Featuring Finlay Further: A New Photo of Virgil W. Finlay

The marvelous illustrations of Virgil Finlay appear in many of my posts, while these two posts – Virgil Finlay – Dean of Science Fiction Artists, and, Further to Finlay, explore his life and work from a biographical slant.  The image below is a small addition to the latter theme.

A photo of Virgil Finlay, his mother, and sister, I don’t think (hmmm…) that it’s thus far appeared on the Internet.  I discovered it while perusing science fiction magazines and publications from a variety of other (offbeat!) genres, at the Luminist Archive.  The photo appears in the 1974 edition (was it the only one?) of Gerry de la Ree’s Fantasy Collectors Annual

Nothing all that fantastic about the image, but it does serve to show Virgil Finlay as a man like all men: simply as a person. 

The caption appears below. 

“FINLAY FAMILY PORTRAIT – Virgil Finlay, his mother, Ruby Cole Finlay, left; and his younger sister, Jean, posed for this picture outside their Rochester, N.Y., home in the 1930s about the time the young artist was breaking into the professional field as an illustrator for Weird Tales.  This picture was presented to Gerry de la Ree in 1970 and is previously unpublished.”

Amazing Stories, March, 1959 (March, 1939), Featuring “Marooned Off Vesta”, by Isaac Asimov [Albert Nuetzell]

In March of 1959, exactly twenty years after the first publication of Isaac Asimov’s “Marooned Off Vesta”, Amazing Stories republished the story, his third and first-published science-fiction story.  The 1959 issue featured the same – or almost the same! – or mostly the same? – or basically the same!? – lead illustration as that created by Robert Fuqua two decades prior.  Only this time, the illustration was created by the singularly talented Virgil W. Finlay.

Given Finlay’s creativity, originality, and disposition towards symbolism, eroticism, and mythology, the result for this issue of Amazing Stories was remarkably straightforward, albeit naturally completed in Finlay’s immediately recognizable style and attention to detail.  It seems obvious that editor Cele Goldsmith or art director Sid Greiff wanted the story’s lead art to follow – and commemorate? – that of Fuqua from 1939, leading to the result on pages 8 and 9 of the March issue.  Even given the artistic requirements (limitations/0 he was operating under, Finlay’s art is still superb. 

As for the cover?  Albert Nuetzell’s simple painting is still a vast and refreshing improvement (not hard to do!) over that of 1939.  No megacephalic, big-eared, naked, spindly, blue-skinned aliens here.  You can learn more about Nuetzell in the video below… 

Sin & Sci-fi in 60s~ (“Charles Nuetzel & Albert Nuetzell (ft. Bill Pronzini) – Ep. 9: S&SF60s“)

While you’re here, you might want to visit Fuqua’s imagined future from 1939

As for the non-fiction Vesta, view this NASA VideoDawn Spacecraft’s Farewell Portrait of Giant Asteroid Vesta“…

Marooned Off Vesta, at…

Wikipedia

Internet Speculative Fiction Database

SciFi Stack Exchange

Archive.org

ArtStation (by Cosmin Panfil)

Science Daily (“Geologists propose theory about a famous asteroid”)

Albert Nuetzell, at…

Internet Speculative Fiction Database

Remind Magazine

Startling Stories, March, 1952, featuring “The Well of the Worlds” by Henry Kuttner, and “Things of Distinction”, by Kendell Foster Crossen [Earle K. Bergey]

The March, 1952 issue of Startling Stories includes four illustrations by Virgil Finlay, of his typically masterful quality.  Three are for “The Well of the Worlds”, while the fourth – show below – is for “Things of Distinction”.  As for Early Bergey’s cover art?  Well, the table of contents has no actual mention of Bergey, and, I don’t think the cover has any relation to any story carried within the magazine.  It’s simply a nicely representative example of Bergeyology!

As for “Things of Distinction” itself?  It seems to be an example of science-fiction humor, a sub-genre which to me is a literary oxymoron that falls flatter than flat.  The story itself was only anthologized once; that in The Bodley Head’s 1954 Future Tense.  Regardless, Virgil Finlay’s lead illustration – taking full advantage of the horizontal format available by virtue of the magazine’s size – is imaginative and playful.  Even that is outdone by his three illustrations for Henry Kuttner’s never (really) anthologizedThe Well of the Worlds“, which, like many Finlay compositions, seem to emanate from a world of unrecorded myth.  

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Illustrations by Virgil W. Finlay, for “The Well of the Worlds“, by Henry Kuttner

(Page 10)

(Page 13)

(Page 27)

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Illustration for “Things of Distinction“, by Kendell Foster Crossen (pages 98-99)

And a little bit more…

Kendell Foster Crossen, at…

Wikipedia

Internet Speculative Fiction Database

Project Gutenberg

Fantastic Fiction

 

Fantastic Story Magazine, Summer, 1952 (Featuring “Slan” by A.E. van Vogt) [Alex Schomburg] [[[Triply updated post!]]]

“Slan” was originally serialized in Astounding Science Fiction (September, October, November and December, 1940), with illustrations by Charles Schneeman.  The above-mentioned issues are “view-able” through the astounding (pun intended) Luminist Archive.  Reprinted in its entirety in Fantastic Story Magazine in 1952, the story was accompanied by three illustrations – shown below – created by Virgil Finlay. 

Since creating this post back in January of 2020 (was it that long ago?!) I’ve been fortunate enough to acquire a copy of the Summer, 1952 issue of Fantastic Story in excellent condition, the cover of which – shown below – features Alex Schomburg’s art in all its colorful, streamlined, cloudless, undulating, stylistic glory. 

This image replaces (!) the scan originally featured in this post, which I’ve now tossed to the bottom of this post.  

As well as being evocative and powerful on levels both emotional and intellectual, these illustrations reveal an extraordinary level of intricacy and detail, typical and representative of Finlay’s work.  It might strike one as odd, given the quality of Finlay’s work, that only one of his efforts ever appeared in (more accurately, “on”) Astounding Science Fiction, but the explanation for that sad absence can be found here.  

All images presented here were obtained and adapted from Archive.org’s Pulp Magazine Archive, with the Summer 1952 issue of Fantastic Story Magazine being available here.

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Pages 10-11.

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Page 17

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Page 25

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Akin to my recently updated post showing depictions of C’Mell, in Cordwainer Smith’s The Ballad of Lost C’Mell, “this” post, from August of 2018 – showing illustrations for A.E. van Vogt’s Slan – has been updated to present illustrations for Slan from a different – Russian – angle.

The main impetus for the “original” post was to present Virgil Finlay’s wonderful visual interpretation of the story as seen in his three illustrations in the summer, 1952 issue of Fantastic Story magazine: Jommy Cross’ confrontation with slan girl Joanna Hillory; a symbolic portrait of Jommy juxtaposed against a collage of figures representing the persecution of slans by “normal” humans against slans (Jommy’s golden tendrisl prominently displayed); Jommy, at the thirtieth story of a building in Centropolis, witnessing the launch of a spacecraft operated by tendrilless slans. 

Befitting Fantastic Story, Finlay’s images are themselves fantastic in detail, symbolism, and visual impact, examples of illustration that are not only stylistically but qualitatively unique in science-fiction – and not just science fiction – illustration. 

Giving the significance of Van Vogt’s body of work, it’s unsurprising that it’s been translated into a variety of languages, among which – also unsurprisingly – is Russian.  One title under which Van Vogt’s stories have appeared in the Russian language translation is Gibroidy” (Гиброиды), or Hybrids, published by Kanon (Канон) publishers in Moscow in 1995, Gibrodiy being one of Kanon’s three compilations of Van Vogt’s works.  A list of seven other Russian-language translations of Van Vogt’s works – 5 books and 2 other items – can be found at Electronic Bookshelves by Vadim Ershov and Company) where these works can be downloaded as zip files.

Hybrids comprises three stories:

1) “Voyna Protiv Rullov” (Война Против Руллов) – The War Against the Rull, translated by Viktor Vyacheslavovich Antonov (Виктор Вячеславович Антонов)
2) “Slen” (Слен) – Slan, translated by Yu. K. Semenychev (Ю.К. Семёнычев)
3)
“Gibroidy” (Гиброиды) – Hybrids (main title), translated by V. Goryaev (В. Горяев)

The other two titles are:

“Zver” (Зверь) – The Beast, published 1994

Zver includes three stories:

1) “A Dom Stoit Sebe Srokoyno” (А Дом Стоит Себе Срокойно) – The House That Stood Still, translated by Yu. K. Semenychev (Ю.К. Семёнычев)
2) “Tvorets Vselennoy” (Творец Вселенной) – The Universe Maker, translated by I. Shcherbakova (И. Щербаковой)
3) “Zver” (Зверь) – The Beast (main title), translated by I. Boyko (И.Бойко)

“Dvoyniki” (Двойники)The Reflected Men, published 1995

Dvoyniki includes six stories:

1) “Deti Budushchego” (Дети Будущего) – Children of Tomorrow, translated by K. Prostovoy (К.Простовой)
2) “Vladiki Vremeni” (Владыки Времери) – Time Lords, translated by I. Shcherbakova (И. Щербаковой)
3) “Dvoyniki” (Двойники) – The Reflected Men (main title)
translated by Viktor Vyacheslavovich Antonov (Виктор Вячеславович Антонов)
4) “Loobyashchie Androidi” (Любящие Андроиды) – All The Loving Androids, translated by Viktor Vyacheslavovich Antonov (Виктор Вячеславович Антонов)
5) “Neistrebimie” (Неистребимые) – The Replicators, translated by Yu. K. Semenychev (Ю.К. Семёнычев)
6) “Uskolznuvshee iz Ruk Chudo” (Ускользнувшее из Рук Чудо) – Secret Unattainable, translated by I. Shcherbakova (И. Щербаковой)

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Front Cover of “Gibroidy” (Гиброиды) – Hybrids

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Front Cover of “Zver” (Зверь) – The Beast.  Note the similarity of the building to the police headquarters in (the original) Blade Runner, as seen in this video – “Blade Runner spinner lift-off (’82 theatrical release version)” – from the YouTube channel of Damon Packard II.

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Front cover of “Dvoyniki” (Двойники) – The Reflected Men

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Aside from van Vogt’s original authorship, the one commonality among the three Russian translation is their illustrator: Ilya Evgenevich Voronin.  His black and white sketches – in a style akin to that of Dan Adkins – appear as a single illustration in the title page of each work, while each of the stories within is headed by an illustration pertinent to that story. 

In this, Слен is no exception, the lead image depicting Jommy Cross coming upon the departure of a tendrilless slan spacecraft from Centropolis, with Granny looking on…

Ilya Voronin’s illustration for Slan, on page 79 of Gibroidy” (Гиброиды) – Hybrids.

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“He knew that by no logic could that gauntlet of corridor be con­sidered safe. 
At any moment a door might open,
or wisps of thought warn him of men coming around some bend. 
With abrupt decision, he slowed his headlong rush and tried several doors. 
The fourth door yielded to pressure, and Jommy crossed the threshold with a sense of triumph. 
On the far side of the room was a tall, broad window.

He pushed the window open and scrambled out onto the wide sill. 
Crouching low, he peered over the ledge. 
Light came dimly from the other windows of the building,
and by its glow he could see what appeared to be a narrow driveway wedged between two precipices of brick wall.

For an instant he hesitated and then, like a human fly,
started up the brick wall. 
The climbing was simple enough;
enormously strong fingers searched with swift sureness for rough edges. 
The deepening darkness, as he climbed, was hampering,
but with every upward step his confidence surged stronger within him. 
There were miles of roof here and, if he remembered rightly,
the airport build­ings connected on every side with other buildings. 
What chance had slans who could not read minds against a slan who could avoid their every trap?

The thirtieth, and top, story!
With a sigh of relief, Jommy pulled himself erect and started along the flat roof. 
It was nearly dark now,
but he could see the top of a neighboring building that almost touched the roof he was on. 
A leap of two yards at most, an easy jump. 
With a loud clang! the clock in a nearby tower began to in­tone the hour. 
One – two – five – ten!
And on the stroke, a low, grinding noise struck Jommy’s ears,
and suddenly, in the shadowy center of that expanse of roof opposite him yawned a wide,
black hole.  Startled, he flung himself flat, holding his breath.

And from that dark hole a dim torpedo-like shape leaped into the star-filled sky. 
Faster, faster it went; and then, at the uttermost limit of vision,
a tiny, blazing light sprang from its rear. 
It flickered there for a moment, then was gone, like a star snuffed out.

Jommy lay very still, his eyes straining to follow the path of the strange craft. 
A spaceship. 
By all the heavens, a spaceship!
Had these tendrilless slans realized the dream of the ages—to operate flights to the planets?
If so, how had they kept it secret from human beings?
And what were the true slans doing?” (pp. 30-31)

References

Fantastic Story Quarterly / Fantastic Story Magazine, at Wikipedia
Luminist Archive, at LuministOrg
Slan,
at Wikipedia
Slan
(full text), at Prospero’s Isle
Science Fiction Laboratory (in Russian), at FantLab.ru
Ilya Evgenevich Voronin (in Russian), at FantLab.ru
Ilya Evgenevich Voronin (In Russian), at LibRuSec.ru
Virgil Finlay, at Wikipedia
Virgil Finlay, at WordsEnvisioned

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January 2020 362

War In Space, 1939 – I: “Space War” by Willy Ley, in Astounding Science Fiction, August, 1939

Is art a science?  Perhaps.

Is science an art?  Maybe.

The two in combination made a notable appearance in Astounding Science Fiction in 1939, in the form of two articles (and letters in reply) concerning the technology and tactics of war in space.  This material is fascinating from the perspectives of culture and history, and a few years back, I posted transcripts of and commentary about these articles at one of my brother blogs, thepastpresented.

