
The illustration is probably not a woodcut, but rather art done on scraper board, which was a specialty of Kermode's, so much so that he wrote a book about it, Drawing on Scraper Board for Beginners (1936).

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A close-up of the vignette for Devil's Tor |
"Denizens of the archives have driven themselves into sweet oblivion by pursuing false leads down cold trails to dead ends, by amassing bulging but frequently useless dossiers, and by probing dull monographs . . . yet sometimes there comes a great notion." "A Shiver in the Archives" by Gale E. Christianson
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A close-up of the vignette for Devil's Tor |
"Is every one in Washington either a writer, artist or musician?" This is the question that the Penwomen are asking. Since they announced their plans for the authors' carnival ball and book fair, to be given on April 14 at the home of Mrs. Francis Berger Moran, 2315 Massachusetts avenue, so many responses have been made from the talent of Washington that the affair could well be entitled "Washingtoniana."The league being a national organization, with auxiliaries in many states and representatives in every state in the country, with headquarters in Washington, is drawing much outside talent to the city for that occasion. So instead of it being wholly a local affair it will really be a contest between who is to receive the greatest honors, those coming to Washington to appear or our own home aspirants.From the time the guests enter the door of Mrs. Moran's beautiful residence they will be in an atmosphere literary. The large reception room, with its many priceless pieces of art brought from abroad, will be turned Into a Japanese garden, to be entitled "The Spell of Japan," from the book by that name of our own Isabel Anderson—Mrs. Lars Anderson, wife of the former ambassador to Japan. It was while residing in Japan that Mrs. Anderson, who is a member of the League of American Penwomen and one of its strongest supporters in its effort to establish a literary center in Washington, wrote this exquisite story of the flowery kingdom. The ladies' dressing room is to be turned into a bower of beauty by a leading specialist in that line, and is to have the appropriate title of "Vanity Fair." The men's smoking room on this floor is to be Persian in atmosphere and decoration, an Omar Khayyam room, with "a loaf of bread, a Jug of wine and thou," the jug of wine, alas, being merely a cup of coffee, owing to a vast change having taken place since Omar sang In the wilderness, but "thou" will be there, pretty young ladies in Persian costume, who will serve the coffee, which will, by the way, be very delicious, being made in the true oriental style.On this floor also will be the luncheon room, the Carcasonne, under the management of Miss Virginia Berry. The name Carcassonne is taken from one of the stories in "A Dreamer's Tales," by Lord Dunsany, and is a story of the beautiful, mythical city of happiness, which all seek and so few find. Lord Dunsany came to Washington last fall, and, although here only one day, he took the time to visit the Carcassonne in Georgetown. He congratulated Miss Berry upon her materialization in so beautiful a manner his mental conception, and left his signature on the wall, just over the fireplace, as a memento of his visit. At the book fair the basement kitchen will be turned into an old French room of tile medieval period, with an old bar, with pretty barmaids and French waitresses in costume of that early French period, thus carrying out the atmosphere of the fanciful and imaginative story of the Carcasonne. John W. Luce & Co. of Boston, publishers of "A Dreamer's Tales," are having a special edition made of the single story of the Carcassonne to be sold at the book fair.Then up the winding stairway the guests reach the ballroom floor. Here author, musician and artist will vie with each other in giving entertainment. In the music room a continuous program of music will be given from the time the affair opens at 11o'clock until it closes at 6, interspersed with author's readings and tableaux. The large dining room will be turned over to the sale of autographed books, illustrations, original manuscripts, songs and photographs. The list of books is headed by one of Mr. Wilson's books, and among the autographed photographs to he sold is one each of Mr. and Mrs. Wilson; also one of Mr. Marshall, Mr. and Mrs. Taft, and an interesting one of Premier Lloyd George of England.Special exhibits in this room are to be under Mrs. Keyes, wife of Senator Henry W. Keyes of New Hampshire who will have an exhibit and sale of the works of official Washington: Miss Bertha Frances Wolfe, who will present the works of the Daughters of the Revolution; Mrs. Theodore Tiller who is collecting the works of the members of the Press Club. Mrs. Florence Jackson Stoddard, who will exhibit hooks of the romance languages; Mrs. George Combs, who will present her own collection of Madonnas, which is considered