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

“Virgil Finlay – Dean of Science Fiction Artists”, by Sam Moskowitz, in Worlds of Tomorrow – November, 1965 [Updated post!…  February 6, 2021 [Updated once more!… April 14, 2024 – (gadzooks!)]

[Created back in June of 2019, this post, a biography of illustrator Virgil Finlay written by Sam Moskowitz from the November, 1965 issue of Worlds of Tomorrow, includes images that directly pertain to illustrations and publications mentioned within the article’s text.  I’ve updated the post to include an image of Finlay’s original cover art for the May, 1943 issue of Super Science Stories, which shows an intrepid (or foolish, take your pick) space explorer firing his ray gun at a rather befuddled giant alien giant, who has a face more devilish than extraterrestrial.]

And, here’s the cover.  You see view a larger image below…  

[[April 14, 2024: This post is once again updated!  Eight years after commencing this blog, I’ve acquired an original copy of the July, 1939 issue of Astounding Science Fiction, which was so singularly significant in the history of science fiction, and which is indirectly alluded to in Sam Moskowitz’s article.  An image of this pulp is displayed below; I hope to create a separate (new) post about it, as well.]] 

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In terms of artistic style, visual symbolism, emotional power, and sheer productivity, one of the twentieth century’s most outstanding illustrators in the fields of science-fiction and fantasy was Virgil Warden Finlay.  Even the most cursory DuckDuckGo search will generate a plethora of his works, primarily representing his forte – black & white interior illustrations – and secondarily his relatively fewer, yet still visually distinctive, pulp magazine covers.  Though the works of his many contemporaries remain memorable, each in their own distinctive way (numerous examples are on display at this blog), the central and most striking quality of Finlay’s work – besides the originality and variety of the forms represented within it – whether human or alien; male or female; erotic or eerie; mythical or monstrous; scientific and technological, often in combination within the same composition – is that it presents images and symbols that impact upon the human psyche at a wordless, perhaps even mythical, level.

The Wikipedia entry for Virgil Finlay presents a quite solid overview of his life, listing the titles of published collections of his art, and, including links to websites displaying his works (the best being Jake Jackson’s “Virgil Finlay: Master of Dark Fantasy Illustration” at “These Fantastic Worlds – Articles on SF, Fantasy Fiction, Movies, and Art” (who also displays a collection of 19 images of Finlay’s art at Pinterest), JVJ Publishing – Illustrators, 74 images at artnet, and, Gerry de la Ree’s biography “Virgil Finlay: Master of Fantasy” from the June, 1978 issue of Starlog; the titles of eight of de la Ree’s books being listed in Finlay’s Wikipedia profile.

Complementing the above, you may find interest in science fiction historian Sam Moskowitz’s article “Virgil Finlay – Dean of Science Fiction Artists”, which was published in the November, 1965 issue of Worlds of Tomorrow, six years before Finlay’s passing.  I discovered this article quite serendipitously: while perusing Archive.org’s Pulp Magazine Archive  to – as the expression goes “see what I could see”.  (There, one can see a lot!)

Moskowitz’s article – presented below – is transcribed verbatim, and has been enhanced by the inclusion of images of the many illustrations mentioned within it, along with the corresponding cover of the magazine in which each illustration originally appeared.  This almost certainly would have been quite impossible in the original Worlds of Tomorrow article, due to copyright restrictions, and especially, the technical difficulty of reproducing Finlay’s illustrations – designed for and published in large-format pulps – within a digest-sized periodical.  All illustrations and magazine covers within this post were similarly found at Archive.org, and slightly (but not too much, really! – at least, nowhere near as much as other images on this blog) digitally edited, where necessary.  Similarly, the article has been enhanced by newspaper articles about Finlay, primarily from the Rochester Times-Union, found via Thomas M. Tryniski’s fabulous Fulton History website / database.

Also interspersed within the article – here ‘n there – are a few of my own comments, delineated by brackets.  Y’know, as “[ c o m m e n t ].”

I hope you find this article informative, enjoyable, and for those so artistically inclined – inspiring!

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“Finlay is, five years after his death, virtually unknown.” – (February 3, 1977)

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VIRGIL FINLAY

Dean of Science Fiction Artists

by SAM MOSKOWITZ

Worlds of Tomorrow
November, 1965

First in a new series of articles by science fiction’s ablest chronicler!

