Fantastic September 1952, featuring “Professor Bingo’s Snuff”, by Raymond Chandler [Barye W. Phillips and Leo R. Summers]

Good Lord, what is going on here?!

The cover of the Summer, 1952 issue of Fantastic – the combined effort of Bayre Phillips and L.R. Summers for the magazine’s first issue – is obviously intended to set up an air; an atmosphere; a mood … to interest readers in the magazine, for it’s unrelated to any of the essays, novelettes, or short stories within the pulp.  The central element is the green-skinned woman (she’s emphatically not an Orion slave-girl), who’s holding a goblet filled with a red liquid of an undefined nature, which – port wine? – cherry daiquiri? – tomato juice? – something darkly else entirely? – ! – is fortunately left to the reader’s imagination.  Is she about to partake of this drink?  Or, is this an offering to the unwary reader?  And, that look upon her face; the forceful gaze of her eyes…  Threat or submission?  (I think the former.)  Demanding or beckoning?  (The former I think.)  What about that head-dress?  At passing first, from a distance, a mere mass of intertwined feathers.  At focused second, closely, a melange of intertwined writhing bodies.    

The cover’s ultimate message, enhanced by a bright, yellow, featureless background, is not “Danger – stay away!” 

It is, “Danger – come closer.  If you dare!”

Illustration by Virgil W. Finlay for “Six and Ten are Johnny”, by Walter M. Miller, Jr.  This story has never been anthologized.
(page 31)

The back cover features Pierre Roy’s oil on canvas painting of 1927 or 1928, “Danger on the Stairs”, which is in the holdings of the Museum of Modern Art, on 53rd Street in Manhattan. 

This is the pulp’s rear cover…

,,,and, a cropped view of the cover:

A view of the original work, from MoMA, the colors of which are presumably truer to Roy’s original than as reproduced in the magazine.

Other Things to Occupy Your Time…

Barye W. Phillips, at…

Lambiek Comiclopedia

Illustrated Gallery

Alberto’s Pages

Leo R. Summers, at…

Internet Speculative Fiction Database

Pulp Artists

Howard Browne, at…

Wikipedia

Project Gutenberg

Internet Speculative Fiction Database

Science Fiction Studies # 8 (V 3, N 1, March, 1976, “The Lost Canticles of Walter M. Miller, Jr.”, by David N. Samuelson)

Raymond T. Chandler, at…

Wikipedia

Faded Page

GoodReads

Internet Movie Database

Pierre Roy, at…

Wikipedia

MoMA (Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art)

MoMA – “Danger on the Stairs” (at Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art)

Tate Galleries

Brittanica (Topic: Surrealism)

The Complete Book of Space Travel, by Albro Tilton Gaul – 1955 [Illustrations by Virgil W. Finlay]

In art; as much as in literature; as much as in “life”, there are patterns and coincidences.  Some turn out to be illusory, while others are as real as they are telling.

Years ago, shortly after The Eye of Sauron (a.k.a. “Oogle”) enabled search results to display images (a feature since then vastly enhanced in terms of capability and selectivity) I searched for images using the terms “science fiction”, “science fiction art”, “science fiction magazines”, “astronaut”, “space exploration”, and then, by artists’ names – for example “Virgil Finlay” – to see what could be found in the way of relevant art and illustration, regardless of original format or venue.  Though the results greatly varied depending upon search criteria and time interval, a subtle repetitiveness emerged and has persisted among the sets of images returned by Google (and now, DuckDuckGo).

Two recent examples (as in “today-as-I-write-this-post”) are shown below.  They show search results for the text string “Virgil Finlay astronaut”, sans filters.

