GERMANY BY RAIL

The trains don't always run on time but the people do.

This 1956 Panther-Buch edition from Walter Lehning Verlag of Harry Whittington’s Jäger oder Gejagter? is a reissue of a book first published in the U.S. as One Got Away. That appeared in 1946, with different art, as one side of an Ace Double, and Cleve F. Adams’ Shady Lady on the flipside. The cover art here, which is by Harry Barton, also first appeared on an Ace Double. It was originally used for Leslie Edgley’s 1953 thriller Fear No More, with Mel Colton’s Never Kill a Cop on the other side. We already shared the Barton side of that double in this collection, but when we saw this West German book it seemed like an opportunity to note once again that the artists may not have been paid for these overseas editions, whether straight re-utilizations of the pieces, or replicas by other artists. Bob from Menspulpmags explained a bit about that phenomenon some years ago. We also have Barton’s original art without text below.

Poses like these aren't easy but they sure impress the boys.

Harry Barton, as we demonstrated with this collection of his original pieces last year, was one of the best illustrators in the paperback game. We don’t run across him that much, but this nice piece with a femme fatale proving that layabout is fair play demands to be seen. He painted it for Brian Black’s 1964 novel Nina, from Beacon Signal. Beautiful work.

Extreme volatility in the creepy old manor sector forces many from their homes.

It’s the worst case scenario. You’re forced out of your home in the middle of the night with only the clothes on your back. As recent home buyers, that thought is a nightmare for us. In our case, it would be bankers sending us out the door. But in romance novels it’s husbands, crooks, ghosts, or just bad vibes. These are all paintings by Harry Barton made for the covers of gothic romances, which we came across while trying to find out who painted the front for The Minerva Stone, a book we talked about last month. That brilliant piece is the one just above (and we’ve added a zoom so you can see the details of the work). It surprised us that Barton specialized in gothic romances, but it shouldn’t have—he could do anything. Look at more examples of his ability herehere, and here.

I knew I should have bought that condo in South Beach!

We love this cover for Anne Maybury’s 1968 novel The Minerva Stone. Maybury is also known as Edith Arundel (her birth name) and Katherine Troy, whereas the cover artist is also known as nobody, because this brilliant piece is unattributed. Sad. Moving on to the fiction, we’ve mentioned how vintage mysteries and sleaze novels can be romance-adjacent, but having never actually read an official romance, we were making an assumption. In the end our hypothesis about the similarity was confirmed. In both cases love and desire are handled explosively, if clumsily, with similar unbridled emotional progressions and interior musings that can make you cringe. The main difference is that vintage romances—this romance at least—don’t enter the bedroom, while male-oriented vintage fiction always gets through the door, and in many cases between the sheets.

The Minerva Stone is a gothic romance, a popular subset of the whole. On a mossy old castle estate called Guinever Court, in a village called Azurstone, fictively located in Dorset, England, a woman named Sarah Rhodes languishes in a loveless marriage with television star Niall Rhodes, but pines for her adventurous former lover Luke Ashton who’s just come back from the Far East. Shortly after she begins to think naughty thoughts about Luke, someone almost runs Sarah down with a car, then someone takes a potshot at her hubby. Niall thinks someone wants to ruin his show business career with bad publicity, but Sarah suspects there’s a deeper secret. She’s right, of course. And it may all have to do with her husband’s past, of which she knows little to nothing.

Sounds fun, right? But the book left us a bit cold. Sarah’s marriage to the distant and career-minded Niall never made sense, nor did her gravitation toward her former lover Luke. He’s alright, but he ain’t all that. In observing Maybury try to sort out this dilemma, we saw a little more clearly why hard-boiled fiction usually ditches deep emotion and relies upon women whose sexual availability is a given. Writing insightfully about love in non-eyerolling ways isn’t easy for most authors. So who can fault those who keep it simple? The women always want the hero, and he’s always drawn by beauty. Easy as can be. We’re glad we read The Minerva Stone, though it’ll probably be our last official romance. It may not have been great, but it was atmospheric—plus, just take another look at that cover.

Update: the cover is by Harry Barton.

That's a tempting invitation, but the hospital has a very strict code of ethics. So we'll have to do it at your place.


Above: a Harry Barton cover for Stuart Friedman’s 1960 sleazer The Way We Love, an “unconventional novels of manners and morals in a modern hospital.” Uh huh. We bet we know what’s unconventional about it. Something of note here: the cover for Friedman’s 1962 effort The Surgeons is a near-duplicate of this, but painted by Harry Schaare. We wonder if that’s chance, or if Monarch’s art director influenced the final product. Curious. We have a lot more medical covers in the website. See a small portion of them here, here, here, here, here, and here

Why so bashful, beefcake? Turn around, drop those buckskins, and let me see what I'm working with.