Yet here upon a page our frightened glance
Finds monstrous forms no human eye should see;
Hints of those blasphemies whose countenance
Spreads death and madness through infinity.
What limner he who braves black gulfs alone
And lives to make their alien horrors known? (1)

H.P. Lovecraft penned the foregoing lines to Virgil Finlay after having been thrilled by the exquisite stipple and line technique, which exposed the monsters of Robert Bloch’s The Faceless God in almost photographic clarity to the readers of the May, 1936 issue of Weird Tales [Lovecraft’s full poem can be found at the end of this post.]  Lovecraft’s enthusiasm was in concert with the times.  No illustrator, in the history of fantasy magazines, had ever been greeted with so uniformly appreciative a chorus of reader approbation.

Cover by Margaret Brundage

“The stars would change in a most peculiar manner, so that the Great Ones could come pulsing from the outer gulf.”

Illustrating Robert Bloch’s story, “The Faceless God” (p. 565)

“Honor and festivals are due whatever gods were responsible for sending artist Virgil Finlay to you,” wrote Robert W. Lowndes to Farnsworth Wright, editor of Weird Tales.  “He is truly unique that one; reminiscent of the classic illustrations in high-priced editions of Greek and Roman masterpieces.”

The observation was astute.  Finlay belonged to the 19th century school of Gustave Dore, and was the equal of the finest of them on line and crosshatch technique, superior to virtually all of them on the use of the stipple, succeeding at will in giving a camera-lens quality to his artwork, a goal which 19th century illustrators strove for and rarely achieved.

With the rise of experimentalism in art, largely as a result of the competition of photography, artistic standards moved away from absolute realism, rendering Finlay an anachronism – except in the world of fantasy and science fiction.  To visualize and transfer to the illustrating board a razor-sharp rendition of the bizarre modern-day mythology of H.P. Lovecraft, Clark Ashton Smith and Robert Bloch required a creative imagination of the highest order.  This Virgil Finlay possessed, and this the readers of first Weird Tales and then the science-fiction magazines instantly recognized and appreciated.

Virgil Warden Finlay was born to Warden Hugh Finlay and Ruby Cole, July 23, 1914 in Rochester, New York.  His father was half Irish and half German and his mother English Protestant, from a religious colony that had landed in the United States in 1643, leaving England for the freedom to observe the sabbath on Saturday.  His father was a woodworker, who at one time supervised a shop of 400 men when wood finishing was a construction art.  Changing times and the depression found his father scrambling for a living in his own business, to die disheartened at 40, leaving behind a daughter, Jean Lily, as well as Virgil.

In high school, the short, muscular Virgil was an all-around athlete, starring in boxing and soccer and attaining championship calibre in pole vaulting with jumps of 11.8 feet, a respectable height before the days of the plastic poles.  To his schoolmates he appeared an athletic extrovert.  At home evenings, his passion was writing poetry.  The only sample ever seen by fantasy enthusiasts was Moon Mist (illustrated by Finlay) published in the final, September, 1954, issue of Weird Tales[Likewise and significantly, the final issue’s cover was also created by Finlay.  The image seems to be purely symbolic; unrelated to the stories actually carried within the magazine.]

Illustrating Virgil Finlay’s own poem, “Moon Mist” (p. 31)

Despite the poetic muse, art was never far from the young Virgil’s mind.  The deepest impression made on him, as early as the age of six, was Gustave Dore’s line illustrations for a family bible.  Dore became the artistic figure he most admired and his major influence.  In grammar school he sketched, with a stylus on stencil, drawings for a mimeographed paper, and in high school he illustrated the Year Book.

All through high school he took two classes a day in art.  Another major of his was science.  At the age of 14 his wash drawings of human figures were exhibited at the Memorial Art Gallery in Rochester.  His father, while alive, taught construction supervision at Mechanics Institute.  Virgil was able to take free night courses in art at that school.  When the WPA (Works Progress Administration) inaugurated art projects during the depression, he took advantage of the opportunity to take classes in anatomy, landscape and portraiture.

Old Newspapers

Rochester Times-Union, February 23, 1935

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His skill at rendering faces was so pronounced that he was able to command $300 a portrait for what assignments were to be had during the Great Depression.  This served as one of his major sources of income during a period when he gratefully accepted jobs on a radio assembly line, in a stock room, with various wood-working shops and, as a prelude to his artistic career, actually held a card as a master house painter!

Though his preference was for the fantasy and supernatural, the first magazine he bought with any regularity was Amazing Stories in 1927, because it was the closest thing to fantasy he could find.  A year or so later, he encountered Weird Tales and it was love at first sight.

The one thing he disliked about Weird Tales was its interior illustrations.  He felt confident that he could do better.  Six sketches were mailed off to Farnsworth Wright for consideration in the summer of 1935.  Wright took only one as a test, because he doubted if the fine line and stipple work would reproduce on the cheap paper that the magazine was using.  [A portrait of the artist at the age of twenty-one appears in this article from the Rochester Times-Union.]