Though that blog isn’t presently “up and running” (oh, well!) I’m recreating these posts here at WordsEnvisioned, because they so nicely compliment the themes of this blog, which include science fiction, pulp magazines, and – to a greater or lesser or uncertain extent! – technology and military history, as displayed in book and magazine art.

So, “this” is the first of these three posts:  Covering Willy Ley’s article “Space War” in the August, 1939, issue of Astounding.  Enjoy!

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So.

…lately, I’ve been perusing my collection of science-fiction pulps – Astounding Science Fiction; Analog; Galaxy Science Fiction; The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction; Startling Stories; Beyond Fantasy-Fiction, and more – admiring cover and interior art; admiring the primacy of pigment on paper versus the stale purity of pixels; and especially appreciating the contrast between the first time I read “such and such” story in a paperback anthology; say, Fredric Brown’s “Arena“, in Volume I of The Science Fiction Hall of Fame – versus that tale in its original incarnation in the June, 1944 issue of Astounding.

It seems.

…that the very contrast between things; events; images – as we remember them – and as they actually are, can be of deeper impact that those very “things” themselves.

And.

…that “contrast” can easily extend to the taken-for-granted realms of ideas or technology.  In the realm of science fiction, striking examples of this – in juxtaposition to the “world” of the 2020s – appeared in Astounding Science Fiction in August and November  of 1939, in the form of articles by Willy Ley and Malcolm Jameson.  Respectively entitled “Space War” and “Space War Tactics”, both authors presented analyses of how battles between spacecraft (specifically, ship-versus-ship combat) would actually be conducted.  It’s particularly fascinating to read these articles in the context of science and technology of the late 1930s, versus how such combat would be imagined in subsequent decades.  

Well.

…I enjoyed reading these articles.  And, in light of contemporary and ongoing news about “space” having become a realm of military activity, at a level even beyond what’s transpired since the early 1960s, I thought you’d appreciate them, too.

Anyway.

….what I’ve done is fully transcribe both articles as separate posts, as they originally appeared in Astounding.  The posts include the illustrations and captions that appeared in the original articles, to which I’ve tossed in some videos, links to additional sources of information, and biographical information about one author – Malcolm Jameson – in particular.  In the latter article (in the next post), velocities listed in the text have been recalculated as miles (statue miles) and kilometers per hour. 

Purposefully.

…These posts aren’t intended to critique the technological validity of the analyses and conclusions arrived at by Ley and Jameson.  Rather, they’re instead to open a window upon the intellectual, scientific, and even social “flavor” of the times.  While some of the authors’ analyses and conclusions will be incorrect, quaint, or passe in light of scientific and technological developments that have occurred in the eight decades since their publication, I can’t help but wonder about the relevance and validity of at least some of their insights, in terms of general concepts about kinetic (projectile) weapons versus “rays”, “beams”, or, aspects of identification, tracking, and aiming by opposing spacecraft.  So, each article is preceded by a summary of its central points, with the most notable passages of the text being italicized and in dark red text, like these last fourteen words in this sentence.  Both posts conclude with links to videos covering spacecraft-versus-spacecraft battles, and “space war”, in greater detail.     

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Here’s Willy Ley’s “Space War” from August of 1939.

Some general “take-aways” from his article are:

1) The technology needed for spacecraft already exists, even in rudimentary form.

2) The possibility exists that civilization will progress to such a point where war will become outlawed.  But, given human nature, in the more likely alternative, the potential and impetus for human conflict that’s always existed on earth will continue as man explores space. 

3) By definition, the nature of space conflict will parallel aerial combat between warplanes, by occurring in three dimensions.

4) In literary depictions of space warfare, a common plot element has been the use of directed energy weapons, like infrared projectors.

However, a weapon far more mundane and less dramatic, yet more effective, practical, and solidly within the realm of technological development and practical use is some variant of “the gun”:  “Well, I still believe that there is no better, more efficient and more deadly weapon for space warfare than an accurate gun with high muzzle velocity.  And I believe that an intelligent being from another planet, that is advanced enough to build or at least to understand spaceships, will look like a man – at least to somebody who does not see very well and cannot find his glasses.”

5)  The technology envisioned for energy or beam weapons – “ray projectors” – even if these can successfully be developed – is prohibitively heavy and bulky for use in spacecraft.

6)  Assuming that some form of “gun” is used in space warfare, the projectiles fired by such weapons would be analogous to those used in conventional, “earth-bound” conflicts, albeit specifically relevant to spacecraft-versus-spacecraft battles.  These would be: 1) High explosive thin-walled shells, and 2) Shells containing large numbers of individual non-explosive projectiles.

7) Some science fiction depictions of space warfare rely on the concept of defensive “screens” (analogous to the use of deflector shields in Star Trek?).  But, can “screens” of whatever nature – “gravity screens” in particular – even be developed, n light of current and future knowledge about the nature of gravity?

8) Rockets would be a possible weapon in space battles, albeit this being 1939, Ley is discussing unguided rockets.  The disadvantages of such weapons are that they could be (relatively) easily spotted, it would be impractical and dangerous to store a large quantity of combustible and explosive material aboard a spacecraft, and, the size and mass of such weapons.

9)  Space battles would be characterized by craft camouflaged “night-black”, using any possible measures to reduce their thermal signatures.

10) Ammunition would be used “sparingly” due to the danger of intact ordnance remaining in orbit around the Sun.  (Or, any old sun.)

11) It would be essential to compensate for the recoil effects of any weapon – or more likely combination of weapons – located at scattered points on a spacecraft’s hull (think of an analogue to the five gun turrets (four remote-control) of a WW II B-29 Superfortress), on the spacecraft’s trajectory, by the craft’s main engine, or, maneuvering thrusters.

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Oh, before we start with Ley’s article, a comment about this issue’s cover art:  This is the only issue of Astounding Science Fiction for which the cover illustration – for which any illustration, really – was created by Virgil Finlay.  Given Finlay’s superb – sometimes astonishing; almost preternatural; in my opinion quite unparalleled – artistic skill, I’d long wondered why an artist of his caliber had no other association with Astounding, given the magazine’s centrality to the development of science fiction as a literary genre.

The answer to this question – excerpted this from this post – follows:

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VIRGIL FINLAY – Dean of Science Fiction Artists
by SAM MOSKOWITZ

Worlds of Tomorrow

November, 1965

Except for an unfortunate experience Finlay might have become a regular illustrator for Astounding Science-Fiction, then the field leader.

Street & Smith had launched a companion titled Unknown, to deal predominantly in fantasy.  Finlay had been commissioned to do several interior drawings for a novelette The Wisdom of the Ass, which finally appeared in the February, 1940 Unknown as the second in a series of tales based on modern Arabian mythology, written by the erudite wrestler and inventor, Silaki Ali Hassan.

John W. Campbell had come into considerable criticism for the unsatisfactory cover work of Graves Gladney on Astounding Science-Fiction during early 1939.  So it was with a note of triumph, in projecting the features of the August, 1939 issue, he announced to his detractors:

“The cover, incidentally, should please some few of you.  It’s being done by Virgil Finlay, and illustrates the engine room of a spaceship.  Gentlemen, we try to please!”

The cover proved a shocking disappointment.  Illustrating Lester del Rey’s The Luck of Ignatz, its crudely drawn wooden human figures depicted operating an uninspired machine would have drawn rebukes from the readers of an amateur science-fiction fan magazine.  The infinite detail and photographic intensity which trademarked Finlay was entirely missing.

No one was more sickened than Virgil Finlay.  He had been asked to paint a gigantic engine room, in which awesome machinery dwarfed the men with implications of illimitable power.  He had done just that; but the art director had taken a couple of square inches of his painting, blown it up to a full-size cover and discarded the rest.
The result was horrendous.  A repetition of it would have seriously damaged his reputation, so Finlay refused to draw for Street and Smith again.

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And so, now on to Willy Ley’s article…

SPACE WAR

Suggesting that rays, ray screens, and all super-potent weapons of science-fiction aren’t half as deadly as a weapon we already have.

By Willy Ley

Illustrated by Willy Ley
Astounding Science Fiction
August, 1939

ABOUT ten years ago, Professor Hermann Oberth, the famous rocket expert, made an interesting experiment which, although having to do with rockets, required neither laboratory nor proving ground.  It was a legal experiment.  Professor Oberth submitted to the German Patent Office a complete description, with drawings, of a “Space Rocket.”  It was, virtually, a spaceship with all the details he had been able to think of in many years of study.

After the usual acknowledgment, there was complete silence for some time.  Then one day a bulky letter arrived from the patent office, containing the expected rejection.  But it was more than just a rejection.  Patent offices do not reject things without explaining why.  And the staff of the patent office did explain.  They had pried the plans apart and patiently and expertly examined every part of them.  And after really tremendous research and labor they had arrived at the conclusion that Professor Oberth’s plans could not be patented because every part and device was known to engineering science and had been patented before in some country by somebody else. (1)

The decision, or rather the explanation given, was in a way more valuable than the granting of a patent would have been.  It proved that spaceships arc not so far beyond the horizon as most people think – the very conservative and very careful staff of a patent office had found that they existed already – only in parts scattered all over and throughout civilization.  Periscopes, air purifiers, air-proof hulls, automatic devices and instruments of all kinds, water regenerators, et cetera, et cetera – they all exist and not even the much-discussed rocket motors are really novel.  Devices very similar to those needed on a tremendous scale for spaceships have already been built on a small scale for gas turbines.

It is, of course, true that, in spite of the decision of the patent office, space-ships arc still to be invented.  Every one of the thousand and one parts needs special adaptation, re-designing and re-research. There is still a tremendous amount of work to be done, and much has to be “invented.”  Point is, however, that there is nothing new in principle that is needed for space travel.  It was almost the same story with airplanes forty years ago.  Everything needed to build an airplane existed.  There was steel tubing and the art of welding it.  There were sheet aluminum and rubber.  There were wheels and propellers, wings were known and gasoline engines could be bought.  The invention of the airplane was delayed because those engines were too weak – it is exactly the same with rocket motors.

With more powerful engines came airplanes.  And with airplanes came thoughts of military application.  At first only observing was contemplated.  Even in actual war – 1914 – airplanes did not combat each other at first.  They observed enemy movements were fired at from the ground and retaliated with primitive bombs.  But the pilots of two airplanes meeting in the air are said to have saluted each other – flying alone was dangerous enough.  Then one day somebody began to shoot with a pistol and soon planes were having machine- gun combats.

It is only logical to assume that space war will follow the advent of the spaceship as aerial warfare followed in the wake of the airplane.  Not from the very outset, probably, because the first space-ships will entail sufficient risk of life in themselves.  But later spaceships will have means to combat each other in space and one day somebody will find, or create, a reason to use these means.  It is possible, though not any too likely, that mankind will have progressed beyond the use of brute force when space travel has advanced to a fair degree of perfection.  And if by then war has already been successfully outlawedthere will be space police and blockade runners.  There will be combat, even if not war.

So much for the likeliness of battles in space – even without the famous invasion from an alien solar system.  How will these battles be fought?  New means of transportation bring new kinds of battle tactics.  Roman chariots fought in another manner than the horsemen of Dshingis Khan.  Byzantine galleys employed other tactics than Sir Francis Drake, and he had other ideas of naval battle than the commander of the U.S.S. Washington.

IN AERIAL BATTLE a new element became important, the maneuverability in three dimensions.  It was not the better gun or the faster plane that decided many single engagements, but the Immelmann turn.  Evidently space war will develop its own tactics – but tactics depend also to a very great extent on the type of armament in use.  That, of course, does not present any question to the science-fiction fan.  He knows it by heart from hundreds of stories, the authors of which neither overexerted their imagination nor perceive a need for too much originality.  Traditionally spaceships attack each other with heat-ray projectors of incredible temperature and tremendous capacity; they probe into each other’s vitals with searing needle rays.  They bombard each other’s screens with proton guns and barytron blasters.  They waste energy in appalling quantities, they do anything but shoot.

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Figure 1.  Pressure curves the barrels of guns. 

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To pull the lanyard of a shiny 75-millimeter nickel-steel gun would be too trivial a thing to do.  Just about as trivial, in fact, as to picture a race of bearded men in white silk dresses armed with crossbows on a planet of Beta Draconis.  The beings that live there must be walking octopi, waving heat guns and disintegrator pistols in their tentacles.  Normal human-looking people would not be hostile enough to the visitors from Terra, and spaceships with simple guns would certainly be ridiculous and puny.  Besides, guns would be to no avail against the ultrarefractory super alloys of the spaceships, and the shells would simply be deflected by force fields.

Well, I still believe that there is no better, more efficient and more deadly weapon for space warfare than an accurate gun with high muzzle velocity.  And I believe that an intelligent being from another planet, that is advanced enough to build or at least to understand spaceships, will look like a man – at least to somebody who does not see very well and cannot find his glasses.

Before going into detail about the advantages of guns it is advisable to contemplate the relative merits of ray projectors.  That they do not exist now is immaterial; science-fiction is not only concerned with things that are but also with those that might be.  How would they look if they did exist?  They would consist of two main parts, the mechanism that produces and projects the rays and the power plant that feeds said mechanism.

Power plants are notoriously heavy and, even if we assume atomic power, the power generator will not be just a vest-pocket affair.  It would probably need a lot of insulation and a powerful cooling device.  We can say with certainty that it would be heavy and bulky.  Also, it will probably be sensitive against shaking and jarring, and it would be unpleasant indeed to see all the atomic converters go out of action in the middle of a battle.  The ray generator itself would most certainly be sensitive since we have to assume tubes of some kind.  And these sensitive ray projectors would have to be in the outer hull of the ship – or even outside the outer hull – so that they do not damage the wrong hull.