Here’s the results for DuckDuckGo:

And, the results from The Eye of Sauron (otherwise known as “Oogle”):

The search results are obviously very, very (did I say “very”?!) different in terms of the specific images returned, and, the order and “location” of these images as displayed, which I guess this reflects the algorithms used by these search engines.  Very prominently displayed by Google as three images at upper left, and two elsewhere in the results is an illustration of a pensive astronaut wearing a “knight-in-armor” like helmet and facing to the right, around whom are superimposed bolts of lighting denoting electrical energy.  Also at upper left is an illustration of an astronaut standing on the surface of an alien world, a spacecraft and a moon behind him, with gloves ending in pincers.  DuckDuckGo, on the other hand, returns just two images of that contemplative space explorer, and includes a variation on this theme where a similarly-attired astronaut stares upward, with a rocket rising behind him at lower left.  Also present at DuckDuckGo is that full-suited pincer-gloved moonlit astronaut standing upon an unknown world.  So, while the differences in the search results are inevitable, the similarities are intriguing.

Which leads to the question:  What ties these three images together?  Where are these pictures from?  Ephemera?  A pamphlet?  Privately commissioned work?  A science-fiction pulp?  A book?  In other words, what gives?  

After a bit of investigation (based on the captions of the above-mentioned images, and, by consulting the Internet Speculative Fiction Database), the title of the work featuring these Finlay illustrations readily emerged.  These Finlay illustrations are from Albro T. Gaul’s book The Complete Book of Space Travel, which was published in 1956 by the World Publishing Company of Cleveland.  According to WorldCat, the 1956 imprint is thus far the book’s first, last, and only edition.   

Here’s the front cover, L.W. Currey Books

… while you can “borrow” the scanned book at the Internet Archive.

That this book is a work of speculative science, rather than science fiction, is immediately apparent from the cover and introduction, the latter of which follows:

THE FIRST SPACE PILOT has already been born.  He is probably between ten and sixteen years of age at this moment.  Without doubt both he and his parents listen to radio and television programs dealing with much space adventure but with few accurate facts.  This book is designed to outline the facts of space travel, and the conditions we expect to find in space and among the planets and stars.  These facts alone are sufficiently exciting, since they are factors in man’s greatest single adventure – the exploration of the universe.

This book has not been written for the space pilot alone.  It is written for his engineer, his astrogator, the vast ground crews who will be responsible for the take-off, the scientists who will design the ship, and the many people whose taxes and investments will make it vital to understand the problems and progress of space travel.

Space travel is already here.  Flying saucers are probably indicative of space travel by a race other than ours.  We are slowly solving the problems of man’s own survival in space.  It is only a matter of a few years, and many, many dollars, before our first space pilot will launch himself into the last frontier of exploration, adventure, and commerce.

We read much about space stations, the small man-made satellites which will be-designed to circle the earth at an altitude of several thousand miles.  Actually, these space stations will be very useful, even if space travel never develops any further, and we should know about them too.

Although much has been written about space travel, much of this material deals with the mechanics of ship construction to get us into space.

It is the purpose of this book, on the other hand, to show that space travel is also a biological problem, even perhaps to a greater extent than it is an engineering problem.  Moreover it is the purpose of this book to describe, to the best of present knowledge, what we expect to encounter when we get to space.  This is important, because the success of mail’s greatest adventure will depend upon being well prepared.

Today, space travel is one of the ultimate goals of scientific and military research.  The familiar cry, “Who rules the moon controls the earth!” reflects our readiness to exploit space.  Our military might is ready for space; our economic strength is ready for space; soon our ships will be ready for space.

Let’s find out what space travel is all about.

Unusually, unlike the myriad of books in the field of science fiction, or pure science, aimed at the serious reader, Space Travel includes an acknowledgement and biography of the book’s artist.  In this case (as you know from the title of this post!) Virgil W. Finlay.

ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR

VIRGIL FINLAY has worked for nearly every magazine in the science-fiction and fantasy fields for the last nineteen years.  He has illustrated many books as well as designed book jackets and magazine covers.  His paintings and drawings have hung in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, as well as in the Memorial Art Gallery and in the Art Center, Rochester, New York.

