s Once Upon a Time (1976), a curiously scarce (but inexpensive) book subtitled “Some Contemporary Illustrators of Fantasy.” That subtitle gives the distinct impression of a concept not entirely fleshed out, of experimentation. The selection of work inside follows suit — it’s all good stuff, but seems a bit of a grab-bag. It reminds me a bit of the way Stewart Cowley forged narrative art books like the Terran Trade Authority (1978-1979) series out of a bunch of stuff laying about the art agency. Perhaps with good reason, as this book is an extension of Larkin’s work in organizing the UK’s Association of Illustrators. There’s no overarching narrative (like we would soon see in Gnomes) but much of the featured work was previously unpublished, making it feel like a collection of portfolios in a way.

Book 319

The Fantastic Kingdom: A Collection of Illustrations from the Golden Days of Storytelling

David Larkin, ed.

Ballantine Books 1975

The world did Kay Nielsen dirty. He was of the Golden Age, but with Dulac was part of a slightly younger cohort than Rackham and the old guard. By far, the defining feature of his work is an embrace of detailed pattern to a degree that has perhaps never been rivaled. The level of detail in his work is beyond sumptuous and emphasized by a certain flattening of his compositions, which often remind me of sets for a stage play. Individual elements of his illustrations are extremely precise and orderly, but often turn chaotic as the page fills — all that potential energy bounces my eyes around ceaselessly.

This is Kay Nielsen (1975), one of David Larkin’s series of books focusing on Golden Age artists, a prime reason, I think, why he remains in the public imagination. I’d be willing to bet that Nielsen’s figures — pale, oddly proportioned, somewhat alien-looking and featuring a propensity for odd clothing choices, particularly hats — inspired Michael Moorcock’s Melniboneans. Or, at the very least, inspired the artists who illustrated them.

Arthur Rackham might be the epitome of the Golden Age illustrators for many folks, but I feel that Edmond Dulac had the most success producing work for more conventional literature. Rackham, Ford and so on were illustrators of fairy stories; one of Dulac’s first major commissions was to illustrate Jane Eyre and the other Bronte novels. He did illustrated fairy tales, including one full volume of Hans Christian Anderson, but also tackled Shakespeare, The Arabian Nights and The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. That last, a portfolio of 20 images, is probably his best-known work (though the dude did design stamps and currency too, that doesn’t seem like the same sort of recognizability, but does point to the scope of his mainstream success).

This is the David Larkin-edited Dulac (1975) and it focuses mostly on his more fantastic work. He shares something of Rackham’s murky textures and rich colors, but where Rackham taps some nostalgic notion of Britain’s rural life, Dulac is decidedly Orientalist in his designs and ornamentation. Most Golden Age illustrators seem keen to fill space, but Dulac is happy to let it stay empty, to show of its spotty tones. The alchemist on the cover is a good example of that. His monsters, what few there are, are reasonable-looking for the most part. No octopus tentacle beards here.

Seems strange that I’ve not written about any of the artists associated with the Golden Age of Illustration, considering how foundational they are to our concept of fantasy as a genre (which didn’t really exist, per se, until the ’70s). The period began around 1890, fueled by new printing techniques and a demand for beautiful storybooks to be given as Christmas gifts, and ended with the Great War (this is really a commercial market designation, as most of the illustrators continuing to produce work well after the war).

The artist probably most associated with the Golden Age is assuredly Arthur Rackham. And he’s great! David Larkin’s Arthur Rackham (1975) is an excellent overview of the artist’s entire body of work (which get’s increasingly realistic over time). His style of figure poses, the rich textures of his watercolor backgrounds and his whimsy all reverberate in the work of other artists of the period. He had a great talent for depicting faeries and giants in a believable rural setting. The image of the fairy ring is probably one of his most famous, but the two-headed Welsh giant is a personal fave. He wasn’t really one for monsters — odd looking people, sure, animals, sure, combinations of the two, sure, but aside of that excellent Chimera and the occasional dragon, I can’t really think of any other Rackham beasties.

He’s an obvious influence on Tony DiTerlizzi’s work — some of TD’s later Planescape illustrations really experiment in the deep, textured watercolors of Rackham’s landscapes. I think folks would say he’s an influence on Charles Vess, too, and I don’t disagree, really, but I think Nielsen and Dulac more strongly inform his work.

The third and final installment in David Larkin’s series fantasy field guides after Gnomes and Faeries is Giants (1979), which features art from Julek Heller, Carolyn Scrace and Juan Wijngaard. Larkin gets credit here for “devising” the book, while Sarah Teale gets credit for the text. I am not sure how that breaks down in practice, but it sure feels like Larkin had the most to do with the direction of this book.

Faeries is really the solid gold hit of the series, endlessly fascinating, extremely varied. Gnomes feels expressly designed to capitalize on eddies of folkiness in 70s pop culture. Compared to them, Giants feels a bit one note and a bit in search of a vibe. When it boils down, it is essentially a book about very large people. It often plays to that core truth effectively, but it never feels so singular as the other two books, if that makes sense.

Partly that might just be that there are too many folks involved. Where Gnomes is one artistic vision and Faeries and elegant duet, the trio here never quite finds its harmonies. All three deliver stellar work, but rarely does that work collaborate with its neighbors in the way Lee and Froud play off each other. Giants are hard, too, because without markers for scale, they just look like people doing stuff, but if every painting has markers for scale, it gets repetitive. Both of these pitfalls are on view here. One can’t help but wonder why they didn’t do dragons instead.