Old Newspapers

Rochester Times-Union, December 17, 1935

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Reproduction proofs run off on the pulp stock showed that while the drawings lost a great deal, they still printed with considerable effectiveness.

For the record, that first illustration was of a reclining nude Medusa, and Wright used it to fill a space at the end of a Paul Ernst story, Dancing Feet, in the December, 1935 Weird Tales, which Finlay also illustrated, as well as The Chain of Aforgomen by Clark Ashton Smith and The Great Brain of Kaldar by Edmond Hamilton, all in the same issue.

Cover by Margaret Brundage

Illustrating Paul Ernst’s story, “Dancing Feet” (p. 685)

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Illustration of Medusa, following “Dancing Feet” (p. 694)  [Unrelated to “Dancing Feet”, the image appears at the tale’s end.]

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“Madly he implored from Xexanoth one our of that bygone autumn.”

Illustrating Clark Ashton’s Smith’s story, “The Chain of Aforgomon” (p. 695)

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“It was a bloody, staggering confusion of men and swords.”

Illustrating Edmond Hamilton’s story, “The Great Brain of Kaldar” (p. 707)

Farnsworth Wright didn’t have to wait for reader reaction to know that he had stumbled on a good thing.  Finlay was the key to a special project he had in mind.

All his life Wright had been a lover of Shakespeare.  It had been his dream to publish Shakespeare in low-priced magazine format.  When Max Reinhart and William Dieterle produced A Midsummer Night’s Dream as a moving picture for Warner Brothers in 1935, with a banner cast including James Cagney, Olivia de Havilland, Mickey Rooney, Dick Powell, Joe E. Brown, and Hugh Herbert, he felt this might be the spark to light a popular Shakespeare revival.  He would produce Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream as the first of a series of Wright’s Shakespeare Library, similar to Weird Tales in size, but on better paper, to sell for 35c.  It would be an illustrated edition, with 25 drawings by Virgil Finlay, which, together with the fact that A Midsummer Night’s Dream was a fantasy, would supply the motivation for support from readers of Weird Tales.

The financial failure of both the film and Wright’s Shakespeare Library were far removed in order of magnitude but in each case they were a disaster.  The effect on Wright was multiplied by the fact that in order to finish the 25 drawings for A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Finlay would fail to appear in three consecutive issues of the none-too-economically-stable Weird Tales, risking the ire of impatient readers who clamored for more of his work.

Today, Wright’s edition of A Midsummer Night’s Dream is remembered only for the Finlay illustrations.

As Finlay appeared regularly in the magazine, the praise of his work reached the proportions of a perpetual anvil chorus.  He so thrilled readers that frequently letters would discuss the illustrations, without a word of comment concerning the story.  A case in point was Fred C. Miles, a New Providence, N.J. fan, whose letter appeared in The Eyrie for May, 1937 literarily exploded: “Virgil Finlay’s illustration for Hasse’s yarn was shattering in its impact.  A cold demonic force hurled itself from the page, smashing its way through to the very brain.”

The accolades Finlay obtained may have been surpassed by those accorded Michelangelo and Leonard da Vinci, but only because wider distribution and longer exposure of those artists had given them an unfair advantage.  It is said that man does not live by bread alone.  Finlay was incontrovertible proof that one may sustain himself on high praise, because there certainly wasn’t very much money passing his way.

Weird Tales paid eight dollars for a black-and-white illustration.  It took Finlay from three days to a week to execute one in his style, depending upon its complexity.  Taking a practical approach to the entire matter, Finlay rationalized that since in 1936 and 1937 it was virtually impossible to find work and if you did $15 a week was considered a fair starting salary, the choice was fundamentally between drawing for Weird Tales at a pittance and being hailed as a “master” or doing nothing and being called a bum.

Farnsworth Wright, who needed every “plus” to hold his shaky publication together, became worried that sooner or later he would lose Finlay to some other magazine.  One way to give Finlay more money without hurting the slim Weird Tales’ budget was to permit him to do covers, which paid more.  The problem was that for three years almost all the covers had been done by Margaret Brundage, a Chicago housewife who specialized in bright pastel nudes.  Wright had always felt that he needed the suggestion of sex to sell his high-priced (25c) periodical.  Brundage had first appeared on the cover of Weird Tales with the September, 1932 issue featuring The Altar of Melek Taos by G.G. Pendarves.  Eventually she had crowded even famed Tarzan illustrator J. Allen St. John, master of anatomy and action, from the cover spot.