by authorities to be one of the largest in the United States. There will be many others, among them one given by Mrs. Rachael Tongate Beck, widow of Gen. William H. Beck. Mrs. Beck is a past president of the league and its oldest writer, who is still producing. Mrs. Beck has written for fifty years, and is now engaged in writing her memoirs of this eventful period in world's history. Art. literature and music among the American Indians will also be represented. Mrs. Gertrude Bonnin (Zitkala-Sa), a Sioux Indian from Yankton, S.D., will present her own book. Old Indian Legends." Mrs. Bonnin has made a place for herself in America with this book and her others, "The Memories of Indian Childhood" and "School Days of an Indian Girl." Mrs. Bonnin will autograph all copies of her books sold.Through all the spirit of festival and carnival will reign. Every room of the forty rooms of this great mansion will be overflowing with unique entertainment. One room will be turned into a gypsy camp, from Carmen, under the direction of Mrs. S. B. Milton, who will take the part of Carman. She will appeal in the same costume of Carmen in which she appeared when she sang the title role in that opera. She will have assisting her many of this season's young debutantes, who will dress as gypsies and read the fortunes by palms and cards For the more serious minded, the biblical room, under Mrs. Nanette H. Paul, who will show the famous Madame Mountford collection of costumes and articles from the Holy Land. Then for the lover of the futurist art and brilliant coloring of the modern-day poster painter there will be the poster room. Here will be shown the wonderful collection of posters made by the camouflage section of the 40th Engineers. The men composing this section were the leading young illustrators and artists of the country. There is also to be a mystery room entitled "The Anna Katherine Green Mystery Room.' Mrs. Patterson, wife of Col. Charles H. Patterson, is in charge of this room. All plans are being kept secret.At 6 o'clock the book fair ends. At 9 the ball starts. From the land of literature, art and music, as represented at the fair, beloved characters of the readers’ world will step forth, as the hall is to be a costume affair, all costumes to be chosen from the land of make-believe. A prize will he awarded for the best impersonation after all have passed before three judges in the grand march.While the dancing is in progress on the ballroom floor there will be card-playing on the upper floor. Refreshments will be served and if summer breezes blow the roof garden will be open to the guests.
Gentlemen:In reply to your letter of the twelfth, it has now for three years stayed a puzzle to me that The Worm Ouroboros is not better known. The book, to be sure, is not for everyone. So many persons, indeed, to whose attention I have introduced it, have gotten from the volume only boredom that I have at last, through a series of depressing failures to communicate my enthusiasm, been reduced to concluding that a reader finds perforce in this book exceeding joy or else nothing at all,—in either case, quite unpredictably.To me, in any event, The Worm Ouroboros remains a rather majestic example of romance,—of really pure romance, untitivated, in our modern way, with satire or allegory, or even with humor,—of the romance, in fine, which purchases, through its own unadulterate magic, and for no utilitarian ends whatsoever, the momentary “suspension of disbelief” in many very beautiful impossibilities.Yours faithfully,James Branch Cabell
Dear SirI have just received copies of the American edition of my Worm Ouroboros, and read for the first time your generous comments on my book. I must write this line to thank you. Also to thank you for the pleasure I have had from Jurgen; and most of all, from Queen Anaïtis, with whom I have hopes that someday, in Elysium, I too may voyage to that island in Cocaigne. In that passage (end of Ch. XX and CH. XXI) you have, in my humble judgment, touched perfection. It has that quality of really great writing, to be better always at the last time of reading than at the time before; and its delightful humour is without all topical or extraneous adulteration which, growing out of fashion, could rob it of its freshness with the lapse of time.I am proud to have your name on my books, and to know that you like it.Yours faithfully,E.R. Eddison
"The first distinguished author to call on us at the Globe was no less a man than C. S. Lewis (Out of the Silent Planet, The Screwtape Letters, etc.). One of the great scholars of his time, Professor Lewis was forthright in upholding his own views on all questions of history, literature and theology. If they happened to coincide with fashionable opinion, well and good, but if they did not – well, it was rough luck on fashionable opinion! When he came to the Globe, Lewis did not really know who we were, nor did he need to – enough that here was The Master enjoying an evening off among admiring pupils. What a feast of conversation we had that evening! Lewis hated and loved SF in almost equal measure, and I shall never forget how his eyes lit up when I chanced to mention Lindsay’s Voyage to Arcturus. ‘An evil book,’ he called it, with relish, for he was as strongly devoted to it as I am. So far from sharing A. M. Low’s belief in the blessings of science, Lewis believed that science was the especial gift of Satan – a view which has since been propagated by many much less exalted thinkers and agitators"