So much for the “merits” of ray generators.  Now the rays themselves.  Even the most powerful and most fantastically destructive ray will need some time to inflict damage.  Which implies the need for complicated sighting and focusing devices.  How well the rays will focus is another question.  Almost invariably the beams will spread out with distance.  The farther the target is away the weaker the radiation becomes.  The weaker it becomes the longer it has to strike.  But holding a ray on a fast-moving distant target, that might be practically invisible with black paint against the background of black space, is no small job.

Besides, those rays are supposed to be more than mere searchlights.  They are supposed to have unpleasant destructive qualities, being twelve thousand degrees hot, for example.  Naturally the generator has to be able to endure its own heat.  But, if there is an insulating material that holds out against the energies released at the giving end, it is hard to understand why the same insulator should not be usable to safeguard the hull of the ship that is being rayed – especially since the energy concentration at the receiving end is only a fraction of that at the giving end.

John W. Campbell evaded all these troublesome questions nicely in his “Mightiest Machine” by introducing the transpon beams.  These rays are fairly innocent in themselves, but they have the ability of carrying a large variety and an enormous quantity of vicious radiations originating elsewhere and not touching the projectors.  It is possible that something like this might be accomplished one day, but ordinary rays, as they are usually featured in science-fiction stories, have no place in actual future space war.  Even if they could be generated they would not have any practical military value.

A GUN is a much nicer instrument.  It is compact and sturdy, cannot be damaged by anything less potent than a direct hit from another gun, and does not require a special power plant.  Compared to what one would have to carry around to produce even feeble rays the weight of a gun is small.  Besides, a gun is something we do know how to handle.  More than six centuries of continuous use have taught us how to take advantage of the fact that certain mixtures of chemicals burn with utmost rapidity and produce large quantities of gases while doing so.

That fact permits three main types of possible application, every one of them in use in ordinary warfare and fit to be used in space war, too.  The large volume of gas that is generated suddenly can either he used to destroy its container and whatever happens to be around – that’s the principle of the bomb.  Or it might be discharged comparatively slowly through a hole in the container so that the recoil moves the container – the principle of the rocket.  Finally it might be discharged suddenly through a tube which is blocked by a solid movable object that is then blown out vehemently at high speed just like a dart from a blow gun – the principle of the firearm.  All three, bomb, rocket and gun, were invented in rapid succession soon after the discovery of gunpowder.

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Figure 2.  Three types of explosive shells.  Type A is a light, bursting shell, for surface damage.  B, heavily cased with armor, is designed to penetrate steel and concrete armor before bursting.  C is a sort of “flying machine-gun,” a shrapnel shell to scatter hundreds of deadly pellets as bursting. 

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Figure 3.  Antirecoil device for gases.  The explosion gasses, turned backward, tend to kick the rifle forward as hard as the bullet’s recoil kicks it backward. 

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The latter was found in China around the year 1200 A.D., certainly not much earlier – the statements of old encyclopedias notwithstanding.  Bombs and powder rochets were used for the first time in 1232 during the bottle of Pien-king.  They were then “newly invented.”  As to guns we think that we even know the exact year of their invention.  The Memoriebook (chronicle) of the city of Ghent contains under the year 1313 the entry:

“Item, in dit jaer was aldereerst gevonden in Duitschland het gebruik der bussen van eenen mueninck.”  Translation: “By the way, during this year the use of bussen was discovered for the first time by a monk in Germany.”

“Bussen” meaning portable guns.  The oldest picture of a gun can be found in an Oxford manuscript, De Officiis Regum, from the year 1326.  Eighty years later guns were known in all civilized countries.

[Note:  I believe that Willy Ley made an error in the manuscript’s title – De Officiis Regum – which should actually be De nobilitatibus, sapientiis, et prudentiis regum, which translates as “Of the Nobilities of Wise and Prudent Kings“.  Indeed penned Walter de Milemete in 1326, the book was, “…commissioned by Queen Isabella of France [as a] treatise on kingship for her son, the young prince Edward, later king Edward III of England.”  The book’s now available at Archive.org, where it’s described as having been “Reproduced in facsimile from the unique manuscript preserved at Christ Church, Oxford [1913], together with a selection of pages from the companion manuscript of the treatise De secretis secretorum Aristotelis, preserved in the library of the Earl of Leicester at Holkham hall.”

The illustration referred to by Willy Ley can be found on page 140 (248 of the digitized book), where it appears at the bottom of the page…  

Though the digital version of the the Oxford edition appears in black & white, the specific illustration in question – the oldest known visual representation of a gun (actually, a cannon) – is found in the Wikipedia entry for Walter de Milemete.  Here is is…]

But it took more than four centuries until the science of ballistics came into being.  A great many other sciences, especially mathematics, had to be developed first before the performance of a gun could be predicted to a certain extent.

Ballistics arc extremely complicated, and it is hard to tell whether interior or exterior ballistics present fewer or lesser headaches.  The term “exterior ballistics” applies to the movement of the projectile from the moment it leaves the muzzle of the gun until it hits the target.  “Interior ballistics,” consequently means the movement of the projectile within the gun barrel.  The principles are simple in both cases.

The distance reached by a projectile is determined by its muzzle velocity that should be as high as possible and by the angle of elevation where 45 degrees represents the optimum.  High muzzle velocity is, therefore, the main goal, and the laws of interior ballistics tell how it can best be attained.  There are only a few forces at work.  The expanding gases that result from the explosion of the driving charge push the projectile ahead of them, the higher the pressure, the faster.  And the longer the barrel the more time to push.  Counteracting forces are the inertia of the projectile and its friction against the walls of the barrel.  It seems, therefore, that the barrel should he very long and very smooth, the pressure very high and the projectile very light.

Unfortunately it is not quite as simple as becomes apparent if we follow the events in a more detailed form.  The shot begins with the ignition of the driving charge.  It is here where things look most beautiful.  One kilogram of ordinary black gunpowder produces 285 liters of gas at the temperature of zero degrees centigrade, the freezing point of water.  One kilogram of TNT develops 592 liters, one kilogram of nitroglycerin 713 liters, and one kilogram of nitro-cellulose powder even 990 liters.  Now these volumes are valid for zero degrees centigrade.  But the gases are hot, their volume increases by about one third of the zero degree volume for each 100° C. rise.  And the temperature of combustion is high, about 2000° C. for black powder, 2600° C. for TNT, 3100° C. for nitroglycerin and 2200° C. for nitro-cellulose powder.  There is a limit as to what the barrel can stand and don’t forget that it is supposed to have a service life, too.  Things are a little easier if the powder burns rapidly but not instantaneously; the reason, incidentally, why only a very few known explosives can be used as driving charges.  A short moment after complete combustion of the driving charge the internal pressure reaches its highest point, afterward expansion alone works.

THE LENGTH of a barrel is usually expressed not in inches or centimeters, but in calibers, a word which came from the Arab, where it means “model” (standard).  Very short stubby mortar barrels are 12-15 calibers long, heavy naval gun 40-50 calibers and infantry rifles even 90 calibers.  They are not smooth but “rifled”, having a spiral groove which forces the projectiles to spin around their longitudinal axes.  Artillery shells fit the barrel loosely – the rifle effect and the gas tight fit are accomplished by copper rings laid around the shell.

We have arrived at the point where the gases drive the shell by their expansion only.  The speed of the projectile is still increasing then, but not for very long.  The infantry rifle 98 [referring to the German Gewehr 98 bolt action rifle?] that was and is in use in a number of European armies and has been investigated very thoroughly, may now serve as an example, its bore is 0.3 inches, the “bullet” weighs 10 grams, the driving charge 3.2 grams.  The barrel is 29.1 inches, or about 90 calibers long.

The bullet leaves the muzzle with a velocity of 2936 feet per second, involving a small loss of energy since the muzzle velocity could be 66 feet higher if the barrel were 45-4 inches or 150 calibers long.  These figures show how much the friction in the barrel retards the bullet.  To attain a speed of 2936 feet per second a barrel length of 90 calibers is required.  But an additional length of 60 calibers would increase the muzzle velocity by only 66 feet.  No wonder the designers preferred to save these 66 feet, and save weight and material.  If the barrel was much longer, the bullet would not leave it.  That’s what would happen in the case of rifle 98 if the length of the barrel surpassed 23 feet.

In special cases longer barrels were built: The 80-mile gun that fired at Paris from the forest of Crepy in March, 1918 (2) had a barrel that was 118 feet or 170 calibers long.  However, only three quarters of that barrel were rifled, the last 45 calibers of length were smooth.  Another retarding factor, not often mentioned and apparently not yet fully determined is the air above the shell in the barrel.  Since the projectile acquires supersonic speeds, that air cannot escape but has to be compressed, which might mean a considerable loss in the case of a long gun of large caliber.
Point one in favor of guns in space war: they do not have to spend that energy.

When the projectile leaves the muzzle the trouble really starts.  Older books say that the trajectory is a parabola – it is elliptical with the center of the Earth as one of the focal points of the ellipse.  The trajectory is influenced by the rotation of the Earth, by the attraction of large mountains, by barometric pressure and by the humidity of the air and by a number of other factors that might be avoided by careful design.  Incidentally, streamlining would be useless; we deal with supersonic velocities.  While the shell rises the velocity decreases until the peak of the flight is reached.  Then the velocity increases again, due to gravitational attraction, and decreases with mounting speed due to increasing air resistance.*

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*Most of these factors become noticeable only in long trajectories.  The changes in velocity are beautifully shown in the following table, calculated by Max Valler for the trajectory of the Paris Gun – authentic data are still secret.

angle distance (km) altitude (km) velocity (km/sec) time (sec)
54 0 0 1.5 0
53 3.45 4.67 1.3 4.2
50 10.83 14.00 1.06 14.3
45 19.70 23.72 .93 27.3
40 26.80 30.33 .86 38.2
25 43.07 41.04 .72 62.1
0 63.34 46.20 .65 94.5
25 83.55 41.60 .71 120.0
40 99.06 31.20 .84 150.5
50 115.99 16.60 .95 173.3
53 122.00 6.12 .94 191.0
58 126.00 0 0.86 199.0

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The main factors are therefore, gravity and resistance – two more points in favor of the use of guns in space.  There is no air resistance and the gravitational fields are weak where spaceships usually travel.

That bullet from infantry rifle 98 has near its muzzle 3000 foot pounds of kinetic energy.  When it hits a target 3280 feet (1 kilometer) from the muzzle its kinetic energy is only 336 foot pounds, and at 2 kilometers a mere 88 foot pounds.  The extreme range of that rifle is about 4 kilometers (2.5 miles), but if there were no air it would carry more than 70 kilometers (43.5 miles).  Rifles do not attain more than 5% of their vacuum range under normal surface conditions, field artillery pieces attain about 20%, heavy artillery shells about 25%, long naval rifles of large caliber 30%, and long-range guns up to 50%, because the longer part of their trajectory is situated in the near- vacuum of the stratosphere.

In space in a weak gravitational field, the infantry rifle bullet would arrive at a target 20 miles distant – you could hardly aim without a telescope at something farther away – with about 3020 foot pounds of kinetic energy.  No, “3020” is not a printing error, because the muzzle velocity would be higher, due to the lack of air resistance in the barrel!

AFTER being pleased so much with the performance of a portable rifle we’ll have a look at “real” guns.  There exists an especially nice field piece, La Soixante-quinze, the famous French 75 millimeter gun.  It has a 20-caliber barrel, about 7 feet 4 inches long.  Its shell weighs 14.3 pounds, the muzzle velocity in air is 1970 feet per second, the kinetic energy at the muzzle about 2,800,000 foot pounds. [!?]

From Copper Range Productions, here’s an interesting video about the history, design, and use of the French 75 gun.

The barrel of the .75 weighs about 680 pounds, each cartridge about 22 pounds, so that gun, additional equipment and 150 rounds of ammunition amount to about two tons – not excessive a weight for a ship that does not have to carry passengers or cargo – say a Patrol cruiser – but very impressive an armament for a spaceship.  Of course, the gun would not be a three-inch field piece.  In a French paper on Avions de gros bombardement it was very recently pointed out that guns are much heavier than necessary.

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Figure 4.  English war-rocket.  This rocket shell is listed in the official British tables of war equipment – a modern, practical rocket shell.

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Designers simply did not pay much attention to weight as long as the gun did not become too heavy for land transport, or if – in case it was too heavy – could be divided into easy loads.  Besides, military experts have their ideas about service life.  One of my closest friends once designed a new type of compass for a firm working for one of the large European navies.  After exhaustive tests that compass was rejected because it was too light!  It was later redesigned with parts and casings that were not stronger than the original parts, but multiplied the weight.  The weight of gun barrels, to get back to the topic, could be reduced to about half without visibly shortening of service life and it could be reduced to a quarter if a shorter service life would be accepted.  That brings even a six-inch long-range gun within reach for large cruisers that do patrol duty; for example, in circling planets.  “Six-inch long range,” incidentally, means just that in space, it could shoot at enemies farther away than a portable telescope could show.

So there is certain no need for a special weapon.  How about special shells?  On Earth three main types are in use: One that dumps as much high explosive as a thin-walled shell will hold on the enemy; one that has to pierce armor and has, therefore, thicker walls and a very strong tip, and one that contains little explosive and many lead balls to scatter around against living targets.

Your first guess is probably that the armor-piercing type is the given projectile for space war.  Which raises the question how much armor is to be pierced.  Terrestrial field guns are equipped with a shield supposed to protect the gun crew against rifle and machine-gun fire and smaller splinters.  Before the World War a shell of 3 millimeters was considered sufficient, but direct rifle fire from distances of a thousand feet or less penetrated them.