Readers had raged unavailingly for years against the scenes of flagellation, suggestions of lesbianism, conclaves of concubines and harems guarded by eunuchs that her covers promised but the stories failed to deliver.  Finally Wright brought St. John back for a few covers.  The reaction to the change was so positive that, in the Dec, 1936 issue, he wrote: “We have received many letters asking that we also use Virgil Finlay for one or more covers.  We are happy to announce that Mr. Finlay will do the cover design for a new Seabury Quinn story, which will be published soon.  If it is as good as his black and white work, then it should be something to talk about.”

There could scarcely have been more reader excitement if Wright had come up with an unpublished Edgar Allan Poe story.  Finlay’s cover for The Globe of Memories by Seabury Quinn (a tale of a love that survives many incarnations) appeared on the Feb., 1937 Weird Tales and was executed with the same photographic realism and full confrontation of horrors that made his black and white drawings so popular.  Henry Kuttner summed up the readers’ feelings in a letter which read: “Just get the February WT.  That Finlay cover is a knockout!  And so is Virgil’s illustrations for Owens’ yarn.  In the name of Lucifer, let’s have a Finlay cover along the lines of his extraordinary illustration for Bloch’s The Faceless God.”

“‘Diabolus?'” she called. “Are you here, my love?  I cannot see you.”

Illustrating Seabury Quinn’s story, “The Globe of Memories” (p. 130)

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“A girl who blended with sunsets and soft, warm music.”

Illustrating Frank Owens’ story, “The Poppy Pearl” (p. 195)

Finlay became a cover regular and might have replaced Brundage entirely, except for a letter he received at his Rochester home, which changed the direction of his career.  Dated Nov. 26, 1937, it read: “As a reader of Weird Tales, I have been interested in your illustrations.  There might be an advantageous opening on The American Weekly at the present time for you.  I do not know whether you have thought of changing your town or whether you would want to come to New York.  If you can do what we want someone to do, it would probably mean living in N.Y.”

The letter was signed in pencil: A. Merritt.

Merritt was one of the great elder gods of the fantasy world exalted author of The Moon Pool, The Ship of Ishtar and Dwellers in the Mirage: the penultimate creator of escape fantasy, whose popularity would sustain itself long after his death.  He was also editor of The American Weekly, the newspaper supplement to Hearst papers.

The salary offer was $80 a week.  During a period when a man could support a family on $30, and anything above that lifted its earner into a comfortable middle class strata, it spelled heady success.

In the Big City, the 24-year-old Virgil Finlay immediately ran into trouble.  He was the youngest man on the working staff of The American Weekly and the cocky favorite of A. Merritt.  His talent was great but his inexperience colossal.

He was not a trained illustrator and was ignorant of publication production and the terminology of the trade.  The stipple and line technique which Merritt so admired was a laborious process.  It took days to produce an illustration, something which made the art director, Lee Conrey twitch nervously as he sweated out his weekly deadlines.

His first assignment, never finished, was to copy a full-color painting so it could be reproduced in black and white.  The initial illustration of his to appear depicted some bowery bums.  His first weird drawing, in his best style, presented an apparition of an old coach and horses.  Learning the ropes proved tough, keeping regular hours even tougher.

He was fired after six months for taking two-hour lunch periods, a temptation in New York City where cliques of office workers tend to try a different restaurant each day.  For about four months he was put on a picture-by-picture basis Then Merritt had a change of heart and sent a note to hurry back, that all would be forgiven if he mended his ways

Merritt was no easy man to work with.  He would have a story conference with Finlay in which the sketches would be decided upon.  When they were finished, Merritt frequently had mentally rewritten the story and wanted an entire new set of sketches.  Story conferences with Merritt were physically difficult.  Periodically Merritt would take off in a chauffeured car, rounding up exotic cheeses from gourmet shops.  He would bring them back to the office and forget about them or use them for cheese rabbit prepared on a little electric stove.  Either way, the odors made a conference with Merritt an ordeal.

A psychological bloc prevented Merritt from continuing to write the marvelous fantasies which made him famous.  The nature of that bloc he eventually confided to Finlay.  Essentially, it boiled down to the fact that he could no longer make literary transitions.  A sword battle ended in a room and Merritt found himself stymied as to whether to permit the hero to exit through a door, window or secret passage; to leave with sword in hand or in scabbard.  He was afraid the wrong choice would destroy the poetic rhythm of his prose.  In earlier years, this bloc had been broken every time he urgently needed money and pushed his protagonist through his heroics to a climax without regard as to whether the “poetic” sequence was broken or not.  Now financially well off, and writing for art’s sake, he no longer had a prod to unfasten his self-imposed shackles.