Born in Rochester in 1914, Virgil Finlay completed high school and was self-tutored in art.  He started to exhibit his work when he was only fourteen years old.  From 1934 to 1936 he submitted drawings to Weird Tales, and was on A. Merritt’s staff as feature fiction illustrator for the American Weekly (Sunday section of the New York Journal American).  In 1938 he married Beverly Stiles.  He was in the Army Engineer Corps for three years, and is a veteran of the Okinawa campaign.  After his return from the service, Mr. Finlay free-lanced in New York.  A daughter, Lail, was born in 1949.  At present the Finlay family lives on Long Island.

The straightforward nature of the table of contents leaves no room for ambiguity about the book’s contents.  Given the most simple and undramatic chapter headings for Parts I and II, Part III reveals a surprising change in the orientation of author Albro T. Gaul, who in the last three chapters has left the earthbound realm of science for worlds of fanciful conjecture and speculation, both in the guise of fact. 

Here are the part and chapter titles:

INTRODUCTION – 7

Part I. Briefing for the Stars

1. BUT FEW ARE CHOSEN – 11
2. BASIC TRAINING – 15
3. THE SHIP – 26
4. SPACE PORT-U.S.A.F. – 38
5. LIFE IN SPACE – 44
6. NAVIGATION – 50
7. LIFE! – 57

Part II. Spaceman’s Guide

8. SPACE STATION – 65
9. THE MOON – 71
10. THE PLANETS – 79
11. MERCURY – 83
12. VENUS – 87
13. MARS – 90
14. THE ASTEROIDS – 98
15. JUPITER – 101
16. SATURN – 103
17. URANUS – 105
18. NEPTUNE – 106
19. PLUTO – 107
20. THE SUN – 108
21. THE LIMIT OF THE STARS – 112

Part III. Host to the Alien

22. IF WE ARE VISITED FIRST – 121
23. THE SAUCER MAKERS – 129
24. THE NEXT STEP – 135

A Portfolio of Early Space Ships 1638-1929 compiled by Sam Moskowitz – 141

BIBLIOGRAPHY – 157
INDEX – 58

Now, we see what we have been aiming at:  The book includes the titles of the illustrations within, with page numbers adjacent.  There are twenty in total, with the “dual” page numbers indicating illustrations occupying adjacent pages.  As you can see from the list, nine of the twenty are single-page and 10 are dual-page.  Though “A Portfolio of Early Spaceships” ostensibly occupies a single page – page 141 – in reality, this refers to a section of illustrations commencing on page 139, and continuing through to page 156, each page in this interval featuring two illustrations. 

The titles are listed below, verbatim.  By way of explanation, the titles of eight of the single-page illustrations in this list appear in dark blue, bold font (like thisbecause these will be the main focus of this post…

Analysis of the space-crew candidate – 13
Man working in free fall – 17
Cross section of first stage of rocket ship – 30-31
Three-stage rocket ship – 34-35
Space port—sunrise – 40-41
Space communications chart: radio distance at conjunction – 46-47
Evolution of life – 56
Space station: last section about to be placed in position            68-69
Approach to the moon – 72-73
Space suit – 77
Chart of planets – 80-81
Within the Venusian atmosphere – 86
Martian canal – 92-93
Exploding planet – the source of the asteroids? – 99
Reconnaissance ship against the sun – 109
Star chart – 116-117
The visitors – 125
Types of “saucers” – 130-131
Icarus – 137
A Portfolio of Early Space Ships 1638-1929 – 141

…the reason being, that for very practical reasons, I’ve not scanned and recomposited the dual-page illustrations.  The explanation is simple: The book’s binding is so tight, with the drawings occupying the “real estate” of each page to the very center margin, that any such scans would be incomplete and distorted, making the creation of a single, complete, undistorted image – by splicing in Photoshop – impractical.  The only way to generate complete and optically undistorted scans of the book’s illustrations would be by literally slicing apart the binding – effectively disassembling and destroying the book – separating all pages so that they can be individually scanned, and, then digitally reassembled.