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Figure 5.  Cross-section of proposed space rocket shell.  To get striking power in a rocket equivalent to a 75 shell, the driving charge of the rocket would be inordinately heavy. 

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Light battle cruisers on the seas carry a six-inch armor around; it would afford protection against hits from fairly distant 75 mm. guns.  However, a six-inch armor is considered light; most warships carry ten-inch armor plate, and the heaviest battle wagons show up to 30 inches of armor.  Now a battleship has only an armor belt, protecting the sides where hits are most likely, and protecting those spots where hits would be most destructive.  A large section of the ship is protected by the water in which it floats.  Spaceships are not so lucky as to have vulnerable points: they are vulnerable all around.  Therefore, they need armor plate all over the hull.

The weight of such an armor is a nice example for mathematical enjoyment at breakfast or during a subway ride.  We’ll say that a fair-sized spaceship is 90 yards [82.3 meters; 270 feet] long and 20 yards [18.3 meters; 60 feet] in diameter.  To make matters easier we shall assume that the shape is cylindrical, to make up for the difference in surface between cylinder and cigar shape we’ll forget about top and bottom of the cylinder and restrict ourselves to the curved surface.  That surface is equal to the length of the cylinder, multiplied by the diameter, times pi which makes 5070 square yards.  One square yard of six-inch armor plate weighs not quite a ton.  Multiplied by the number oi square yards we arrive at, roughly, twelve million pounds!

You can cut down for the thickness of the armor as much as you want.  It will always be too heavy, until you arrive at plates of a thickness the outer hull would haw to have anyhow.

In short, a Spaceship cannot be protected by plate armor.  Its only defense is its offensive power, since it can always carry guns hundreds of times as powerful as the heaviest possible armor.  So we don’t need armor piercing projectiles, any projectile will penetrate the hull – even rifle bullets.

The important difference is that a spaceship cannot be sunk either – a fact not stressed enough by science-fiction authors.  When a battleship gets a few really serious holes, it is soon out of action and it is relatively unimportant whether the crew abandons ship or sinks with it firing as long as they are above water.  A few bad hits that struck a spaceship may disable it as a means of transportation, but it still does not disappear.  If every man wears a spacesuit the loss of air can be temporarily disregarded.  The various gun posts can and will continue firing until every man on board is disabled. (3)

Space war, therefore, calls for shells that either blast the enemy to smell pieces at once or for shells that quickly disable every man on board.  Which means that either high-explosive shells with thin walls and much H-E are used, or else those shells that contain large numbers of individual bullets should be steel balls and not lead balls, as in terrestrial warfare  If the range is short – as “short” ranges in space go – machine guns are not bad at all, or else that nice contraption that goes under the name of “Chicago Piano,” consisting of eight one-pounder rapid-fire guns mounted on one beam, each firing 200 rounds per minute.  [QF 2-pounder Mk VIII naval gun, a.k.a. “multiple pom-pom”.]  If a spaceship were subjected to the concert of a Chicago Piano for only one minute it would certainly look even worse than after a treatment with heat and disintegrator rays, especially since those rays are usually blocked in stories by adequate screens.

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“An eight gun 2-pounder QF Mk VIII anti-aircraft ‘Pom Pom’ gun installation.”  (From History of War.)

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 “If a spaceship were subjected to the concert of a Chicago Piano for only one minute it would certainly look even worse than after a treatment with heat and disintegrator rays…”

“The pods, assholes!”

(From The Expanse – “Doors and Corners“)

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THOSE screens deserve a short discussion, too.  As far as ray screens against hostile rays are concerned, we do not need to worry for long.  Without effective rays there is no need for ray screens.  But it is another story with those fictive screens that are supposed to offer protection against flying pieces of matter charged with kinetic energy.  Could those force fields, or meteorite detectors, or whatever you like to call them be made to actually protect a spaceship?  Strong electric or magnetic fields can deflect material bodies, but the influence is much too weak to avail against bullets with supersonic speeds.  To create a field of such power and range would require equipment of such a ponderous mass and weight – even assuming atomic power – that nickel-steel armor might be lighter.  Only gravity screens would really afford protection.

A gravity screen is supposed to set up a difference in gravity potential and to create what might be called a gravity shadow.  A projectile that were to enter a gravity shadow would need as much kinetic energy as is normally required to overcome the difference of gravity potential in question.  Since it is also usually assumed that the power of gravity screens can be made to vary, the commander of the ship could “adjust” his screens according to enemy fire.

The trouble with gravity screens is not that we do not know how to make them, but that they cannot be made at all.  Devices that “shield off” gravity belong to the category of “permanent impossibilities,” things that cannot be done just as you cannot construct a seven-cornered polygon or trisect a given angle.  The problem of the gravity screen has to be regarded as having been solved just as the problem of the perpetuum mobile has been solved: negatively, it cannot be done.

All this applies, however, only to “gravity screens” of the cavorite type and similar marvelous compounds.  It does not hold true for what may be termed a “counter field.”  Unfortunately we do not know what gravity really is – but it is certainly a force of some kind.  If, one day, somebody discovers the truth about gravity he might also find a way to create gravity fields artificially.  Now we can conceive of a magnetic field that could eliminate the influence of Earth’s field if the latter were magnetic instead of gravitational.  (I am not speaking about Earth’s real magnetic field.)
Similarly we can conceive of a counter field eliminating the effects of the natural gravity fields.  To build up a field of the required strength needs lots of power, to be sure, but one might assume that the initial supply could be furnished by a stationary power plant.  Such a counter field would, of course, have most of the features of cavorite – among them the protection against projectiles of less kinetic energy than the difference of gravity potentials in question.

With this vague hope for possible protection of spaceships we may safely return to the original topic: means of destruction.  Guns and machine guns were found to do nicely – and rocket shells?

Rockets began as weapons of war, they were revived for this purpose by Sir William Congreve in 1804 when there was no other competition for them than smooth-barreled guns of tremendous weight that carried a mile without any accuracy worth mentioning.  In fact, Congreve’s rockets and Hale’s later stickless rockets were more accurate than the contemporary guns; hard to believe, but stated in many of the old reports on rocket tests.

And, contrary to popular belief, war rockets were retained in the Service by Great Britain even in the beginning of the twentieth century.  The “Treatise on Ammunition,” issued in 1905 [see 1915 edition at Archive.org] by the (British) War Office, still stated: “Rockets are employed in the service for signaling, for display, as weapons of war, and in conjunction with the life-saving apparatus.”  The war rocket officially termed, “Rocket, War, 24-pr., Mark VII, (C). painted red,” was described as being made of steel tubing and cast iron.  The average range given was 1800 yards, they had no guiding stick but a device to make them rotate in flight.  If these rockets were still used in 1905 or later, they were probably used in colonial service.  Despite very many attempts made just at that time to revive war rockets, no army introduced them.  Rocket shells behaved, in all the tests that were made, even more erratically in the air than ordinary shells.

It would be different in space.  No air resistance would disturb the flight of a rocket-driven shell.  And instead of a heavy steel barrel only a thin-walled launched tube would be needed that could even be made of aluminum or magnesium alloys.

The first military objection against rocket shells would be that they could be more easily seen.  This, however, could be overcome in using a very high acceleration with short burning period.  The driving charge, incidentally, should be powder, not liquids.  Powder it not as powerful and not as adaptable as liquid fuel, to be sure, but easier to handle and less expensive because it eliminates the need for mechanisms like combustion chambers, injection nozzles, pressure devices and a host of valves.  Powder has the further advantage of having a natural tendency for shorter combustion periods and higher accelerations.

But guns are still superior, this time because of lesser weight!

If the shell part of the rocket shell shall be the same as that of a 75 mm. gun. and if the final velocity of the rocket shell, after complete combustion of the driving charge, shall be equal to that of a gun projectile the comparison of weights looks as follows:

GUN

weight of the gun – 880 pounds
weight of 100 cartridges – 2200 pounds
total weight – 3080 pounds\

ROCKETS

launching tube, etc. – 45 pounds
100 shell heads – 1430 pounds
100 rockets with sufficient driving charge – 4300 pounds
total weight – 5775 pounds

Thin, of course, does not mean that rocket shells will not be built.  For patrol cruisers guns are better, but other ships will not carry 100 rounds of ammunition all the time, as soon as less than twenty rounds are carried, the rockets are lighter.  (There are a few story plots hidden in this statement.)  One might conceive of heavy space torpedoes built along the lines of rocket shells, 10 feet long and weighing 1 1/2 tons.  But I simply won’t like so much powder in one piece on board – and the construction of such a torpedo with present-day methods of manufacture is, by the way, impossible.

SPACE WAR certainly has its peculiar features, quite different from those pictured in stories, but peculiar just the same.  The story picture of shining ships that battle with searing rays and flaming screens is so highly improbable that it can simply be termed wrong.  There won’t be any rays and there won’t be screens, especially not the latter because you would be unable to shoot while you had them working.

Instead there would be ships painted night-black, the camouflage of space, carrying guns of incredible range and immensely destructive power.  The ships would be extremely vulnerable, but at the same time they could not sink and would be capable of inflicting fatal damage as long as a soul on board is alive.

They would not steam into battle with flying colors, but try to approach unseen with all lights extinguished, avoiding the light background of the Milky Way.  If the battle is finally opened ammunition would be used very sparingly, not only because the supply is limited, but because missing is almost as bad as being hit.  The 2000-3000 feet per second of muzzle velocity do not count very much as compared with the orbital speed of the planets and all the shells that missed show up again at the point of battle after one or two or three years when they have completed their full orbit around the Sun.

That their own fire throws them off course is another reason for few shots.  Each 75 mm. shell, weighing 14.3 pounds and leaving in space the muzzle with a velocity of say 2300 feet per second, produces a recoil of 1000 pounds.  And the powder charge, weighing, say, 6.5 pounds, and leaving the muzzle with approximately 6600 feet per second produces another 1300 pounds of recoil.  A single shot would naturally not influence the course of a 3000-ton patrol cruiser very much, but during a prolonged battle there will be deflections to be corrected by the rocket motors.

On second thought I take that back.  The guns do not have to have a recoil that influences the ship.  Several years ago Schneider in Creuzot (France) announced a recoil eliminator, based on the difference in speed between shell and driving gases.  Since the gases are between two and three times as fast as the shell, they overtake it as soon as it clears the muzzle.  The Schneider-Creuzot device was intended to catch these gases and to deflect them by 180 degrees so that their recoil counteracts that of the shell.  The example of the 75 mm. gun has shown that the gases, weighing only 6.5 pounds, produce theoretically 1300 pounds recoil, because they are about three times as fast as the 14.3-pound shell that produces only 1000 pounds of recoil.  If all the gases could be caught and deflected a full 180 degrees, the gun barrel would actually jerk forward with each shot.  Naturally some of the gas simply follows the shell – but tests have shown that the remaining recoil is very low.

There is one remark I wanted to make all through this article, but up to now 1 did not have an opportunity to do so.  What I wanted to say was that there was no talk of armament in Professor Oberth’s patent application.

(1) This decision was entirely in accordance with German patent laws.  In other countries a patent might have been granted under the same circumstances.
(2) Usually miscalled “Rig Bertha”: the official name was “Kaiser Wilhelm Gun,” the common name “Paris Gun.”  “Big Bertha” was the tame of the mobile 17-inch mortar of Krupps.  Both guns were designed by Professor Rausenberger [Fritz Rausenberger].
(3) I recall only one story where this point was stressed.  Campbell’s “Mightiest Machine.”  The fact is also hinted at in Dr. E.E. Smith’s “Skylark III” during the first encounter with the Fenachrome, but it is not especially emphasized.

— References, Related Readings, and What-Not —

Willy O.O. Ley, at Wikipedia
Virgil W. Finlay, at Wikipedia
Space War, at Atomic Rockets
Warfare in Science Fiction, at Technovology
Weapons in Science Fiction, at Technovology

— Here’s a book —

Wysocki, Edward M., Jr., An ASTOUNDING War: Science Fiction and World War II, CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform, April 16, 2015

— Lots of Cool Videos —

Because Science – Kyle Hill

Why Every Movie Space Battle Is Wrong (at Nerdist) 5/11/17)
The Truth About Space War (4/12/18)

Curious Droid – Paul Shillito

Electromagnetic Railguns – The U.S Military’s Future Superguns – 200 mile range Mach 7 projectiles (11/4/17)
Will Directed Energy Weapons be the Future? (6/12/20)

Generation Films – Allen Xie

Best Space Navies in Science Fiction (2/10/20)
5 Most Brilliant Battlefield Strategies in Science Fiction (5/8/20)
5 Things Movies Get Wrong About Space Combat (5/12/20)
6 More Things Movies Get Wrong About Space Battles (5/28/20)
Why “The Expanse” Has the Most Realistic Space Combat (6/21/20)

Be Smart – Joe Hanson

The Physics of Space Battles (9/22/14)

PBS SpaceTime – Matt O’Dowd

The Real Star Wars (7/19/17)
5 Ways to Stop a Killer Asteroid (11/18/15)

Science & Futurism with Isaac Arthur (SFIA) – Isaac Arthur

Space Warfare (11/24/16)
Force Fields (7/27/17)
Interplanetary Warfare (8/31/17)
Interstellar Warfare (3/8/18)
Planetary Assaults & Invasions (5/17/18)
Attack of the Drones (9/13/18)
Battle for The Moon (11/15/18)

The Infographics Show

What If There Was War in Space? (12/23/18)

Art: “The Luck of Ignatz” – Virgil Finlay’s Preliminary cover for Astounding Science Fiction, August, 1939

Pinterest
Artnet

Startling Stories – October, 1954 (Featuring “Spacemen Lost”, by George O. Smith) [Alex Schomburg]

This post dates back a-ways.  Specifically, to February of 2018.  Displaying Alex Schomburg’s cover for the October, 1954 issue of Startling Stories, as a way of indirectly leading to Virgil Finlay’s illustration for “Spacemen Lost”, the image I showed originally was simply “copy & saved” from the Internet.  (It’s now shown all the way at the bottom of the post.)

