Vintage Pulp | Mar 16 2024 |
She could be Ursula Andress.
Above: one of many covers for H. Rider Haggard's all-time classic She, aka She: A History of Adventure, about the cruel, beautiful, and powerful ruler of a lost world. We chose this one because the art is based on the 1965 movie adaptation starring Ursula Andress, as you can discern at a glance. And if not, we added an Andress shot below from the film for comparison's sake. You wouldn't quite call this paperback edition from London based Hodder & Stoughton a tie-in—the movie came out in 1965 in Britain, whereas the paperback is from 1968. But Andress never goes out of style. You could probably put her on a book cover now and it would sell like potato chips. We're going to screen her version of She in a bit, and report back. We already checked out one of the other dozen versions, 1935's effort starring Helen Gahagan, which you can read about here if you're curious.
Vintage Pulp | Jan 13 2024 |
Powell shoots for a comedic mystery but doesn't have Hammett's perfect aim.
What is a "hilarious all-action thriller" like? That's the question that went through our minds when we impulsively ordered Richard Powell's 1946 novel All Over but the Shooting, though we were also drawn by the cover. The book was originally published by Popular Library, but the striking version you see above with art that's unfortunately uncredited came from the British imprint Hodder & Stoughton in 1952.
Powell weaves a tale set in 1942 about Richard Blake and his danger-magnet wife Arabella—Arab for short—who believes she's stumbled across a spy plot centered around a Washington, D.C. women's boarding house. Determined to delve for answers—and to her husband's chagrin—she pretends to be a single woman, takes a room, and starts poking around. Her suspicions are of course correct. The place is a den of Nazis.
Powell thinks outside the box about every aspect of his story: how the conspiracy is uncovered, how the investigation proceeds, what clues are found, and what leaps of intuition keep the intrepid Arabella moving toward a solution. But the entire story is preposterous. Example: when Arab seems likely to be connected to a raincoat she lost while fleeing for her life, her hubby manages to sneak into the room where it's being kept—while its occupant is just upstairs—and have it altered in five minutes by a conveniently situated maid. That way the coat won't fit Arab when the villain tries to say it's hers.
That and about two dozen other moments are silly. Powell achieved, we think, exactly what he set out to do as an author, but we didn't find the book to be exactly scintillating. It was no Thin Man, for example, Dashiell Hammett's smashingly successful amalgam of humor and danger. But in the same way Arab erodes her husband's disbelief and finally gets him to buy into her wacky ideas, she wore us down too. She's a fun character, and makes the book worth a read. We won't seek out Powell again, but one spin around wartime D.C.? Sure, okay.