I just won’t have the heart to do this with this book (or any book!), unless I come across an already-disintegrating copy on its very “last legs”.  

In any event, the two-page format and large page size allowed Finlay to give free reign to his extraordinary talent, resulting in illustrations that have a kind of photographic feel, equaling and going “One Step Beyond” (double entendre, there!) his best pulp work, in magazines such as Startling Stories.  

With that, the following three illustrations give you an idea of the quality of Finlay’s work for this book.  

This image, taken from Archive.org, shows the Three-stage rocket shipon pages 34 and 35.

Here’s Finlay’s preliminary sketch, via Comic Art Fans.

Here’s Space-Port – sunrise (pages 40 and 41), from Joseph Valles Books.

Drum roll… 

Below you’ll find images of eight of the book’s single-page illustrations.  These were scanned from an original copy of the book at the ridiculously high resolution of 400 dpi.  Two of these drawings are accompanied by Finlay’s preliminary sketches, via Comic Art Fans (linked; the content therein is enormous, and goes way beyond comic art, per se, to include art from pulps and hardbound books) to give you an idea of how he first envisioned his work.   

Frontisepiece (original; not used), from Comic Art Fans

This illustration showed up within the first three rows of images obtained via DuckDuckGo, as shown at the top of this post.  Oddly, it’s not among the first three rows of images generated by Oogle.  (?!)  It’s great image:  Adventure, confidence, optimism, and wonder, all as one.

Frontispiece (preliminary – as used), from Comic Art Fans

Frontispiece, as published

“Man working in free fall”

(page 17)

A lot less symbolic and a lot more techie:  Here’s the astronaut with pincers attached to the end of his space-suit’s arms.  Looks like he’s rock-hunting.  (He could use an awfully larger hammer.)

“Space suit”

(page 77)

Here’s the man most emblematic of Gaul’s book and most representative of the illustrations therein, the image of whom – in several variations – so readily shows up in search results.  Truly a wonderful wordless speculation, conveying the “atmosphere” of the Venusian atmosphere: We see lightning bolts and drops of rain (a rain of sulfuric acid), as our hardy explorer contemplates the landscape before him, a camera in the background recording the scene.  Perhaps to “draw you in”, a set of concentric circles is superimposed on the drawing, a feature Finlay incorporated into some of his 1950s pulp drawings.  

“Within the Venusian atmosphere”

(page 86)

Though the asteroids were once assumed to have been the result of a planetary collision, or, the explosion of an existing planet (how could that even happen? – you’d need a helluva lot of energy to overcome the gravity of even the smallest planet!), subsequent research has revealed that the asteroids originated from, “…just five or six ancient minor planets.  The other 15 percent may also trace their origins to the same group of primordial bodies.”  Still, it’s a great image.

“Exploding planet – the source of the asteroids?”

(page 99)

“Reconnaissance ship against the sun”

(page 109)

As you’ll read below, Albro Gaul was by education and profession an entomologist, having authored at least seven academic journal papers about insects, and, four books aimed at the general public.  Yet, as you can discern from The Complete Book of Space Travel’s table of contents, text (specifically, the chapters “IF WE ARE VISITED FIRST” and “THE SAUCER MAKERS”), and the illustration below, he was, in spite of his background in the hard sciences, fully on-board with the belief that “Flying Saucers” (he really uses that term), Unidentified Flying Objects, or in 2024’s parlance Unidentified Aerial Phenomena, are extraterrestrial interplanetary craft, and that earth can assume the eventuality of contact with aliens from non-human civilizations.  A facet of this is his book’s depiction of canals on Mars, in an illustration on pages 92-93, which features as a Martian a lithe, large-eyed, very human-looking woman. 

As for myself, in spite (or because?!) of my interest in science-fiction, I quite strongly tend towards the “rare earth” (or very rare earth!) hypothesis.  (See here, here, and here.  And, here.)