Since then, I’ve been able to acquire a copy of this issue in very nice condition, with the cover featuring only one minor fold on the right edge, but no real tears or crinkles.  Considering the untrimmed fragility of the cover edges of Startling Stories and similar Thrilling Publication pulps, it’s a fortunate find.   

And so, the entire cover…

…and then, a cropped view of Schomburg’s art.  The scene depicted bears no direct (for that matter, not even an indirect) relationship to the issue’s contents, but it’s quite appropriate, the shades of blue in the painting nicely balanced by the white and blue border.  Then again, on second thought, notice that the earth’s cloudless?  Just how did all that tan moondust (spacedust?) pile up around the lower stages of the two spaceships?  Where are the astronauts going?  No matter; it’s nice to look at.    

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Here’s Virgil Finlay’s illustration, on page 19, for “Spacemen Lost”.

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And the rear cover, featuring an advertisement for the Collected Works of Zane Grey.  

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On a related note, prompted by a reader’s inquiry (about which probably more in the future?), I learned about the Italian science fiction magazine Urania, which commenced publication on October 10, 1952, by Arnoldo Mondadori Editore.  A degree of further searching led to MondoUrania, an excellently organized website, where medium-size covers for all issues of the magazine are displayed, and (this is the really impressive part) clicking on the cover image of any randomly-chosen issue generates the same image in slightly larger size, accompanied by bibliographic information about that issue, and, a summary blurb about the issue’s central sttory.

So, scrolling through, among, between, and within and without all these images, I was surprised to recognize the cover art for Startling Stories of October, 1954, for the cover of Urania issue 98, dated September 29, 1955.  And then, I realized that the Urania cover is not that of Startling, but an adaptation which features two spacecraft, and, astronauts in different positions.  What?  Who? 

Well, it turns out that the cover art is by Curt Ceaser (working name for Kurt Kaiser), who completed approximately 200 covers for Urania for issues published between 1952 and 1957.  Some of his oeuvre are, frankly, “meh”, many are knock-offs and adaptations of contemporary American science fiction pulp art – which will probably be readily recognizable, like this one, and, this one, both inspired by Galaxy Science Fiction – while some seem to have a relatively greater degree of originality. 

So, here’s the bibliographical information accompanying MondorUrania’s illustration of issue 98.  (In Italian, of course.)

98 – 29/9/1955
Copertina di C. Caesar

I PIANETI DELLA LIBERTA (BORN LEADER) – J.T. McINTOSH

L’autore immagina che, negli ultimi giorni di agonia della Terra distrutta dalle radiazioni, un’astronave parta per il primo viaggio interplanetario con un carico di ragazzi sui sedici anni che saranno, su un nuovo pianeta, il Mundis, il ceppo della nuova Umanità.  Durante il viaggio, che dura quattordici anni, le coppie che si sono formate decidono di non avere figli se non quando saranno arrivati al termine del viaggio.  Per conseguenza, la nuova generazione è divisa dalla vecchia da un periodo di tempo che costituisce un abisso tra il mondo degli anziani e quello dei giovani, abisso reso più profondo dall’ignoranza completa dei giovani su tutto ciò che, sulla Terra, aveva costituito una base di vita per i loro padri, compresa la forza nucleare, considerata tabù. Mundis è un mondo felice, ma fermo.  E i giovani che dai microfilm trasportati sull’astronave e gelosamente conservati, capiscono che la Terra era molto più progredita nella scienza, si ribellano alla congiura del silenzio dei vecchi, vogliono che il mondo sul quale sono nati fruisca anch’esso del progresso.  La lotta fra loro e i vecchi si risolve attraverso un pericoloso avvenimento: l’arrivo su Mundis di un’altra astronave, la Clades, che trasporta gli ultimi – questa volta veramente tali – superstiti della Terra.  Gli scampati hanno un altro sistema di vita, militaresco e dittatoriale, e sono animati da spirito di conquista.  Chi prevarrà nella lotta fra questi due mondi, fra questi ultimi campioni dell’umanità divisi da diverse ideologie?  Il romanzo ha un alto contenuto umano e sociale e piacerà a tutti, perchè rispecchia noi tutti, esseri umani, con le nostre debolezze, le nostre qualità, i nostri desideri, i nostri errori e le nostre aspirazioni.

INDICE
MONDI SENZA FINE – CLIFFORD D. SIMAK – 13° puntata
ESISTONO GLI SPIRITI FOLLETTI? – Curiosità scientifiche

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Here’s the English translation of the above, courtesy of Oogle Translate:

Issue 98 – September 29, 1955
Cover by C. Caesar

THE PLANETS OF FREEDOM (BORN LEADER) – J.T. McINTOSH

The author imagines that, in the last days of the agony of the Earth destroyed by radiation, a spaceship leaves for the first interplanetary journey with a load of boys of about sixteen years of age, on a new planet, Mundis, the strain of the new Humanity.  During the journey, which lasts fourteen years, the couples who have formed decide not to have children until they arrive at the end of the journey.  Consequently, the new generation is divided from the old by a period of time which constitutes an abyss between the world of the elderly and that of the young, a gulf made deeper by the complete ignorance of the young on all that, on Earth, had constituted a basis of life for their fathers, including nuclear power, considered taboo.  Mundis is a happy but firm world.  And the young people who, from the microfilms transported on the spaceship and jealously preserved, understand that the Earth was much more advanced in science, rebel against the conspiracy of the silence of the old, they want the world on which they were born also benefits from progress.  The struggle between them and the old is resolved through a dangerous event: the arrival on Mundis of another spaceship, the Clades, carrying the last – this time truly such – Earth survivors.  The survivors have another way of life, military and dictatorial, and are animated by a spirit of conquest.  Who will prevail in the struggle between these two worlds, between these last champions of humanity divided by different ideologies?  The novel has a high human and social content and will please everyone, because it reflects all of us, human beings, with our weaknesses, our qualities, our desires, our mistakes and our aspirations.

INDEX
WORLDS WITHOUT END, by CLIFFORD D. SIMAK – 13th episode
DO ELEGANT SPIRITS EXIST? – Scientific curiosities

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Some References That May Interest You…

Urania Magazine, at…

Wikipedia (Urania Magazine)

MondoUrania (“The World of Urania”)

UraniaMania

Science Fiction Project – The Lost Treasures

Urania – Issue 98 (September 29, 1955), at…

… MondoUrania

… Internet Speculative Fiction Database

Born Leader, by J.T. McIntosh, at…

Internet Speculative Fiction Database

GoodReads

Zane Gray (Paul Zane Gray), at…

Wikipedia

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Here’s the image of Startling that originally appeared in this post…

2/25/18 244

If – December, 1966 (Featuring “Relic of Empire”, by Larry Niven) [Jack Gaughan] – “Doing what I had to do…”

Well, I thought I’d seen this one before…

Not the cover, though I noticed that, while perusing issues of Worlds of If at Archive.org.

Rather, Dan Adkins’ illustration for Neal Barret, Jr.’s story “Starpath”.  It shows a space-suited soldier running across a barren alien landscape, with a nondescript alien spacecraft in the background.  The most compelling aspect of the composition is not its setting, but rather, the posture and position of the soldier:  He’s depicted in mid-run, right foot on the ground and left foot raised, body bent, head raised and looking ahead, carrying a rifle (note the strap) in his right hand.  Then, I remembered:  The original soldier wasn’t a spacemen.  Much more earthbound, he was a United States Marine in the Pacific Theater during the Second World War…

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Jack Gaughan’s cover illustrating Larry Niven’s “A Relic of Empire”.  The story was republished by Ballantine in a 1978 anthology of Niven’s stories, which featured cover art by Rick Sternbach.


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Here’s the image that caught my eye, and, my attention:  Dan Adkins’ illustration for “Starpath”, by Neal Barrett, Jr. (pp. 58-59)  (I created this image by using Photoshop Elements to combine two images.  Pretty straightforward.)

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Below, Adkins’ likely – probable – almost certain inspiration: Note the parallels between the photo and art, in terms of the Marine’s posture, the position of canteen and rifle, and, the barren landscape (notice how the terrain is rising to the right?).  Born in 1937, Adkins would have been twelve years old during 1945; probably aware even then, and doubtless with an artist’s perceptive eye after, of the striking nature of the photo.

But, who was this man?  It turns out that information about him is readily available.  He was PFC Paul Edward Ison.  While serving as a Private First Class in the First Marine Division, he was photographed while running through Japanese fire at “Death Valley”, Okinawa on May 10, 1945.  Born in Ashland, Kentucky, in 1916, he died in Fort Myers, Florida, in 2001.  Further information about him can be found at Wikipedia.

As for the image itself, the caption of the photograph (the image can be found at Wikipedia) states “Through “Death Valley” – Moving on the double, a Marine dashes to a forward point of cover through a hail of Jap machine gun fire.  The Marines sustained more than 125 casualties in eight hours while crossing this draw and dubbed in “Death Valley.””  From the Photograph Collection (COLL/3948), Marine Corps Archives & Special Collections OFFICIAL USMC.”

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And, a very nicely done colorization of the photo, posted at reddit by ColorizedHollywood.  

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“DOING WHAT I HAD TO DO”

Here’s Mr. Ison’s tombstone (from FindAGrave), by Helen Farrell

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Utterly different in style and technique than Dan Adkins, this issue of If provided a venue for the unique and striking work of Virgil Finlay.  Though a digest-size magazine unfortunately did not provide a format for best possible display of Finlay’s creativity, for his work (and income!) it provided a format, nonetheless: Here, an eye floats – serenely? – in a box, in the waters of a stream.    

Illustration by Virgil Finlay, for “Call Me Dumbo”, by Bob Shaw (p. 97)

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And, two examples of the work of Dwight Morrow, for Algis Budrys’ “Be Merry”.  Slightly on the Wally Woodish side, but distinct in their own way.  

Page 9

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Page 30

Further to Finlay! – Science Fiction and the Art of Virgil Finlay in the Mainstream Media, 1977 – 2000

“Sometimes, to paraphrase Sigmund Freud, a robot is just a robot.”
 – Michael O’Sullivan, The Washington Post, February 11, 2000

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“She is not entirely real.”
– Fantastic Novels, March, 1948

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The works of some artists stand out – by virtue of their unique, innovative, and distinctive styles.  The works of other artists are outstanding – by virtue of the techniques by which they are created, coupled with the very skill and dedication needed for their execution.  And, the bodies of work of some artists, like Virgil Finlay, do both:  They’re immediately recognizable by virtue of subject matter and style, ranging from the erotic to the mythical; the mystical to the mechanical, exemplifying that style with a stunning degree of perfectionism and professionalism.

Though a number of posts at this blog display examples of Finlay’s oeuvre, and one particular post – created in June of 2019, based on an article by Sam Moskowitz in Worlds of Tomorrow, is a detailed, illustrated biography of the artist – I thought it would be interesting to plumb the internet once again, in search of further – perhaps forgotten, perhaps unknown – information about the Rochester, New York-born artist.  In this small venture, I was happily not at all disappointed, for I’ve been able to identify various news items from the popular press, spanning 1977 to 2000, which focus on Virgil Finlay directly, or, mention him in passing within the context of lengthier writings about science-fiction, or science fiction art, in general.  These were published in The New York Times, the Washington Post, and Upstate Magazine, the latter published in Finlay’s birthplace of Rochester.    

These items are presented verbatim, below.  For some, I’ve included images of art referenced or mentioned in the text, or, images of the covers of science fiction pulp magazines in which said art originally appeared.  Some of these images are digital versions of art created by Finlay himself, while others represent art created by other artists, whose work may have been featured in book, as well as magazine, format.  Doubtless some visitors to this post may already recognize or know of some of these compositions, but a different and larger perspective is attained when they’re grouped together in one format.  As they are, here!

Enjoy… 

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This image of Virgil Finlay (one of the best Finlay photos on the Web; source unknown) can be found at the Virgil Finlay page at Good Reads.  

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Unforgotten Artist

The New York Times
July 31, 1977

It was Virgil Finlay’s bad luck to be born at the wrong time.  If he’d come along a bit earlier – he was born in 1914 – he’d probably have joined the gifted craftsmen who contributed to the flowering of book illustration during this century’s young years.  If he’d come along a bit later, he might be among the prosperous fantasy artists whose work fascinates millions of young people today.

As it was, Finlay, a self-taught artist from Rochester, N.Y., had to purchase a grubby career in Manhattan during the Great Depression and was obliged to accommodate his talents to the pulp-paper possibilities of Weird Tales, Famous Fantastic Mysteries and Fantastic Novels.  He regularly won No. 1 ranking in illustrator popularity polls among that period’s small but ardent circle of fantasy fans.  He was able to show what he was realty capable of briefly during the 1950’s through a few book illustrations and several portfolios eagerly grabbed up by collectors.  He died in 1971.

He’s now getting belated recognition, thanks to Gerry de la Ree, a New Jersey newspaperman turned “scientifantasy specialist,” who fell in love with Finlay’s work as a high school boy.  Over the years de la Ree bought all the Finlay originals he could afford, visited the ailing artist at his Westbury, N.Y. home.  Two years ago he published a hardcover book, THE BOOK OF VIRGIL FINLAY.  Its 124 illustrations aren’t Finlay’s best but simply ones de la Ree picked, a representative sampling.  As a piece of bookmaking, the album ranks as high amateur.  Last October, Avon Books republished it in softcover, sold out 10,000 copies at $4.95.  A new printing has just been issued.