Finlay learned that magazine illustrating demanded certain liberties.  When unable to find an illustrative scene for The American Weekly’s serialization of John and Ward Hawkins’ novel The Ark of Fire, which began April 3, 1938, he wrote one in.  Not only was there no complaint from the authors, but when the novel of the earth plunging towards a fiery death in the sun was reprinted in the March, 1943 Famous Fantastic Mysteries, the added scene remained intact!

There might have been seven million people in New York in 1938 but Virgil Finlay was still lonesome.  Among his correspondents was Beverly Stiles, a Rochester girl he had known, and who had in common the same birth date.  She had repeatedly refused his proposals of marriage for religious reasons, as she was Jewish.  When he agreed to convert to Judaism they were married Nov. 16, 1938 in New York by Rabbi Dr. Clifton Harby Levy, a salaried consultant on religious matters for The American Weekly since 1899, a friend of A. Merritt, and a leader of the Jewish Reform Movement.

The Finlays set up housekeeping in a 1 1/2 room apartment at 1800 E. 12th St., Brooklyn.  One of their early guests was Henry Kuttner, who had been in correspondence with Finlay whom he finally met at a bar in the Times Square area.  Kuttner brought with him Jim Mooney, an aspiring West Coast artist who boasted the distinction of having sold one illustration to Weird Tales for Henry’s story The Salem Horror (May, 1937).  It was Easter, and Kuttner carried a live rabbit as a gift for Finlay’s wife.

Despite his job on The American Weekly, Finlay had continued to illustrate for Weird Tales.  Kuttner urged him to seek other markets.  Like Finlay, Kuttner had been discovered and developed by Weird Tales, but he found that the growth field was really science fiction.  Mort Weisinger at Thrilling Wonder Stories had been receptive to Kuttner’s work and now Kuttner effectively petitioned for Finlay.  A single illustration by Finlay done in a technique which vested a silvery sheen to the art work for Experiment by Roscoe Clarke, F.R.C.S., a grim tale of a man who turns into a living rat cancer, in the April, 1939 Thrilling Wonder Stories brought an immediately favorable response.

As a result, Finlay also began to illustrate for Startling Stories and Strange Stories, two companions to Thrilling Wonder Stories.

Of all the people he worked with in the fantasy field, Finlay was fondest of Kuttner.  Finlay was best man at a civil ceremony at which Henry Kuttner married C.L. Moore, at the New York City Hall, the morning of June 7, 1940 and his wife, Beverly, was matron of honor.  Finlay paid the justice of the peace and bought the bride and groom breakfast.

The closeness of this friendship is best expressed in Henry Kuttner’s story Reader, I Hate You! (Super Science Stories, May, 1943), written around a Finlay cover and depicting a puzzled giant holding in one hand a space ship with a defiant little man on top.  The two lead characters of the story are Henry Kuttner and Virgil Finlay, who are involved in a search for a science fiction fan “Joe or Mike or Forrest J.,” who accidentally carried the wife of a superman (turned to a chartreuse crystal) off in their pocket.

…Finlay’s original art, from Heritage Auctions.  The original is described as “acrylic on board, 14 x 10.25 inches, framed under acrylic to 18.5 x 15.5 inches, from the Glynn and Suzanne Crain Collection”.

From the standpoint of professional advancement, A. Merritt was Finlay’s best friend.  In a photograph he gave Finlay he inscribed: “To Virgil Finlay who illustrates stories just the way I like them.”  And he meant it!  At that very time Argosy was reprinting Seven Footprints to Satan and Merritt arranged with the editor, G.W. Post, to have Finlay illustrate all five installments, beginning with the June 24, 1939 issue.  Finlay would remain an Argosy illustrator, including many covers, until its change to large-size by Popular Publications with its September, 1943 number.

When The Frank A. Munsey Co. began the issuance of Famous Fantastic Mysteries dated Sept.-Oct., 1939, and dedicated to reprinting great science fiction and fantasy classics from its files, it was Merritt again who induced the editors to use Finlay to illustrate the serialization of The Conquest of the Moon Pool (Nov., 1939).

“I saw a white fire that shown like stars in a swirl of mist and I stood helpless while the sparkling devil pulled my dear ones over the ship’s rail into the eerie light.  I saw them a little while whirling away in the moon track behind the ship – and then they were gone!”

A Sequel to “The Moon Pool”

“Through the moon door, to grapple with the dread dweller and wrest the six Lost Ones from their prison of icy flame.”