And with that, here’s Finlay’s depiction of tentacled space aliens alighting in Central Park.  

“The visitors”

(page 125)

“The visitors” (original – preliminary). from Comic Art Fans

“Icarus”

(page 137)

Neither this illustration, nor anything like it, appears in the book.  Too bad; it would’ve made a fine “closing” image.

Thematic illustration (unused), from Comic Art Fans

Here’s Albro Gaul’s biography, from the book jacket:

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ALBRO GAUL was born in Brooklyn, New York, in 1917.  He attended Long Island University where, in 1940, he received his Bachelor of Science degree.  Mr. Gaul has held positions as entomologist and quarantine officer, and has taught the sciences at the high school and college levels.  His interest in entomology led him to write two previous books, Picture Book of Insects (1943) and The Wonderful World of Insects (1953), and his interest in biology and the sciences – he has also written The Wonderful World of the Seashore (1955) – has led him to investigate the biological problems involved in space travel, and the writing of this book.

Mr. Gaul is married and the father of two boys.  He lives on his Berkshire County farm in Massachusetts where he writes and does research on allergy vaccines.

Here are reviews of two of Albro Gaul’s books: Picture Book of Insects, and, The Wonderful World of Insects, accompanied by images of the original articles.

PICTURE BOOK OF INSECTS

Buffalo Evening News
April 3, 1943

Albro T. Gaul is a working-naturalist.  From a boy hood hobby, his intersect grew into a life work, and he is at present employed by the U.S. Department of Agriculture.  His “Picture Book of Insects” (Lothrop, Lee & Shepard, $1.50), for children 8 to 12, contains brief studies of a score of our commoner insects.  The author’s fine photographs, and life-size silhouettes make it an instructive book.  Even grown-ups may like to know: “Which caterpillar wears false eyes; which pretty beetle should never be harmed; how to make a cricket thermometer,” and many another unusual facts the little volume offers.

World of Astonishments

The Wonderful World of Insects, by Albro T. Gaul.
(New York; Rinehart & company, Inc. 291 pp. $4.)

Christian Science Monitor
February 28, 1953

Review by T. Morris Longstreth

When a book, written to inform, gives us a sense of the unfathomable as well, it wins the right to have “wonderful” in its title.  This book does and thereby transcends material prejudice.  I confess that with me it had to start at scratch.

One the two billion insects which Mr. Gaul estimates inhabit the square mile about me, I could be enthusiastic about the bees, the butterflies, and the lightning bugs.  For the rest I felt a small affection and a minimum of filial gratitude, despite their aid to the Carboniferous Amphibia that paved the way for certain latecomers.  But as I read into this world of astonishments and became naturalized, one might say, that sense of the unfathomable grew with each new fact.

Mr. Gaul’s story becomes memorable without lifting a food from the ground.  There isn’t a starry passage in his sixteen chapters.  The fact is marvel enough.  Patient investigation has studied fossils and fetches revelations out of the dark backward and abysm of time that out-fascinate most fairy tales.  There was a Golden Age of insects when great dragonflies with a two-foot wingspread darted colors through the ferny air.  The ancient and honorable lineage of the cockroaches goes back 200,000,000 years, and Mr. Gaul predicts that when the sun’s last red rays fall on “the everlasting snows of Panama” they will also illuminate a cockroach.

One dare not start quoting from this book because there are six marvels to a page, each equally demanding.  These insects seem new because Mr. Gaul’s purpose has been to show what they do, as well as what they are.  Of the 750,000 species of insects over 95 per cent are either beneficial or neutral to our human activities and part of the book is concerned with bettering our relations.  People with an aversion to insects or so incurious as not to care to know why moths fly into flame, how bees tell time, what insects first employed the schnorkel and jet propulsion, and the way a mosquito’s jaws operate, will find themselves instantly interested by the chapter’s on “Insects in Business,” “Insect Societies,” “Those Intelligent Insects,” and “The Past and the Future”.  Mr. Gaul has included 49 pages of excellent photographs, five pages of bibliography, and a scale of insect wingbeat sounds.

