Month of McGinnis: Double Trouble

Part of a month-long celebration of Robert McGinnis’ book covers.



Art Scott, co-author of the forthcoming book The Art of Robert E. McGinnis (Titan), has sent along two pair of paperback fronts he thinks will be of interest to Killer Covers readers. He explains that publisher “Fawcett usually treated [Robert] McGinnis’ work respectfully, but here are two instances where ‘they done him wrong.’ Fortunately, foreign publishers sometimes showcased his work better than the original American publishers who commissioned the work did (and sometimes they did worse).

“The Crest reprint of [E.V.] Cunningham’s Sylvia is dated 1962. It’s a mystery; Virginia Kirkus herself [of Kirkus Reviews fame] blurbs it on the back as ‘Another Laura.’ [Cunningham, by the way, was a pseudonym often used by author Howard Fast.

“Hennes Vata Grav comes from Sweden (or possibly Norway). Google translates it as Her (vata) Grave--not too helpful. I don’t have the book, so can’t tell you which of Bob McKnight’s dozen Ace originals this is; the titles don’t match up in any case.



“Nothing in Her Way, [by Charles Williams], 1963, is a sore spot with McGinnis fans--either the [Gold Medal art director] thought he was being clever, or someone higher up mandated the [title banner] cover-up to avoid complaints. The Germans, however, knew a good thing when they saw it. The title [Drei Unzen Agonie] translates as Three Ounces Agony. The original Carter Brown title was House of Sorcery (‘Agony’ was a brand of perfume).”

A 1967 Signet Books edition of House of Sorcery, with different McGinnis cover artwork, can be enjoyed here.



Finally, drawn from my own image files, is a third instance of a publisher not making best use of a McGinnis illustration. The cover above from the 1971 Paperback Library edition of Frenzy, by Arthur La Bern, features only half of the image McGinnis provided. The full art is displayed on the right. It should be noted that Frenzy was originally titled Goodbye Piccadilly, Farewell Leicester Square, and was published in 1966. It provided the basis for the 1972 Alfred Hitchcock film Frenzy. Paperback Library changed the name of La Bern’s novel to match the movie’s title.

Month of McGinnis: “Moment of Danger”

Part of a month-long celebration of Robert McGinnis’ book covers.



Moment of Danger (aka Scent of Danger), by Donald MacKenzie (Dell, 1959). This novel was adapted in 1960 as the motion picture Malaga, starring Trevor Howard and Dorothy Dandridge.

Month of McGinnis: “A Conflict of Interest”

Part of a month-long celebration of Robert McGinnis’ book covers.



A Conflict of Interest, by Brad Williams and J.W. Ehrlich
(Popular Library, 1971).

Month of McGinnis: “Did She Fall?”

Part of a month-long celebration of Robert McGinnis’ book covers.



Did She Fall?, by Thorne Smith (Paperback Library, 1962).

Month of McGinnis: “House Dick”

Part of a month-long celebration of Robert McGinnis’ book covers.



House Dick, by Gordon Davis, aka E. Howard Hunt
(Gold Medal, 1961).

Month of McGinnis: “The Man Inside”

Part of a month-long celebration of Robert McGinnis’ book covers.



The Man Inside, by M.E. Chaber (Paperback Library, 1970) -- one in a handsome series of covers McGinnis did for Chaber’s Milo March private eye novels.

Two-fer Tuesdays: Costs and (Death) Benefits

A twice-monthly pairing of book covers that just seem to go together. Click on either of these images to open up an enlargement.



So let’s take a short break from Killer Covers’ month-long tribute to artist Robert McGinnis, and instead ooh and ahh over a couple of other paperback book fronts I’ve had tucked away in my files for some while. The façade on the left comes from the 1968 Fawcett Gold Medal edition of The Price of Murder, by John D. MacDonald (a work originally published in 1957). As Steve Scott recalls in his excellent blog, The Trap of Solid Gold--recently reinvigorated after a much-too-long hiatus--The Price of Murder was Macdonald’s 20th novel, a standalone paperback original. He explains that

The basic plot of the novel is centered around a MacGuffin: nearly half a million dollars in hot cash that originated as ransom for two young children who were kidnapped, never returned and who were later found murdered. The offspring of a Houston millionaire, the young boys’ kidnapping became a newspaper sensation once their bodies were found and it was revealed that all of the ransom cash--small-denomination bills--had been recorded and was traceable, making it virtually un-spendable. This fact was unknown to the kidnappers before the boys’ bodies were found, and they were quickly located in a small farmhouse near Orangeville, Pennsylvania (where JDM’s parents owned a summer home when John was a young boy). After a gun battle that left the three kidnappers dead, a portion of the ransom loot--one-hundred and sixty-five thousand dollars--was recovered, leaving the location of the remaining $327,000 a mystery. In the chaos of the gun battle a county cop grabbed one of two suitcases containing the money and hid it, afraid to try and spend or move it for over a year. Eventually he sold it to an underworld contact for $10,000, who then sold it to a Cleveland speculator who eventually became uncomfortable with it and unloaded it to a Detroit mobster for $15,000. But like all of the previous owners, the Detroit man is too scared to try and pass what has now become viewed as cursed money, and a widespread superstition among the underworld about the cash is making it difficult for him to get rid of it.