The frontier adventure The Stranger by Lillian Bos Ross has a fun and games sort of cover, but it somewhat belies the content of the book, which is about a lonely Kansas woman who advertises herself as a willing wife, agrees to an arranged marriage, travels to California’s Bug Sur coast to wed, and finds that her new husband is an awful brute. It’s an adventure but also a romance, and being written in 1942 and set even earlier, her main goal is to—you see this coming, right?—win over the husband who beats on her (and cheats on her, for that matter). Does she succeed? Do bears shit in the woods? This Bantam paperback edition was published in 1949, and the cover art is credited to Bernard Barton, who was actually Harry Barton, but using his middle name instead.

North of the border, south of the border.

We’re back into quasi-quarantine where we live, so what better way to use up double the idle time than with an Ace double novel? In The Cut of the Whip a loner named Dan Port fetches up in a dusty Texas oil town and finds bad luck and trouble when his sports car is rammed and totaled. The person who did it was fleeing town with a sheaf of valuable business documents. The owner of those dox—the fugitive’s father—pays Port to retrieve them, and soon he finds himself the only person who can foil a kidnapping plot. The previous books we’ve read by Rabe verged on bizarre in terms of concept, but this outing is more conventional—we suppose because Port was a franchise character. Rabe would eventually wheel him out for six adventures. We missed the Rabe of efforts like The Box and Kill the Boss Good-by, but he’s adequate here, if less imaginative. Port blows into town, whips the asses that need whipping, and drifts away to who-know’s-where. Just like a franchise character should.

Robert H. Kelston’s Kill One, Kill Two, like its partner book, starts with a deadly auto incident. Maybe that’s why the novels were paired. But similarities vanish from that point forward. This book is set in Monterrey, Mexico, and opens with a bang when the protagonist runs over a man on a dark highway. Kelston uses this event to frame a set of circular relationships: there’s the protagonist Allen McCoy, who is bedding Juanita, a local nude dancer widely considered to be the most beautiful woman in Monterrey, who is watched over by her hot-headed brother, and is lusted after by a knife fighter known as the Shadow, who’s acquaintances with an alcoholic blonde temptress of easy virtue, who is having an affair with the dancer’s husband, but all along is trying to bed studly Mr. McCoy.


We’ve given nothing away with that summary. Kelston shoehorns all that into the first thirty or so pages, and you might have to re-read them to keep the connections straight. 
Who was it that got run over, you’re wondering? That would be Juanita’s husband Raúl, the guy who’s making naughty spoons with the blonde. Thus McCoy is perceived to have gotten a romantic rival out of the way, and is believed by localgossips to now be bedding both the dancer and the blonde. In local macho culture that makes him a pure stud, but for his corporate employers it makes him radioactive. The gossips have it all wrong, though. The death was an accident, a result of drunken driving and darkness. McCoy soon comes to believe that poor Raúl was thrown in front of his car, and must solve the mystery or see his career destroyed by the rumors.

That’s all fine, but the entire story turns out to be a fish too big for Kelston to land. He has it on the hook, then sees it wriggle off through pointless dialogue, confused motivations, and general lack of clear direction. We accepted the main character’s motivation, but not necessarily his flimsy engineering background, nor his extraordinary bravery and physical competence in the face of danger. After all, he’s just a builder. But that’s genre fiction for you—on the page anyone can be a stud, even a pasty-ass, red-headed numbers cruncher like Allen McCoy. A cruel editor would have improved this tale, but in the end we enjoyed it anyway, because owing to our background we’re predisposed to like adventures set in Latin America. The fact that it came packaged as an Ace double helped. We have a few other Ace doubles in the website, and you can see the whole lot by clicking its keywords below.

All the worst things together in one place.


It’s been a while since we got our hands on an Ace double novel. Ace Double 59 features Robert Bloch’s Spiderweb and David Alexander’s The Corpse in My Bed. The first has cover art by Harry Barton, and the second, despite looking painted by the same artist, is actually uncredited. Two decent books here. Spiderweb deals with a novice grifter who embarks on a long con under the tutelage of a devilish criminal mastermind. Pretty soon he’s committing terrible deeds against his will, including setting up his own girlfriend’s politician father for a scam. We were more than a little surprised when the book used the identical gag that we raved about in Lou Cameron’s 1960 novel Angel’s Flight, in which a hat blown by the wind becomes a crucial life lesson. Check here to understand what we mean. At first we thought Bloch had stolen the idea from Cameron, an assumption we made because Angel’s Flight is a far superior book, but nope—Spiderweb predates Angel’s Flight by two years. It goes to show that the old adage is true: good writers borrow, great writers steal.
The Corpse in My Bed, originally titled Most Men Don’t Kill, tells the story of a former soldier who in his civilian career as a detective finds himself in the classic shamus pickle—standing over a corpse amidst possibly incriminating evidence. A war related head wound plus some booze leaves him unsure whether he merely found the body or caused it, so he goes into hiding while his partner Chet and an acquaintance nicknamed Tommy Twotoes try to get to the bottom of the puzzle. It isn’t easy to come up with a character that really stands out in the pantheon of mid-century crime fiction. Twotoes—a 300-pound millionaire with a weird affinity for penguins—is one you’ll remember for a while. We checked to see if Alexander used him in other novels, but as far as we can tell he didn’t, though he seemingly showed up in a few short stories. Both Bloch and Alexander do good work here, a bit rough around the edges at times, but well worth a read. Just don’t pay $350, like one vendor is charging. We got them for twenty bucks. Schwing! 
Yes, I'd like to report a murder. A man murdered every last bit of my patience.