Entomology welcomes amateurs.  Mr. Gaul’s Introduction shows how an amateur can win museum immortality.  He writes with a style that children will enjoy while their elders envy.  It is clear, crisp, economical, with a salting of wit, some of it sly, as in the heading for Chapter Nine.  Consider the dedication, “To my grandmother…whose permission to keep test tubes in the icebox and wasps in the windows has culminated in this volume.”

To add to the wonders: this book is the first volume in the history of man to be printed by a beam of light.  What a tremendous people the French are!  In the last few years they have climbed the highest summit reached by man, have been the first to walk freely on the bottom of the sea, and now have invented the process which releases printing from the centuries-old clutch of metal.  This newspaper ran accounts of the Higgonnet-Moyroud machine on Feb. 2 and 5.  “The Wonderful World of Insects” is so worthy of the distinction of being the first published product of the light waves.

Otherwise…

Albro Tilton Gaul’s books:

Picture Book of Insects, Lothrop, Lee & Shepard, New York, N.Y., 1943

The Wonderful World of Insects, Rinehart, New York, N.Y., 1953

The Pond Book, Coward-McCann, New York, N.Y., 1955

The Wonderful World of the Seashore, Appleton-Century-Crofts, Inc., New York, N.Y., 1955

The War Is Over: Virgil Finlay’s Letter from Okinawa, Famous Fantastic Mysteries – October, 1946

Having presented numerous (and counting!) images of Virgil Finlay’s art, most notably “Virgil Finlay – Dean of Science Fiction Artists”, by Sam Moskowitz, in Worlds of Tomorrow, November, 1965, it’s now time to present the artist’s words.  Here, direct from the pixelated pages of the June, 1946 issue or Famous Fantastic Mysteries, is a letter he sent to the editors of that pulp magazine, from Okinawa, while serving in the Army in 1946.

His letter is accompanied by an illustration he completed for C.L. Moor’s story “Daemon”, which appeared in the magazine’s October issue.  Note that Finlay signed the drawing “Cpl. Virgil Finlay, Oahu, Hawaii, 1946”.  By the time of the story’s publication, he had been discharged from the Army and was “back home” in Rochester, New York.  

OKINAWA SHIMA – JAN. 28 [1946]

Dear Editors:

I’m very happy to hear that F.F.M. is coming out oftener and hope I will be able to contribute to it regularly in the near future.

I am optimistically looking forward to being a civilian again in the latter part of March, and hope to get back to work sometime in April.

I was in engineer reconnaissance here until things quieted down and was then shifted to my present job as draftsman-illustrator for the Surgeon General.

I should be climbing up the side of a ship in the next two weeks or so and will get in touch with you in New York as soon as I can see my way clear to tear myself away from my wife and those wonderful Stateside things; such as food, etc.

I hope to resume many pleasant associations soon and certainly working with Popular will not be the least of them.

Just give me time to tell my wife about the battle of Okinawa, take a good long look at those nice big dirty buildings in New York, and I’ll be seeing you.

Best wishes,
VIRGIL FINLAY.

Fantastic Universe, October, 1959 [Virgil W. Finlay]

Now, where have we seen a forlorn robot before?  Let’s try Edd Emshwiller’s cover for the October, 1955, issue of Astounding Science Fiction … though the robot in that case seems far more in a state of bewildered befuddlement than permanent peril!  As, per Virgil Finlay’s cover for the October, 1959 issue of Fantastic Universe.  This is entirely unlike Mel Hunter’s cover illustrations for The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction during the 1950s and 60s, which were whimsical and ironic in their portrayals of mechanical men.

Fantastic Universe was a regular venue for Virgil Finlay’s interior illustrations during the late 1950s, as per the two examples below.  Though the magazine’s digest format by nature restricted the size and impact of his work, what he still created in that limited literary “landscape” was still impressive. 