However much one may resent such a book as 'A Voyage to Arcturus', one must pay tribute to the cleverness which enables Mr. David Lindsay to capture the elusive quality of the worst kind of nightmare. He does not content himself with giving us a vivid description of life as it conceivably might be on another planet; we are transported to remote regions of space in order that the riddle of human existence may be studied in the true perspective; and the solution thence afforded is very much what one might expect a temporarily unbalanced mind to arrive at if an anaesthetic were potent for just one critical instant longer—which, mercifully, it never is. Mr. Lindsay's imagination is prolific rather than powerful, and he has not controlled it towards any coherent result. For instance, the hero of the adventure, Maskull, encounters on his journey in Arcturus, a number of entities— human, superhuman, and diabolic—whose relation to him and to each other never becomes clear; nor can we find any connecting link between the startling and often gruesome episodes which mark his progress. There may be an intention of allegory in what appears to be simply the riot of morbid fancy; but we doubt whether many readers will be inclined to pursue the possible hidden meaning over a quagmire and through a noisome fog. For the book is, at any rate, consistent in respect of its uniform unwholesomeness; the keynote being struck in the opening chapter, which recalls Baudelaire or Poe in his most grisly vein. It is, no doubt, a legitimate aim of the writer of fiction to make the flesh creep; scarcely, we think, to make the gorge rise.
The book describes the growth of a sensitive, rebellious child in an uncongenial and vulgar family. Juliet's reaction to her parents, her sisters and her brother is given with great truth. The Cinderella or ugly duckling theme, handled with sincerity, yields up treasures—in this case the awkward child's instinctive awareness of a scheme of values outside outside her prison, her loyalty to the instinct through all failure and despiteful usage, and at last her acceptance of her course kindred as weak human beings with a claim upon her. . . . The symbolism conveying the sense of the other world ('time immemorial' is Juliet's phrase for it) is elaborated in the person of an old woman next door who is never seen and whose house and land Juliet's father (he is a speculative builder) tries and fails to buy. The effect [is] of a bustling, garish scene dominated, no one can say how or why, and in the end quite confounded, by an invisible presence of whom all that is known is that she is feeble, old and of no account. Miss Tiverton only appears at the end, and then in her coffin. The New Statesman, 7 February 1925
Phantasy and philosophy are earnestly blent in this book. Perhaps the author's anonymity casts a glamour upon it. One suspects that a woman has written it; otherwise there are no clews. Whoever she may be, she understands the art of writing and has a mind so sensitive that she has conceived without flaw a subtle and delicate story. The New York Herald Tribune, April 1926And of her final novel:
Character story of a meek, down-trodden English woman, whose whole life is one of renunciation. The Book Review Digest, 1947
Miss Champneys (whose previous fiction, published anonymously, includes 'Miss Tiverton Goes Out') has written a novel which, presumably, will provide comfort and reassurance for those whose lives have followed such dreary paths of abnegation as Mildred's. Acceptance of one's lot in life is hard come by and is usually prefaced by some storm or questioning. The distraught Mildred is conditioned by heritage and environment to quick surrender of her individuality. Her story, while affecting, is not particularly exciting. And the interest of the general reader may well be dampened by the flow of her easy tears. The New York Times, 16 March 1947Do any of these details about Champneys's life and her works help to explain her hostility to A Voyage to Arcturus? I don't know. Perhaps Lindsay's solution to the riddle of life on Tormance (the planet which circles around the double-star Arcturus) can only be seen as diabolic by someone like Champneys raised in a conventional family of clergyman? Thus she found his philosophical explication to be "a nightmare" from a "temporarily unbalanced mind" with no "coherent result" beyond a "riot of morbid fancy" in a "quagmire and through a noisome fog" which is of "uniform unwholesomeness" and likely "to make the gorge rise." Again, I don't know, but will be glad to entertain other possibilities.