The drawing to the left [see below] is Finlay’s illustration for “Passport to Pax,” a 1952 book by Kendall [Kendell] Foster Crossen now out of print. 

There’s an error here.  According to the Internet Speculative Fiction Database, in book form, Passport to Pax was only released in a German edition, in 1960.

“Jair tried to block out the horror that invaded his brain.”

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Startling Stories, July, 1952, “Passport to Pax’s” first (and almost only!) magazine publication. 

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Below are “Passport to Pax’s” first two (title) pages.  The rectangular format made available by the juxtaposition of two successive pages for the story’s opening – characteristic of Startling Stories – gave Finlay the opportunity to display his artistic skills to their fullest.  I’ve edited out the text so as not to distract from his art.

Jair Holding knew the sabotage of Galactic Industries stemmed from the world of Nike.  But the mystery was – how?

“They sped off over the city in wingless flight.”

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And, a vertical format illustration several pages “in” from the story’s opening pages.

“Cybele burst into flame.”

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Art: Science Fiction At Bronx Museum

By VIVIEN RAYNOR

The New York Times
August 15, 1980

EXCEPT as a twig on the tree of Pop Art, science fiction illustration has not attracted a lot of attention.  But now it’s time seems to have come — with an extraordinary show at the Bronx Museum of the Arts, 851 Grand Concourse at 161st Street.

Actually, “Science Fiction: Imaginary Voyages” is not the first show of its kind, the New Britain Museum of American Art in Connecticut having staged a similar one this year.  The genre nevertheless remains obscure to those who don’t attend science fiction conventions, where space-art shows are commonly held, and who neither read the literature nor keep up with space exploration.

Which is not to say that astronomical artists feel at a loss; on the contrary, some regard theirs as a far higher calling than earth-inspired art, requiring greater imagination and da Vinci-like skills.  The names of Lucien Rudaux and Chesley Bonestell may mean nothing to ordinary gallery-goers, but to space connoisseurs they seem the equivalents of Cezanne and Picasso.

Incidentally, Mr. Bonestell, represented by three oils in this exhibition, including an imposing study of Saturn as seen from its moon Titan, is still active at the age of 92.  A former architect, he spent many years as a special-effects painter for movies – “Citizen Kane” and “The Hunchback of Notre Dame” among them.  His astronomical work has included planetarium murals and spreads for such magazines as the old Illustrated London News and Life, and he has exhibited at the Smithsonian Institution.

Other celebrities featured are Virgil Finlay, Alex Schomburg, Ludek Pesek and, of a younger generation, H.R. Giger, who won an Academy Award for special effects in “Alien,” and whose drawing style is a little reminiscent of Christo’s.  Among “fine” artists who have sneaked in is Chris Burden, with an unconvincing spaceport that seems made of interlocking plastic nail brushes in primary colors.  On the other hand, Gerhardt Liebmann, a painter new to this observer, presents two good canvases of stylized roofs by moonlight.  According to a history of the medium, written by one of the younger exhibitors, Ron Miller (“Space Art,” published by Starlog magazine in 1978), Rockwell Kent is one of the few name artists who have toyed with science fiction themes.

There are close to 100 works in the show, including 19 monsters by Michael Sullivan, which are crammed unceremoniously into one glass case.  Among them are some wonderful melon-headed cousins to the Coneheads of television’s “Saturday Night Live.”  Apart from legs ending in flippers, the figures are human enough, with small, cross-looking faces and eyes made of glittering beads.  A dog made of brass machine parts with an agreeably Roverish expression in his green glass eyes is also worth noting.

Though divided into sections titled “Landscapes,” “Aliens,” “Rocketry” and so forth, the show consists basically of two kinds of fantasies – the technological and the mystical.  Most of the technological art manages to look dated, the early specimens because the hardware depicted has been superseded, the late because of the styles in which some of them are painted.  Slick action realism is all very well for posters advertising movie blockbusters, and it certainly has its adherents today among Russian Realists.  But a technique developed in battle pictures around the time of World War I somehow makes spacecraft look like battling biplanes.

The purely photographic visions are on the whole more effective, especially when they are airbrush tours de force, like Adolph Schaller’s “Jupiter Probe.”  A balloon hovers in a huge vista of purple cumulus, pierced by the sun’s rays; it’s a sky as heroic as any painted by Albert Bierstadt.  (Come to think of it, Space Age rhetoric often has a Manifest Destiny tone to it.)

Much more various, the mystical fantasies speak more of inner than outer space.  H.R. Van Dongen’s gouache “Starlight,” for example, features a rose-color craft shaped like a whale that is beached among black rocks in a green, watery element.  Evidently waiting for the occupants to emerge are two black-and-red creatures like centipedes.  Another talented visionary is Wayne Barlow, who invents new species.  The best of these, “salaman,” is not, however, the most original, being close to a monitor lizard, except that it walks on its hind legs, wears a diamond-pattern tunic and has, strapped to its head, a large green leaf.

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Here, the, “…rose-color craft shaped like a whale that is beached among black rocks in a green, watery element,” depicted by Henry Richard Van Dongen, is the land cruiser Esket, while the centipede-like creatures are mesklinites, the painting depicting a scene from Hal Clement’s novel Star Light, the sequel to his 1954 novel Mission of Gravity.

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Other unforgettable scenes are Hannes Bok’s oil of picnicking Martians, who are a cross between jerboa and mosquitos, and Carl Lundgren’s pre-Raphaelite dragon, who lurks under a tree observing an A train in all its defaced glory swinging past a castle.  None of these artists are included in Mr. Miller’s history, indicating perhaps that whimsy no longer has a place in science fiction, which is a pity.

The exhibition, organized by Judy Blum and Rose Viggiano, guest curators, comes with an illustrated brochure that unfortunately contains little information about the artists.  The enterprise was funded by the New York State Council on the Arts, the City’s Department of Cultural Affairs, the Bronx Council on the Arts, Asap Photolab, Apco Apeda Photo Company, Ryder Truck Rental and private donors.  (Through Aug. 29.)

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Here’s an image of Vivien Raynor’s original Times article.  I knew this was a “keeper”, so I snipped and saved it way back in “1980-land”…

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VISIONS OF THE FUTURE

Sci-fi illustrator Virgil Finlay is remembered for his distinctive style

By Jack Garner

Upstate Magazine
January 1, 1984

For readers of science fiction and fantasy in the 1930s and ‘40s the vision of the future was what they encountered in illustrated pulp magazines of the day.  Journals like Weird Tales, Galaxy, Amazing Stories and Thrilling Wonder Stories launched the careers of such futuristic writers as Isaac Asimov, Ray Bradbury, A.E. Van Vogt and Robert Heinlein.

The “look” of the future came not only from the words of those writers, but also from illustrations by artists of widely varying talents.  The best of the lot, however, and a man largely responsible for the way at least one generation of sci-fi fans viewed the future, was a Rochester-born artist named Virgil Finlay.

The Visual Encyclopedia of Science Fiction calls Finlay “a legend among the enthusiasts for science fiction art” and “the standard by which the works of newer artists are judged.”

Isaac Asimov, the dean of sci-fi writers, says, “I admired Virgil Finlay’s work very much.  It was very distinctive, especially in the field of fantasy.”  He says he especially remembers “a certain bubbliness to his drawings.”

Though Finlay died 13 years ago this month, his legend continues through published collections of his work, including Italian and Japanese editions, and through the efforts of sci-fi collectors to gather some 3,000 drawings, sketches and paintings thought to exist with the Finlay signature.

In a career that ranged from the late 1930s until his death in 1971, Finlay illustrated magazine serials and short stories, as well as book versions, of works by Asimov, Bradbury, Van Vogt, H.P. Lovecraft, A. Merritt, Jack Vance, H.G. Wells, Arthur C. Clarke, Edgar Rice Burroughs, Edgar Allan Poe and even William Shakespeare (a version of A Midsummer Night’s Dream).

His fame came largely through his illustrations for stories in the pulp magazines which were the bibles of sci-fi and fantasy in the 1930s and 1940s.  Authors of that period were formulating the styles and themes that remain prominent in the genre today Utopian visions, apocalyptic nightmares, technology run amok, time travel, nuclear age mutations and all the rest.  Finlay’s function often was to help readers relate to the stories by bringing a familiar visual quality to unfamiliar concepts.  His sketches suggested the futures portrayed, but also had enough elements of their own day that they occasionally seem dated today.

Finlay was capable of extremely realistic sketches, though he often surrounded the central picture with dreamlike images or related elements lie was an imaginative man who could come up with appropriate monsters or futuristic settings but who could also lure readers with voluptuous, scantily clad women.

Besides his famous magazine work, Finlay’s art also accompanied science articles in Time magazine and was used on the Today television program.  Finlay was honored with the very first Hugo Award (the Oscars of science fiction), given to him in 1953.

Less known by his fans is the fact that Finlay also had a career as a gallery artist whose surreal paintings have been exhibited in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.

Finlay tackled a variety of subjects for magazine illustration but was better known for his technique than for what it depicted.  Finlay used extremely fine stipple and cross-hatch techniques that resulted in rich detail and sharp images.  Though he painted several magazine covers, Finlay’s specially was black-and-white inside illustration.

“Using a 290 lithographic pen (which has an extremely fine point),” he told biographer Gerry de la Ree, “I dip the pen in India ink and allow only the liquid to touch the drawing surface, which is normally scratchboard. The point is then wiped clean and re-dipped for the next dot.”

It was a time-consuming process that helped Finlay develop a reputation for missing deadlines.  It was a reputation publishers were willing to tolerate because Finlay’s illustrations brought a special dimension to stories and also helped sell magazines.  Fan polls in the 1940s invariably listed Virgil Finlay as the most popular artist in the field.

FINLAY WAS BORN IN ROCHESTER ON JULY 23, 1914.  His father, Warden Hugh Finlay, was a woodworker who died at age 40.  Finlay and his mother and sister lived at 302 Rand St.

No one is sure exactly when or why he became interested in art.  “It was a natural talent,” says Finlay’s daughter, Lail.  “He had been drawing since he could pick up a pencil.”  Finlay received most of his art instruction while a student at John Marshall High School, under art teacher Gertrode Bottsford.

Finlay also became an early fan of science fiction and enjoyed reading it as well as illustrating it, says de la Ree, a New Jersey pulp art and book collector who has published seven books of Finlay artwork.

Young Finlay did artwork for Marshall yearbooks, though his first professionally published illustration was the book jacket on a 1933 volume of prize-winning high school poetry.

A compact, well-built youth, Finlay took part in school sports, while exploring art, poetry and pulp magazines like Amazing Stories and Weird Tales.  He also would buy Hollywood fan magazines and use photographs of stars like Claudette Colbert and Raymond Navarro as models for drawings.  In fact, many of his earlier works arc remarkably undisguised likenesses of movie stars.

He also began experimenting with media.  He’d heard about oil painting on canvas but wasn’t sure what sort of canvas to use So he cut up an old tent and used that for early paintings.

“I even found a window shade he’d painted on in the mid-’30s.” says de la Ree.

BY 1935, FINLAY FELT CONFIDENT ENOUGH about his abilities to submit samples of his work to Farnsworth Wright, editor of Weird Tales.

Wright, and eventually other editors, recognized Finlay’s ability to create artwork considerably better than the garish drawings of rocket ships and space virgins that dominated the field.  Finlay wasn’t necessarily above the subject matter – it’s just that he drew them belter.

“He was, in fact, famous for girls, stars and bubbles,” remembers de la Ree.  “He often drew women in his pictures, but they couldn’t show complete nudity in pulp magazines so Finlay would strategically place bubbles and stars in the drawings.  The drawings with the women are the most prized by collectors today.”

Finlay was contacted by noted fantasy writer A. Merritt in November 1937 and began an important relationship which led to collaboration on nearly all Merritt’s books, such as The Ship of Ishtar, The Moon Pool and several others.

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Fantastic Novels, March, 1948, with cover by “Lawrence”, likely Lawrence S. Stephens (a.k.a. “Stephen Lawrence”).

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Akin to Startling Stories, the interior design of Fantastic Novels gave Finlay the opportunity to create two-page illustrations and fully display his creativity.  As above, I’ve edited the pages leaving only art and title, with the heading “blurb” appearing in boldface, just below…. 

A queer, inscribed block of stone found in the ruins of Babylon!  And out of it came a call, strong across the centuries, from an ancient, enchanted sea, where sailed – The Ship of Ishtar!

“There before him in that silver mist rode the ship, ready for its voyage on ensorcelled seas.”

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The page size of Fantastic Novels, Startling Stories, and other somewhat (ehhh… umm… er…  how should I put it?…) “lesser-tier” pulp magazines (lesser tier in terms of literary and prominence and cultural impact) compared to the smaller page dimensions in the more significant, digest-sized Astounding and Galaxy, gave Finlay and other artists a larger “canvas” for their work than in the latter two, more prominent magazines.  His illustrations for “The Ship Of Ishtar” appear below. 

Bubbles, upon bubbles, upon bubbles!  (Did I say bubbles?!)

“In those silver globes rode the women of Ishtar.”

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“She is not entirely real.”

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Merrill enticed Finlay to join the staff of The American Weekly, a large-sized newspaper supplement edited by Merritt and published by William Randolph Hearst.  At this point Finlay left Rochester for the publishing world in New York.  He never returned, except to visit relatives.  Other than his three-year commitment to the Army during World War II, Finlay spent the rest of his years working in New York as an illustrator.

Finlay married a childhood friend – and fellow Rochesterian – Beverly Stiles in 1938.  The two settled in a small apartment in Brooklyn before moving to Levittown in 1948 and Westbury, L.I., in 1950.