As per the two examples below.

Illustration for “Condemned to Death”, by Poul Anderson

(page 34)

Illustration for “The Planet of Heavenly Joy” by John Ruland

(page 94)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Marooned Off Vesta, at…

Wikipedia

Internet Speculative Fiction Database

SciFi Stack Exchange

Archive.org

ArtStation (by Cosmin Panfil)

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

Albert Nuetzell, at…

Internet Speculative Fiction Database

Remind Magazine

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

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

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

______________________________

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

(Page 10)

(Page 13)

(Page 27)

______________________________

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

And a little bit more…

Kendell Foster Crossen, at…

Wikipedia

Internet Speculative Fiction Database

Project Gutenberg

Fantastic Fiction

 

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!

________________________________________

________________________________________

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.     

________________________________________

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.

____________________

____________________

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:

__________

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.

____________________

____________________

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.

____________________

Figure 1.  Pressure curves the barrels of guns. 

____________________

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.

____________________

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. 

____________________

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. 

____________________

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.*

____________________

*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

____________________

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.

____________________

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

____________________

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.

____________________

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. 

____________________

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.

____________________

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

____________________

 “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“)

____________________

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

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

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

____________________

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

____________________

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

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

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

Enjoy… 

________________________________________

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

________________________________________

Unforgotten Artist

The New York Times
July 31, 1977

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

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

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

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

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

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

____________________

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

____________________

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

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

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

____________________

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

“Cybele burst into flame.”

________________________________________

Art: Science Fiction At Bronx Museum

By VIVIEN RAYNOR

The New York Times
August 15, 1980

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

____________________

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

____________________

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

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

____________________

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

________________________________________

VISIONS OF THE FUTURE

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

By Jack Garner

Upstate Magazine
January 1, 1984

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

____________________

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

____________________

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

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

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

____________________

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

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

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

____________________

“She is not entirely real.”

____________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

________________________________________

REMINISCING

Upstate Magazine
February 12, 1984

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

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

LARRY FARSACE
187 North Union St.

________________________________________

SCI-FI’S MYTH UNIVERSE

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

By PAUL RICHARD
Washington Post Staff Writer

The Washington Post
February 6, 2000

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

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

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

It’s a statue of a beetle.

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

I thought, cool.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

____________________

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

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

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

____________________

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

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

____________________

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

____________________

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

____________________

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

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

____________________

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

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


____________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don’t bet against it.

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

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

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

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

________________________________________

Art Imitates Otherworldly Life

Michael O’Sullivan
Washington Post Staff Writer

February 11, 2000

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

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

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

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

No doubt.

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

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

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

____________________

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

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

___________________

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

Yes, but descriptive of what?

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

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

____________________

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

____________________

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

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

____________________

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

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

____________________

____________________

____________________

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

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

Here’s collector Jane Frank:

“Really?  I don’t see it”

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

References

Mission of Gravity, at Wikipedia

Planet Mesklin, at Wikipedia

Mesklinites, at Aliens.Fandom

The Odyssey (Book VI), at OwlEyes

Kendell Foster Crossen, at Wikipedia

William P. McGivern, at Wikipedia

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

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

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

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

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

____________________

 

Pages 12-13

____________________

Page 17

____________________

 

Page 23

____________________

References(s)

Kendell Foster Crossen, at Wikipedia

Kendell Foster Crossen, at Official Green Lama

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

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

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

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

George O. Smith, at The Encyclopedia of Science Fiction

George O. Smith, at Wikipedia

“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.]] 

____________________

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!

______________________________

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

______________________________

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

______________________________

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

______________________________

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)

______________________________

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

______________________________

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

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

______________________________

“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)

______________________________

“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

______________________________

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)

______________________________

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

______________________________

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

______________________________

“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.” 

______________________________

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?

______________________________

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

______________________________

[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