Illustrating Abraham Merritt’s story, “The Conquest of the Moon Pool (Part I)” (p. 6)

It was in this magazine and its companion Fantastic Novels that Finlay achieved a new pinnacle of popularity.  The colorful old classics of A. Merritt, Austin Hall, George Allan England, Victor Rousseau and Francis Stevens, with their rich imagery and strong symbolism, were made to order for Finlay’s talents.  The result was a development almost unprecedented in pulp publishing.  Famous Fantastic Mysteries offered in its August, 1941 issue a portfolio of eight Finlay drawings from the magazine, each on an individual sheet of high-grade glossy paper, suitable for framing.  The portfolio sold for 60c or in combination with a one year subscription to the magazine for $1.00.  A second portfolio of eight was sold for the same price in 1943 and a third of eight for 75c in 1949.  After the demise of Famous Fantastic Mysteries in 1953, Nova Press, Philadelphia, brought out a paperbound portfolio of 15 outstanding Finlays to sell for $2.00.

Except for an unfortunate experience Finlay might have become a regular illustrator for Astounding Science-Fiction, then the field leader.  [I’ve long been puzzled by the absence of Finlay’s work from the pages of Astounding Science Fiction, given the magazine’s preeminence and centrality to science fiction literature.  Was this due to a “falling out” or personality clash between John W. Campbell, Jr., and Finlay, or, something else entirely?  Within the following paragraphs, I finally discovered why: Something else, entirely…]

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. [According to the Internet Speculative Fiction Database – ISFDB – the pen name of Ulysses George Mihalakis, 7/22/13-9/17/73]

Cover by Edd Cartier (Edward D. Cartier)

Illustrating Silaki Ali Hassan’s story, “The Wisdom of an Ass” (p. 67)

Illustrating Silaki Ali Hassan’s story, “The Wisdom of an Ass” (p. 76)

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!”

Herewith and forsooth, here’s an image of my recently (as in early 2024) acquired original (physical-and-not-purely-photon!) copy of the July ’39 issue of Astounding Science Fiction:

(Here’s the “original” low-resolution cover image of this issue as displayed in this post.)

John W. Campbell, Jr.’s, mention of the forthcoming appearance of a cover illustration by Finlay appears in the second paragraph of “In Times to Come”:

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. [Here’s the cover of the issue, as printed, from the Luminist Archives.]

[And…  Here is Finlay’s preliminary cover design.  Found at artnet, via pinterest, the original item is there described as “gouache, watercolor and tempera on board Size:10 x 7 in. (25.4 x 17.8 cm.)”.  The design is also representative and thematically typical of the nautical style characteristic of depictions of spacecraft in science fiction illustrations from the 1930s through the early 1950s.]

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.  [Thus, Finlay’s absence from Astounding is amply accounted for.]

Finlay’s genius for graphically depicting the nightmarish finally proved his undoing.  Whipping all of his considerable talents into line he turned out an imaginative interpretation of the Sargasso Sea for The American Weekly that was so nauseous that a telegram arrived from William Randolph Hearst to “Fire Finlay.”  This time Merritt could not save him, though three weeks later Finlay did again receive the first of a number of small free-lance assignments from Harry Carl of that publication, predominantly for the food page.

To add the “crusher” to his misfortune, Finlay was welcomed into the all-embracing bosom of the U.S. armed forces on June 2, 1943.  After three months training as a combat engineer he was made a corporal. [News about Finlay’s military service, from the Rochester Times-Union.]

Old Newspapers

Rochester Times-Union, May 2, 1944

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Following a stint at Hawaii he was sent to Okinawa in April, 1945, where he stayed until March 17, 1946.  There he was promoted to sergeant and served as chief draftsman to the Surgeon General Brigadier General Maxwell.

The induction of Finlay into the armed forces created a crisis at Famous Fantastic Mysteries.  His illustrations had been beyond question one of the periodical’s mainstays.  Without them many of the “classics” reprinted took on the aspect of creaky period pieces.  Desperately, editor Mary Gnaedinger and Alden H. Norton who had also been using Finlay in Super Science Stories cast about for a replacement.  Their one dim hope was an old man who illustrated regularly for Adventure, Lawrence Sterne Stevens, who was in the business so long, that in his youth he had received considerable training in the fine line and cross-hatch techniques.

“You’ve been asking for more work,” Alden H. Norton told him, “if you can make like Finlay, we’ll turn Famous Fantastic Mysteries over to you lock, stock and barrel, covers as well as interiors.”

Stevens opened up the November, 1942 issue of Super Science Stories, where he had done the opening spread to Henry Kuttner’s We Guard the Black Planet, of a man and a woman with wings, executed in superbly delicate line.