“Finlay changed his styles over the years,” says de la Ree.  “His later things weren’t as good as the drawings of the 1940s and 1950s.  He reached his peak about 1950.  After that, he started doing simple line drawings.  He had been putting a week into each drawing, and he wasn’t getting paid that much.  It wasn’t worth it.

“He never made a lot or money, just enough to live,” de la Ree says.  In his heyday, Finlay would earn about $35 to $50 for each inside illustration (his forte) and maybe $150 for his covers.  Those same works of art today go for $500 to several thousand dollars each on the collectors’ market.

“Most of Finlay’s work is scattered around now,” de la Ree says.  “A lot of it went to a collector in Australia after Finlay died.  He bought up almost everything that was left.  Then he died seven years later, and no one seems to know where the stuff is.”  De la Ree says the works in Australia are mostly more recent things.  De la Ree and other collectors in the states have many of the more valued earlier works.  Finlay’s daughter, Lail, also has a collection.

De la Ree remembers Finlay as “a typical Irishman.  He liked his booze; he liked jokes.  He had a good sense of humor.  On the other side of the coin, he was a bit of a recluse, a hermit.  He didn’t leave the house in Westbury.  His wife Beverly would deliver his work in and out of the city, and he only attended one sci-fi convention that I’m aware of.”

Finlay’s 34-year-old daughter, Lail, who now lives in Tampa, Fla., says her father was “extremely witty and very intelligent.  He was extremely particular about his work and would go to great lengths to make it as perfect as possible, even if it meant missing deadlines.

“He’d work at night and straight through if he did have a deadline.  He preferred the late-night hours and would go to sleep about 7 a.m.”

Lail remembers how she and her mother would help her father by reading the various sci-fi manuscripts and stories to help him come up with sequences to illustrate.  “I think I’ve read every science fiction book ever written,” she says.

She said her father remembered Rochester as a pretty town.  “We’d go back to his home every year or so when we could.  He painted it a lot and asked to be buried there.”

Finlay underwent extensive surgery for cancer in 1969 and died from the disease on Jan. 18, 1971.  He was 56.  He was buried in Mount Hope Cemetery.

“My father never had much formal art training,” Lail says, “But I never saw the man without a pencil.  At the lime of his death he’d been working on a series of portraits of prophets.  After he died, we found one by his bedside.  He had come out of his coma, picked up his pencil, did the sketch and died.”

JACK GARNER is the popular arts writer for the Democrat and Chronicle.

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REMINISCING

Upstate Magazine
February 12, 1984

This is to let you know what a pleasure it is to see that you have started the New Year with a special science fiction issue, on George Orwell and Virgil Finlay (Jan. 1).  For many years now, I’ve thought that the very memory of Finlay was just a part of my own private domain of reminiscences, from when Sci Fi was considered just a ghetto or orphan in the field of writing.

I still recall the Finlays in their Brooklyn apartment, their friendly greeting no matter what time of the night my train arrived Grand Central Station, our conversations about the possibility of travel to the moon.  (“Did you know that we could get a man on the moon if we could just convince the got eminent to spend one million dollars on the project” – and this was in 1939!), the recent death of Lovecraft, our modern-day successor to Poe, and my own Golden Atom Magazine, to which Finlay had contributed poetry (and for which his sister, Jean, bit drawn a cover).  Talent seemed to run in all the family.

LARRY FARSACE
187 North Union St.

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SCI-FI’S MYTH UNIVERSE

Before You Scoff at These Illustrations, Consider U-Md.’s Homage to Futurist Arts Daring Past

By PAUL RICHARD
Washington Post Staff Writer

The Washington Post
February 6, 2000

“Possible Futures: Science Fiction Art From the Frank Collection,” at the Art Gallery of the University of Maryland in College Park, is like a reverse time machine.  Its crisply painted pictures – of belligerent space aliens, and idealized young breasts, and complicated starships, moonscapes and explosions – may be pointed toward the future, but that’s not where they take you.  See them and you’ll suddenly be zapped into the past I was. I stepped into the gallery and a memory materialized.  This is what saw.

I’m somewhere on North Clark Street in Chicago in the winter of 1954, reading on the streetcar, riding home from school, utterly engrossed in some science fiction pulp. The story that’s caught me has nudity and spaciness and really neat machines, precisely what it takes to hold an adolescent rapt.  Here’s the setup: The time probe re materializing on the laboratory bench has retrieved from the far future something wholly unexpected, a nearly naked figurine in unfamiliar metals, a statue from the Earth of a million years from now.

The statue on the lab bench wears nothing but a belt.  The scientists are awed by the beauty of the figurine.  Its belt is set with jewels and tiny, glowing, humming, intricate machines.  And then I reach the kicker.

It’s a statue of a beetle.

The story’s punch line pinned me to the streetcar’s rattan seat.

I thought, cool.

The canvases displayed in the present exhibition seem to be designed for precisely that response.  Unless you’re still a kid, you won’t lake them wholly seriously.  And unless you’re a keen sci-fi fan, you probably won’t recognize their skillful painters’ names.

Museums seldom show paintings of this sort, but it doesn’t really matter.  We sort of know them anyway.  We’ve seen them all our lives.  In shiny reproduction on countless magazine racks images like these – of rocket ships and ray guns and girls-in-peril cheesecake – have been grabbing our attention since before World War II.  But these aren’t reproductions.  For the sci-fi scenes you’ve seen – on dust jackets and posters and boxes for computer games – these are the originals, the gold-framed, hand- brushed, briskly done canvases themselves.

Are they formulaic, slick, commercially commissioned, schlocky and cartoony?  Yes, of course they are, but they’re also sort of cool.  Deep within their crossness is a lurid of mad integrity, a driven conscientiousness, a whiff of the perfectionist painter hard at work.

Looking at these paintings you’re supposed to think of phasers, of aliens with tentacles and voyages to Mars.  Instead you think of art schools, of art schools as they used to be, of afternoons in life class, of turpentines and oils and dusty plaster casts.

Not so very long ago such pictures, commissioned by the mags, were disdained as rather common.  But the knacks the work requires -how to rightly gauge perspective, or correctly cast a shadow, or render in smooth colors the musculature of knees – aren’t so common anymore,

But today plaster calls are out, sable brushes dated.  Modem art schools leach their students how to use transgressive texts and found materials and computers.  This stuff, in comparison, looks hopelessly old-fashioned.  Science fiction paintings, being easel paintings, can’t help but carry with them a glow or the antique.

Their imagery is antique, too, completely mythological.  In 1955 when Virgil Finlay painted his “Mistress of Viridis” (a half-drowned hero in a spacesuit, washed up on a rocky shore, has just been discovered there by on almost-naked lovely), he was redoing the old story of Ulysses being rescued alter a shipwreck by a princess on some Homeric beach.

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Here’s Finlay’s original painting of the “Mistress of Viridis”, which at Heritage Auctions is described as “”Viridi, Goddess of Nature” by Virgil Finlay, 1956.  Oil on board, 11.5 x 8 inches.  Used for the golden age SF magazine “Other Worlds Science Stories” (June, 1956).”

And, here’s the painting as it appeared on the cover of the March, 1955, issue of Universe Science Fiction.  Here, it lost a lot.  The problem wasn’t transposing right to left / left to right.  The problem was printing the composition (II guess for budgetary reasons?) in black & white.  You can see how Finlay’s style of color painting, with its variety of rich and vivid tones, was simply not amendable for reproduction in black & white.  It lost a lot as a result.  

Oddly, though the complete story – “Mistress of Viridis” by Margaret St. Clair – appeared in the March, 1955, edition of Universe Science Fiction, Finlay’s cover painting finally appeared in its full-color (small-size) completeness on the cover of the June, 1956 issue of Other Worlds.  A commonality being, that Raymond A. Palmer was the editor of these two magazines, and, Science Stories as well.

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The painting’s inspiration: Homer’s Odyssey, Book Five, 5.10 – 9.1

When it was time for them to start home, and they were folding the clothes and putting them into the wagon, Athena began to consider how Odysseus should wake up and see the handsome girl who was to conduct him to the city of the Phaeacians.  The girl, therefore, threw a ball at one of the maids, which missed her and fell into deep water.  On this they all shouted, and the noise they made woke Odysseus, who sat up in his bed of leaves and began to wonder what it might all be.
 
“Alas,” said he to himself, “what kind of people have I come amongst?  Are they cruel, savage, and uncivilized, or hospitable and humane?  I seem to hear the voices of young women, and they sound like those of the nymphs that haunt mountain tops, or springs of rivers and meadows of green grass.  At any rate I am among a race of men and women.  Let me try if I cannot manage to get a look at them.”
 
As he said this he crept from under his bush, and broke off a bough covered with thick leaves to hide his nakedness.  He looked like some lion of the wilderness that stalks about exulting in his strength and defying both wind and rain; his eyes glare as he prowls in quest of oxen, sheep, or deer, for he is famished, and will dare break even into a well fenced homestead, trying to get at the sheep – even such did Odysseus seem to the young women, as he drew near to them all naked as he was, for he was in great want.  On seeing one so unkempt and so begrimed with salt water, the others scampered off along the spits that jutted out into the sea, but the daughter of Alcinous stood firm, for Athena put courage into her heart and took away all fear from her.  She stood right in front of Odysseus, and he doubted whether he should go up to her, throw himself at her feet, and embrace her knees as a suppliant, or stay where he was and entreat her to give him some clothes and show him the way to the town.  In the end he deemed it best to entreat her from a distance in case the girl should take offense at his coming near enough to clasp her knees, so he addressed her in honeyed and persuasive language.
 
“O queen,” he said, “I implore your aid – but tell me, are you a goddess or are you a mortal woman?  If you are a goddess and dwell in heaven, I can only conjecture that you are Zeus’ daughter Artemis, for your face and figure resemble none but hers; if on the other hand you are a mortal and live on earth, thrice happy are your father and mother – thrice happy, too, are your brothers and sisters; how proud and delighted they must feel when they see so fair a scion as yourself going out to a dance; most happy, however, of all will he be whose wedding gifts have been the richest, and who takes you to his own home.  I never yet saw any one so beautiful, neither man nor woman, and am lost in admiration as I behold you.  I can only compare you to a young palm tree which I saw when I was at Delos growing near the altar of Apollo – for I was there, too, with much people after me, when I was on that journey which has been the source of all my troubles.  Never yet did such a young plant shoot out of the ground as that was, and I admired and wondered at it exactly as I now admire and wonder at yourself.  I dare not clasp your knees, but I am in great distress; yesterday made the twentieth day that I had been tossing about upon the sea.  The winds and waves have taken me all the way from the Ogygian island, and now fate has flung me upon this coast that I may endure still further suffering; for I do not think that I have yet come to the end of it, but rather that heaven has still much evil in store for me.
 
“And now, O queen, have pity upon me, for you are the first person I have met, and I know no one else in this country.  Show me the way to your town, and let me have anything that you may have brought hither to wrap your clothes in.  May heaven grant you in all things your heart’s desire – husband, house, and a happy, peaceful home; for there is nothing better in this world than that man and wife should be of one mind in a house.  It discomfits their enemies, makes the hearts of their friends glad, and they themselves know more about it than anyone.”
 
To this Nausicaa answered, “Stranger, you appear to be a sensible, well-disposed person.  There is no accounting for luck; Zeus gives prosperity to rich and poor just as he chooses, so you must take what he has seen fit to send you, and make the best of it.  Now, however, that you have come to this our country, you shall not want for clothes nor for anything else that a foreigner in distress may reasonably look for.  I will show you the way to the town, and will tell you the name of our people; we are called Phaeacians, and I am daughter to Alcinous, in whom the whole power of the state is vested.”

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When the jut-jawed hero in Earle K. Bergey’s “Princess of Pakmari” (1944) protects a redhead from a spaceship-gobbling octopus, he is doing what the heroes, Perseus and Theseus and Hercules and Saint George, have been doing in the visual arts for the last 2,000 years.  The revival of the myth is an ever-present theme in science fiction art.  The bathing beauty, scale-skinned, who is wading in a blue lagoon in a work by Barclay Shaw is simultaneously a mermaid and a “Venus Anadyomene,” a Venus rising from the sea.

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And in this case, the “jut-jawed hero” on the cover of the Summer, 1944 edition of Thrilling Wonder Stories is Phillip Varon, and the redhead, Nareida.  

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The monsters from the myths and those from outer space are creatures close of kin.  Be they aliens or Minotaurs they’re almost always hungry.  They seek to devour good-looking women.  Heroes seek to stop them.  That’s what heroes do.

Not all the women in “Possible Futures” need heroes to protect then.  Allen Anderson’s “War Maid of Mars” (1952) can take care of herself.  She is clubbing at her enemies with a ray gun she is swinging as if it were a mace.  She’s got Amazonian muscles and big blond hair.  She wears Buffalo Bill gauntlets, epaulets and a skirt slit up to here.

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Ah, a bit of confusion here!  The author of “War-Maid of Mars” was Poul Anderson, not Allen Anderson.  From the description of the cover, She is clubbing at her enemies with a ray gun she is swinging as if it were a mace.  She’s got Amazonian muscles and big blond hair.  She wears Buffalo Bill gauntlets, epaulets and a skirt slit up to here,” we can tell that the story referred to is actually Poul Anderson’s “Sargasso of Lost Starships”, from the January, 1952 issue of Planet Stories, “War-Maid of Mars” having been published in the same magazine in May. 

The two covers, both by Allen Anderson – as published, and as original art – are shown below. 


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For adolescent males, and sci-fi fans apparently, nothing kick-starts a painting like a woman without clothes.  On this very old convention many of these illustrators are generally agreed.