Above: a nice cover for Day Keene’s 1954 thriller Death House Doll, with excellent art credited to Bernard Barton, who’s aka Harry Barton (Bernard was his middle name).

In the story, a Korean War vet has promised his fatally wounded brother he’d look after his wife and baby daughter, but when he gets back to the world (Chicago) he’s stunned to find that she’s sitting on death row for murder, and unwilling to spill the truth even if it saves her.

The attraction with this one is watching a decorated war hero run riot on hoods and thieves, while up against the always effective ticking clock gimmick—an execution date, which in this case is five days hence. The book was an Ace Double with Thomas B. Dewey’s Mourning After on the flipside, and the art on that one, just above, is by Victor Olson. We put together a nice collection of Harry Barton’s work back in May that we recommend you visit at this link

This is the clean side. I just finished using the other side with my Saturday through Tuesday boyfriend.

We checked online and the indications that you need a new mattress include: it’s more than eight years old, you wake with aches and pains, and there’s a noticeable sag. And the indications you need a new life include: your bed is in a filthy slum tenement. Such is the case with Perversity and Depravity, 1956 and 1957, in which virtually every character needs a do-over of their existence. Both books, by New Caledonian author Francis Carco, née François Carcopino-Tusoli, are set in the 1920s Parisian underworld of prostitution, crime, and poverty. Carco deals with these subjects compassionately, and his work is heavy with colloquialism and has a strong sense of place. He acquired his insight the old fashioned way—by consorting with the types of people he wrote about. Though his work is obscure in the English speaking world, he was fairly well regarded in his day and is still remembered in France. These are dark books, maybe even brutal, certainly ahead of their time. Harry Barton painted the cover of Perversity and an uncredited artist handled the chores on Depravity.  

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HISTORY REWIND

The headlines that mattered yesteryear.

1962—Canada Has Last Execution

The last executions in Canada occur when Arthur Lucas and Ronald Turpin, both of whom are Americans who had been extradited north after committing separate murders in Canada, are hanged at Don Jail in Toronto. When Turpin is told that he and Lucas will probably be the last people hanged in Canada, he replies, “Some consolation.”

1964—Guevara Speaks at U.N.

Ernesto “Che” Guevara, representing the nation of Cuba, speaks at the 19th General Assembly of the United Nations in New York City. His speech calls for wholesale changes in policies between rich nations and poor ones, as well as five demands of the United States, none of which are met.

2008—Legendary Pin-Up Bettie Page Dies

After suffering a heart attack several days before, erotic model Bettie Page, who in the 1950s became known as the Queen of Pin-ups, dies when she is removed from life support machinery. Thanks to the unique style she displayed in thousands of photos and film loops, Page is considered one of the most influential beauties who ever lived.

1935—Downtown Athletic Club Awards First Trophy

The Downtown Athletic Club in New York City awards its first trophy for athletic achievement to University of Chicago halfback Jay Berwanger. The prize is later renamed the Heisman Trophy, and becomes the most prestigious award in college athletics.

1968—Japan's Biggest Heist Occurs

300 million yen is stolen from four employees of the Nihon Shintaku Ginko bank in Tokyo when a man dressed as a police officer blocks traffic due to a bomb threat, makes them exit their bank car while he checks it for a bomb, then drives away in it. Under Japanese statute of limitations laws, the thief could come forward today with no repercussions, but nobody has ever taken credit for the crime.

1965—UFO Reported by Thousands of Witnesses

A large, brilliant fireball is seen by thousands in at least six U.S. states and Ontario, Canada as it streaks across the sky, reportedly dropping hot metal debris, starting grass fires, and causing sonic booms. It is generally assumed and reported by the press to be a meteor, however some witnesses claim to have approached the fallen object and seen an alien craft.

1980—John Lennon Killed

Ex-Beatle John Lennon is shot four times in the back and killed by Mark David Chapman in front of The Dakota apartment building in New York City. Chapman had been stalking Lennon since October, and earlier that evening Lennon had autographed a copy of his album Double Fantasy for him.

Italian artist Benedetto Caroselli illustrated this set of predominantly yellow covers for Editrice Romana Periodici's crime series I Narratori Americani del Brivido.
The cover of Paul Connolly's So Fair, So Evil features amusing art of a man who's baffled and will probably always be that way.
Cover art by the great Sandro Symeoni for Peter Cheyney's mystery He Walked in her Sleep, from Ace Books in 1949.
The mysterious artist who signed his or her work as F. Harf produced this beautiful cover in 1956 for the French publisher S.E.P.I.A.

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