Cover by Stephen Lawrence

“Earth is not for us, lad.  Earth is for the weak, for the worms that crawl on the ground.  For us is flight, and the mad rush of the winds past our hurtling bodies.  That we must have, without it we cannot live – though Death be the price we pay for it!”

Illustrating Henry Kuttner’s story, “We Guard the Black Planet!” (pp. 10-11)

“I believe that’s why you asked me, Al,” Stevens replied.  “I don’t think there’s any question I can do it.”

Stevens first job was the cover and interiors for the novel Three Go Back by J. Leslie Mitchell (Famous Fantastic Mysteries, December, 1943), telling of three moderns thrust back in time to the era of the cave man.  His approximation of the Finlay techniques was remarkable.  While inferior to Finlay in creative imagination, in anatomy and in the fine nuance of the stipple, he brought to his pictures a charm, painstaking and pleasing detail, and the gracious feel of the era in which the story illustrated was set that created for him his own niche.  Eventually, Famous Fantastic Mysteries would issue two Portfolios of Stevens’ work.

“The waterfall was like a silver pillar in a dark Pagan temple.”  (p. 25)

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“A lark!  The piping song of youth forgotten…”  (p. 41)

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“The land behind them had vanished in some fissure of the earth!”  (p. 71)

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“Sinclair’s bowstring tightened as the Neanderthaler approached.”  (p. 85)

While stationed on Hawaii, prior to shipment to Okinawa, Finlay found time to do one fantasy illustration which he mailed to his wife, now living with her parents in Rochester.  His wife sent it on to Mary Gnaedinger who had C.L. Moore write a story around it.

The illustration showed the head of a unicorn alongside a strange woman with a tremendous uplift of leaves in place of hair.  Interpreting it, C.L. Moore wrote the sensitive confession of the dying Luiz o Bobo, a simple lad who could see the “daemon” that follows every man around.  Appropriately titled “Daemon,” by the time the story appeared in the October, 1946 Famous Fantastic Mysteries, Virgil Finlay was long back in Rochester with his wife.  He would thenceforth share the work in Famous Fantastic Mysteries and its later companions with Lawrence.

Cover by Finlay or Lawrence

“For such as Luis o Bobo the powers of the ancient earth will gather when his cry for help is heard … but only for such as he, who have no souls – who can see the dainty hoofs of Pan and can hear the strange and terrible music of his pipes…”  (p. 99)

[Note that Finlay signed the drawing “Cpl. Virgil Finlay, Oahu, Hawaii, 1946”]

There was more than enough work for both.  Finlay found himself occupied seven days a week illustrating for Famous Fantastic Mysteries, Thrilling Wonder Stories, Startling Stories and later for Super Science Stories and Fantastic Novels, as well as other magazines that were to spring up in the wake of a gathering boom.  His illustrating techniques sharpened magnificently after World War II, and readers of the fantasy and science fiction pulps were given a display of inspired symbolism, breathtaking imagery, along with a glorification of the human figure, closeups of evil incarnate and dazzling visions of a scientific future, all executed in a meticulous style that made even the black and white tones appear to possess infinite graduations of light and dark.

Finlay bought a house in Westbury, New York, in a development that was part of the fringe of the famed Levittown complex.  There, his only child, Lail, was born February 9, 1949.  By the dint of endless hours, he managed to prevail against inflation despite the time-killing pace of his method.  In the end his dedication was betrayed by circumstances beyond his control.  The boom in science fiction that gathered steam in 1949, began to lose it in 1953.  Finlay’s biggest markets, first, Famous Fantastic Mysteries and its companions (1953) and then Thrilling Wonder Stories and Startling Stories (1955) were found among the casualties.

The trend to digest-size science fiction magazines also led to the elimination of interior illustrations in some.  Those used were paid for at rates reminiscent of the depression.  Finlay was soon forced to utilize swifter techniques to enable him to turn out a large enough quantity of work to sustain himself and his family, and then increasingly he had to look for income outside the fantasy and science fiction field.  This “extracurricular” work even took the extreme of designing lamp shades, as well as special illustrating projects.

One notable illustrating achievement, destined to become a collector’s item, is The Complete Book of Space Travel by Albro Gaul, issued by The World Publishing Company in 1956, featuring a cover jacket and 19 superb black and white illustrations in a variety of Finlay’s most effective artistic approaches.