They also keep returning to the two-species-in-one.  Bellerophon’s steed, Pegasus, was part horse and part bird; Achilles’ teacher, Chiron, was half man and half horse.  One of the most competent artists in this show is a painter named Jim Burns.  The hairy hero he gives us is part muscleman, part lion.  And Steve Hickman’s guys are, too.

Hickman, Bums and others here pretend to be technologists, but don’t believe it.  It’s mostly shtick.  They’re not gadgeteers, they’re animists.  These illustrators’ spaceships – Burns’, Richard Power’s, David Mattingly’s, John Berkey’s – have big eyes and expressive mouths.  They look more like Chinese dragons than like machines.

Why, if you drove a starship, would you still need to carry a saber or a dagger or a phallic club?  That question is raised often by the paintings in this show.  The futuristic weaponry that these space guys bear is so old it creaks.

Science fiction painting is one of those subgenres of contemporary art that thrive below the notice of critical discourse.  There are many others.  There are the clipper ship painters, and the duck decoy carvers, and the Duck Stamp watercolorists, and the wildlife painters, and the Texans who paint cowboys on the trail, and the people who paint vans.  New Agers paint Utopias.  Such specialists in fantasy as the famous Prank Frazetta paint barbarians with swords, and apelike troops, and trolls.  Messiness is frowned on in all such sorts of painting.  And the detailing is tight.  Patience is required, and considerable skill.

And the money isn’t bad.  Howard and Jane Frank, the owners of these pictures, say a notably successful science fiction painting, an image reproduced on puzzles, note cards, calendars, may bring to its creator $100,000 in reproduction rights alone.

The Franks – Howard heads the business school at the University of Maryland: Jane, a private dealer, runs the Worlds of Wonder gallery – have been collecting this material for more than 30 years.

“Our Web address is wow-art.com,” she says.

“My father,” says her husband, “was telling me Edgar Rice Burroughs’s stories about John Carter on Mars before I could read.”

The Franks are amateurs.  “Or art groupies,” says Howard.  Their slowly formed collection of science fiction art, fantasy and horror now includes more than 600 works of art.

Will posterity, one wonders, pay this sort of painting any heed at all?

Don’t bet against it.

For one thing its practitioners, the best of them at least – Chesley Bonestell (1888-1986), the movement’s Albert Bierstadt, or the Englishman Jim Burns, or the Youll twins, Paul and Steve – are exceptionally dexterous.  And together they’ve established a special sort of period art, fulsome and folkloric, a period art caught in the gap between the Paris salon and the Hollywood effects shop, or between NASA and Jules Verne.

“This may be science fiction art’s List good decade,” says Howard Frank.  “So much of it today is done with lenses or computers that science fiction painting may be going the way of the buggy whip.”

N.C. Wyeth’s skies, and the pre-Raphaelites’ precisions, and Kurt Vonnegut’s’ Tralfamadore, and Carl Sagan and E.T. are evoked by these pictures.  The mainstream may be widening.  It has accepted, though belatedly, the works of Norman Rockwell, and may, in some far future, accept these objects, too.

For all these science fiction folk, good and not so good alike, are members of what one might call the company of painters, an honorable company – which doesn’t mean that they’re fine artists, but suggests that they’re close.

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Art Imitates Otherworldly Life

Michael O’Sullivan
Washington Post Staff Writer

February 11, 2000

WHATS NOT TO LOW about “Possible Futures,” an exhibition of science fiction book and magazine illustration at the University of Maryland Art Gallery that manages to be both breezy and erudite?

It’s got sex, bug-eyed monsters, high-tech hardware, action, drama, robots run amok, rock-jawed heroes and pneumatic heroines, killer rabbits, explosions and eye-popping vistas of planets on which the font of man has never trod.  It’s also got implications about man’s love-hate relationship with technology, xenophobia and jingoism, changing society, gender roles and the hubris inherent in trying to exert dominion over nature.

In this heady frappe of the Western, the romance novel, gadget love and futurism, there’s something to delight everyone – even a comparative Luddite like the critic who slakes his expertise in the literature on three meager titles, discovered in adolescence: Walter Miller’s “A Canticle for Leibowitz,” A.E. van Vogt’s “The World of Null-A” and Larry Niven’s “Man of Steel, Woman of Kleenex” (a Iife-changing short story on the subject of Superman’s love life).

“Well, those are some good ones,” says Jane Frank, who curated the show from the extensive collection she and her husband Howard own.  “But I could give you another 50-best list that would keep you going for a while.”

No doubt.

Even before the Franks began acquiring art depicting themes from science fiction and fantasy (think Bilbo Baggins and Conan the Barbarian), the couple collected works and periodicals, and several of those publications accompany the pictures on display.  But the book jackets and magazine covers are only faint echoes of the pictures on the wall.  Going from the books (or for that matter the teensy reproductions in the show’s catalogue) to the original paintings is a bit like finding yourself in front of an Alexander Calder after having seen only the postage stamps.

Okay, so the works here are not really monumental – they were commissioned for photomechanical reproduction, after all, not museum exhibition – nor do they move (at least not literally).  But they do possess, in addition to an aura of mystery, excitement and the romance of the alien, a technical virtuosity and wealth of detail that often gets lost in translation.

Take Allen Anderson’s lissome Amazon from the cover of the 1952 novel “Sargasso of the Lost Star-ship.”  [sic!]  The blonde bombshell’s gel-up – an amalgam of Rita Hayworth decolletage, form-fitting body armor, stand-up collar lifted from a military officer’s dress uniform, holstered pearl-handled revolver and primitive arm-dagger – is all ever the couture map.  About as far away from the space-age mini-dress of Lt. Uhura as Joan of Arc’s chain mail, its pastiche of the familiar in an unfamiliar form signals to us that this is science fiction … that and the fact that she appears to be leading an army of green-eyed wombats into battle, armed only with spears.

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Like the February 6 issue of the Washington Post, there’s confusion in the February 11 article, though at least the artist’s name is correct.  

“Take Allen Anderson’s lissome Amazon from the cover of the 1952 novel “Sargasso of the Lost Star-ship.”  [sic]  The blonde bombshell’s gel-up – an amalgam of Rita Hayworth decolletage, form-fitting body armor, stand-up collar lifted from a military officer’s dress uniform, holstered pearl-handled revolver and primitive arm-dagger – is all ever the couture map.  About as far away from the space-age mini-dress of Lt. Uhura as Joan of Arc’s chain mail, its pastiche of the familiar in an unfamiliar form signals to us that this is science fiction … that and the fact that she appears to be leading an army of green-eyed wombats into battle, armed only with spears.”  The reporter is actually referring to “Sargasso of Lost Starships”, from Planet Stories’ May, 1952 issue. 

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In the words of author Ursula LeGuin (quoted by former gallery director Terry Gips in her forward to the show’s catalogue), “Science fiction is not predictive; it is descriptive.”

Yes, but descriptive of what?

It’s laughable to look back 50 years to what mid-20th-century artists thought the future would be like, and it will be equally laughable 50 years from now to look back at the visions of today’s artists.  The hovercraft of Alex Schomburg’s 1952 “Death of Iron” looks like two streamlined tops from metal cocktail shakers welded together, but fitted with a picture window from a suburban ranch house.  Behind that window sit two pilots (male, natch) and behind them a woman primly dressed as if to serve shrimp canapes (wearing gloves because, um, the future is a dirty place?).  The landscape, of course, looks like Arizona since, as Greg Metcalf points out in his astute catalogue essay on sci-fi’s Western roots, “we always conquer land that looks like Monument Valley.”

Now compare Jim Burns’ 1985 “Star Frontiers”: the shiny space cruiser (looking for all the world like a blue Batmobile) is piloted by a driver (once again male) in wraparound shades (so 15 minutes ago!) while his female companion with the wind-swept, platinum blond locks rides shotgun, brandishing a gun whose ludicrously long barrel would have been sure to strike penis envy into the hearts of Schomburg’s flyboys.  She’s still not much more than window dressing, but this modern bit of cheesecake has got firepower and is not afraid to use it.

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Burns also created covers for the 1989 and 1990 editions of Donald A. Wollheim’s The Annual World’s Best SF, Isaac Asimov Presents the Great SF Stories 17 (1955), and the 1982 Corgi edition of Philip José Farmer’s The Lovers.

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For mixed messages, how about Robert Fuqua’s 1944 “The Mad Robot”?  Sure, the scene of the Flash Gordon-style hero doing battle with an angry automaton (powered by a disembodied brain in a jar) can be seen as a parable of the evils of science out of control, but what’s our hero attacking him with?  No wooden cudgel but a stale-of-the-art ray gun.  Then, as even now to a great degree, technology is seen as both the hope and the downfall of civilization.

But despite the show’s best efforts to, as Gips writes, disrupt a “simplistic understanding” of the genre and to drag sci-fi art into “the mainstream of art history, art theory and cultural criticism,” “Possible futures” is above all else a hoot.  Good examples of its sense of fun are James Gurney’s 1989 “Quozl,” depicting a close encounter between a race of man-size space hares and a typical American living room (Bugs Bunny plays on the boob tube), and Schomburg’s 1963 “Monkey in Space,” in which the first banana-wielding primate on the moon stares forlornly out the window of his now trashed lunar excursion module.

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Minor mistake here.  Alex Schomburg’s painting of the forlorn monkey appeared on the cover of the February, 1961 – not 1963 – issue of Amazing Stories.  The actual title is “What Need of Man?”  Unlike the other cover images displayed in this post, this one’s a scan from my own copy.  

Yes, there’s psychosexual subtext out the wazoo here if you’re of the mind to go looking for it (and no one can tell me Harold W. McCauley didn’t study Giovanni Bologna’sRape of the Sabine Women” before painting the damsel-abducting robot of his 1956 The Cosmic Bunglers).

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Here’s catalogue essayist Dabrina Taylor writing of Virgil Finlay’s 1955 painting of a half-naked alien babe and a marooned astronaut:

“As the vulnerable, prone body of the male explorer in ‘Mistress of Viridis’ illustrates, the otherness of femininity and its alienness to a masculine observer can also be aligned with danger.  Lying entranced or somehow overcome beneath the towering body of a woman who, in another context might easily be labeled a siren or a mermaid, this male traveler seems helpless; behind him, all the phallic power and technology and power signified by his ship arc useless to him now.”

Here’s collector Jane Frank:

“Really?  I don’t see it”

Sometimes, to paraphrase Sigmund Freud, a robot is just a robot.

References

Mission of Gravity, at Wikipedia

Planet Mesklin, at Wikipedia

Mesklinites, at Aliens.Fandom

The Odyssey (Book VI), at OwlEyes

Kendell Foster Crossen, at Wikipedia

William P. McGivern, at Wikipedia

Startling Stories – May, 1952 (Featuring “The Hellfower”, by George O. Smith) [Alex Schomburg]

Typical of Startling Stories from the early 1950s, the magazine’s content is comprised of a complete novel, a novelet, short stories, and features, with the first two items- by George O. Smith and Kendell Foster Crossen, respectively – being featured as cover titles.   

As the magazine’s main and lead item, “The Hellflower“, which starts on page 12, features one of Virgil Finlay’s well-known, intricate, dual panel art treatments (with a lightly erotic overtone) followed by two other illustrations later on.  The great illustration of the battling astronauts on page 23 shows Finlay’s emphasis on visual style over technology, unlike Edmund Emshwiller (“Emsh”).  But, the technology present in the illustration, is still fitting. 

The cover illustration – done in airbrush? – by Alex (Alejandro) Schomburg makes a clever twist upon 1950s pop culture:  Flying saucers hover over an alien landscape, but the beings floating to descend on the planet’s surface are not aliens, but men.  Of course, to anybody or anything native to this cratered moon of a brown-hued gas-giant, these very beings would be aliens, and not men. 

Well, aliens or men, you get the idea: It’s all in the perspective.   

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Pages 12-13

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Page 17

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Page 23

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References(s)

Kendell Foster Crossen, at Wikipedia

Kendell Foster Crossen, at Official Green Lama

Kendell Foster Crossen, at ChicagoBoyz (Essay by David Foster in reference to Crossen’s eerily prophetic novel, Year of Consent)

Virgil W. Finlay, right-here-at-this-blog!

Alex A. Schomburg (“Alejandro Schomburg y Rosa”), at Wikipedia

Alex A. Schomburg (“Alex Alejandro Schomburg”), at FindAGrave

George O. Smith, at The Encyclopedia of Science Fiction

George O. Smith, at Wikipedia

Galaxy Science Fiction – October, 1966 [Dember] [Updated post…!  February 6, 2021]

[This post, created on May 8, 2017, is pretty simple:  It shows the cover (by Dember) of the October, 1966 issue of Galaxy Science Fiction, and interior illustrations by Virgil Finlay for Larry Niven’s “How The Heroes Die”, and one illustration by Jack Gaughan for Arthur C. Clarke’s “A Recursion in Metastories”.  I’ve updated the post to include an image of Finlay’s original art for the second of his two pieces for Niven’s story.  Just a black and white image, but it shows his work with much better crispness than even the best scan from the actual magazine.  Even when limited to a vertical / rectangular format, his art was stunning.]

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Finlay’s illustration for Larry Niven’s story “How The Heroes Die” (p. 59).

Finlay’s illustration for Larry Niven’s story “How The Heroes Die” (p. 71).

…Virgil Finlay’s original art, from Heritage Auctions.  The original is described as “pen and ink on paper, 9.5 x 6.5 inches, signed lower right, from the Jerry Weist Collection“.

 

Jack Gaughan’s illustration for “A Recursion in Metastories”, by Arthur C. Clarke (p. 87).

Reference (…well, just one reference…)

“Two Spacemen Fighting, science fiction pulp interior story illustration”, at Heritage Auctions
May 8, 2017