Mr. E.H. Visiak’s “Story of Mystery, and Ecstacy, and Strange Horror” called Medusa (Gollancz, 7s 6d net) is indeed a curious production; but the publisher’s flamboyant praises on the dust-cover are quite beyond any critical echoing. To begin with, the book is only a pastiche, though quite a good one, of a typical sea-traveller’s diary in the days of sailing ships. Secondly, a great deal of it recounts occurrences which have no particular interest. The narrator, Will Harvell, writing in his old age, purports to describe the extraordinary voyage upon which, as a boy, he accompanied a certain Mr. Huxtable. The general details of the ship and her oddly assorted company and of visits to Santa Cruz and Pernambuco take up too much space with desultory detail, which could only have interest if the record were real. Thirdly, the element of mystery and horror, regarded in the cold light of the twentieth century, is spoiled by the element of incredibility which is unwisely mixed with it.
To create an atmosphere of suspense and uneasiness from the beginning is legitimate; and Mr. Visiak would have succeeded very well had he confined himself to suggestion, for he has a pretty fancy in the Gothic. But it is difficult to refrain from smiling when the queer conduct of the seaman Obadiah and the horrible face which the boy Harvell had seen before embarking is explained by the appearance on board of a semi-human sea-monster, whom Obadiah was stowing away as a pet. Thereafter we are taken into the realm of the purely fabulous. The pirate ship is found deserted, except for Mr. Vertembrex, the naturalist, who is seated in the cabin happy and dumb. The mystery of her desertion is soon solved; for a strange light shines, sea-monsters with high-peaked heads and glistening globular eyes board the ship and carry off the crew in their finny arms to a rocky pillar, into a hole in which they drop them, like letters. They fall on to a ledge round a circular abyss, at the bottom of which is a gigantic octopus. Strange ecstasies and dreams of Helen keep all but the boy spellbound when they might escape by the rope let down by the now vocal Mr. Vertembrex. We need not continue. The allegory seemed to be partly one of sexual temptation and self-control, but its beauty escaped us. One page of “Moby Dick” placed beside it will display its artificiality, and Victor Hugo, after all, squeezed all the horrors out of a giant octopus, leaving no further possibilities to posterity.
“Now about ‘Medusa’! I have read the book through once, and am going over it again before venturing a judgment. Only, this I can say at once—it is one of the most beautiful and surprising works it has ever been my pleasure to read—and it will live ! ! Two features of it I must single out for admiration—the high excellence of the dialogue between the Captain and Mr. Huxtable. The antique fineness of outward courtesy is faultless, and I think very seldom to be found in modern books treating the period. I fancy your poetic tact must be almost your strongest quality! It is of the nature of instinct, is it not? Extraordinarily weird and lovely description of the sea and sky in Chap. 18, which transcends poetry and seems to enter the realm of metaphysics, as all surpassing poetry does. I mean the mystic day, which preserved its brightness while taking on the character of night. Here you have indeed struck the authentic note of genius.I won’t say more about the book till I have read it again, as I confess the abrupt end, with its dozen cut threads, left me gasping, and I must try and gather something of your meaning by a new study of the whole. Don’t tell me yet, as that would be to spoil my satisfaction.”
Medusa is a slow-treading adventure tale written in a firm, deliberate, archaic style, and depends for its effect upon the creation of disquieting atmosphere during a long sea voyage. Its climax is a vision of the descent of men’s souls through fleshly enchantment to the loathsome embrace of monsters in a black, rocky Atlantis, and of the saving by light of those who can be saved.