As the reader’s departments disappeared from most science fiction periodicals, Finlay found that the intangible benefits as well as the tangible ones were no longer to be found in magazine illustrating.  The 11th World Science Fiction Convention, Philadelphia, 1953, had awarded Virgil Finlay a Hugo as the best interior illustrator of the year.  He made his sole public address before any science fiction group before The Eastern Science Fiction Association, Newark, N.J., March 1, 1964, where he received a plaque naming him “the dean of science fiction art for unexcelled imagery and technique.”  These were pleasant but scarcely enough compensation for years of diminishing satisfaction both economically and personally from fantasy work.

Beginning in 1959, Virgil Finlay made a decision to devote part of his time to gallery painting regardless of whether he succeeded in selling any or not.  He started with a series of abstract, impressionistic and experimentalist paintings, works at the opposite extreme of his traditional precise realism, yet holding in common with it a distinctive intensity that was recognizably his own despite the variance in style.

Gradually the experimental basis of this new tack resolved itself into near realism, enhanced by the new lessons Finlay had learned.  Today, Finlay is still a science fiction illustrator but his paintings may also be purchased at select galleries.  Colleges of fine art are beginning to invest in Finlays, counting on his ability to provide them with an eventual dividend in the constantly growing art market. (2)

It is almost a certainty, that in the near future, while fantasy enthusiasts are wildly bidding for a Finlay original for a pulp magazine illustration at some science fiction convention, art connoisseurs, oblivious to that phase of Finlay’s activities, will be doing the same in a higher financial key for his gallery paintings at important auction centers.

 (1) To Virgil Finlay Upon His Drawing for Robert Bloch’s Tale, “The Faceless God,” published originally in Weird Tales, July, 1937, available in Collected Poems by H.P. Lovecraft, Arkham House, Sauk City, Wisconsin, $4.00.

(2) Gallery Beyond the Blue Door, Inc., 2307 Merrick Road, Merrick, Long Island, New York, maintains a perpetual gallery of his serious work.

[News about the above-mentioned showing of Finlay’s work, from Newsday (Long Island newspaper) of May 15, 1965.]

“GALLERY BEYOND THE BLUE DOOR.   Illustrator Virgil Finlay’s one-man show.  Through May 23.  Oils, water colors, drawings, abstractions.  Open Tuesday through Saturday 11 AM to 5 PM; Sundays 1 to 5 PM.  Closed Mondays.  2307 Merrick Road, Merrick.” 

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To Virgil Finlay
Upon his drawing for Robert Bloch’s Tale, “The Faceless God”

By H.P. LOVECRAFT
Weird Tales
July, 1937

In dim abysses pulse the shapes of night,
Hungry and hideous, with strange miters crowned;
Black pinions beating in fantastic flight
From orb to orb through soulless voids profound.
None dares to name the cosmos whence they course,
Or guess the look on each amorphous face,
Or speak the words that with resistless force
Would draw them from the halls of outer space.

Yet here upon a page our frightened glance
Finds monstrous forms no human eye should see;
Hints of those blasphemies whose countenance
Spreads death and madness through infinity.
What limner he who braves black gulfs alone
And lives to make their alien horrors known?

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Virgil W. Finlay died on January 18, 1971.  Here is his obituary from Newsday (Nassau, New York), published on January 22 of that year.  He is buried in Rochester, New York, the city of his birth, at Riverside Cemetery.]

Digital Newspaper Archives of US & Canada

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[And, we close with a book review of Gerry de la Ree’s “The Book of Virgil Finlay”, one of eight compilations of Finlay’s work published by de la Ree between 1975 and 1981; de la Ree also authored the article about Finlay in the June, 1978 issue of Starlog – mentioned in my introduction.  This review is from the Alexandria Bay New York Thousand Island Sun of February 3, 1977.]

THE BOOK OF VIRGIL FINLAY by Gerry de la Ree.  Flare-Avon.  $4.95.  Finlay is, five years after his death, virtually unknown.  Yet in the field of magazine fantasy and science fiction he was a giant.  I remember, as a boy, being spirited away to other planets by his brilliantly executed pen and ink drawings in Weird Tales and Thrilling Wonder Stories.  He labored for many hours over each of his drawings using a combination of cross-hatching and stipple that few artists of their century had ever mastered.  And, remembering that boy I was some thirty years ago, I have to confess that he had another talent that endeared him to those of us traversing the perils of puberty.  Boy, could he draw naked ladies!  Always in good taste, and of course, with strategically placed bubbles floating in the air.  He was a master, who would have been so considered had he been born fifty years earlier.  This collection is a gem.

[And, his work is still masterful.] 

Reference (…well, one reference…)

“Reader, I Hate You, Super Science Stories cover, May 1943”, at Heritage Auctions

June 10, 2019