I wish I knew even half as much about the artist responsible for the cover of this 46-year-old paperback as I know, from Scott, about the book’s story line. In his John D. MacDonald Covers blog, Chris Ogle writes that the illustrator is officially unknown. Ogle offers a few compliments about that artist’s work, though: “What a superb cover! The girl is looking directly at the viewer as if she expects help from you. The man’s face is hidden, which makes him even more insidious. The lighting is coming from the upper left which puts her shadowed face in the foreground, a reversal of normal composition. And the hand! Ah, the hand!” Indeed, this front is wonderfully haunting, especially thanks to its teaser: “She was so alive and he needed her so badly, there was nothing to do but kill her …” I hope someday to find a copy of this edition for my own library.

Now let’s consider the image above and to the right. It demonstrates the talent of Sam Cherry, who painted covers for many of the 20th-century pulp mags as well as paperback book covers. In this case, Cherry was introducing the 1952 Popular Library edition of What Price Murder, by Cleve F. Adams. During his career, Adams produced a succession of novels featuring Los Angeles private eye Rex McBride--“one of the most repugnant characters in detective fiction history,” according to a Rara-Avis critic--but What Price Murder, first published by Dutton in 1942, was a non-series yarn. Blogger-author Evan Lewis, who declares himself “a big fan of the Rex McBride series,” briefly describes the plot of this book thusly:

[In-house insurance investigator Stephen] McCloud is racing to recover two million dollars in stolen diamonds-by whatever means necessary--before his boss is forced to pay out on the insurance claim. And it’s tough going. When he’s not getting drunk or chasing women, he’s getting conked on the head, robbed, and running from the cops on suspicion of murder. For an Adams hero, of course, that’s all in a day’s work. And it makes for a fine read.

For all of the violence Steve McCloud might have to endure in this tale, Cherry’s art suggests there’s at least some blond, deep-cleavaged compensation for his trouble.

Month of McGinnis: “Murder Me for Nickels”

Part of a month-long celebration of Robert McGinnis’ book covers.



Murder Me for Nickels, by Peter Rabe (Gold Medal, 1960). McGinnis’ original cover art can be enjoyed here.

Month of McGinnis: “Fires of Winter”

Part of a month-long celebration of Robert McGinnis’ book covers.



Fires of Winter, by Johanna Lindsey (Avon, 1980).

Month of McGinnis: “Modesty Blaise”

Part of a month-long celebration of Robert McGinnis’ book covers.



Modesty Blaise, by Peter O’Donnell (Fawcett Crest, 1966).

Month of McGinnis: “Soft Touch”

Part of a month-long celebration of Robert McGinnis’ book covers.



Soft Touch, by John D. MacDonald (Dell, 1962).

Month of McGinnis: “Don’t Crowd Me”

Part of a month-long celebration of Robert McGinnis’ book covers.



Don’t Crowd Me, by Evan Hunter (Popular Library, 1964).

Month of McGinnis: “The Girl Who Cried Wolf”

Part of a month-long celebration of Robert McGinnis’ book covers.



The Girl Who Cried Wolf, by Hillary Waugh (Dell, 1958)--his only novel to star New York City gumshoe Philip Macadam.

Month of McGinnis: “The Lady’s Not for Living”

I first mentioned back in April that this month, October, would bring the release of what looks to be a gorgeous, must-have new book about 88-year-old Ohio-born artist Robert McGinnis, whose work has appeared on numerous paperback covers and movie posters, but who is also known for his magazine illustrations and landscape paintings. Titan Books is scheduled to make The Art of Robert E. McGinnis, by Robert E. McGinnis and Art Scott, available in stores and online by October 28. In the meantime, though, I have decided to celebrate McGinnis’ work with a month-long series of posts on this page, showcasing some of my favorites from among his extensive variety of book covers--none of which, I believe, has appeared in Killer Covers before.

Today’s opening pick is the 1963 Fawcett Gold Medal edition of The Lady’s Not for Living, written by “Dexter St. Clair” (aka Prentice Winchell) and featuring New York private eye Kirby Hart. This novel features on Cullen Gallagher’s list of “50 Great Gold Medal Titles,” and its cover highlights a hallmark of McGinnis’ paperback fronts: captivating women with markedly long limbs. You’ve gotta love it!

Two-fer Tuesdays: Corpse Posing

A twice-monthly pairing of book covers that just seem to go together. Click on either of these images to open up an enlargement.



While putting together these fortnightly pairings, I occasionally have to search for a while before I am completely satisfied with the cover images. Other times, the task is considerably simpler. The two paperback fronts featured above just leaped out at me earlier today, probably because last night I sat through the first episode of Forever, a new ABC-TV crime drama about a New York City medical examiner--played by Hornblower’s Ioan Gruffudd--who also happens to be immortal. (If you think that premise sounds familiar, you’re not alone.) While not a real grabber, that episode at least persuaded me to try Forever again, which is more than I can say about most of the  shows on this season’s new U.S. TV schedule.

In any case, the image embedded above and on the left comes from the 1959 Pocket Books edition of Meet Me at the Morgue. It’s one of only six novels by Ross Macdonald that doesn’t feature his classic Los Angeles private eye, Lew Archer (although a tagline on the 1980 Bantam edition of this book claims that it does). Meet Me at the Morgue originally saw print in 1953, which means it appeared in stores and on newsstands between The Ivory Grin (1952) and Find a Victim (1954), two of the early Archer outings. A post in the excellent blog Crime Fiction Lover synopsizes Morgue’s story line:

… Howard Cross is a parole officer who becomes entangled in a child kidnapping. Fred Miner is on parole after causing the death of a stranger whilst driving drunk. To an extent he seems to have been rehabilitated, and has found some stability driving for local industrialist Abel Johnson. However Johnson’s young son goes missing and Fred was the last person seen with the boy, and now he can’t be contacted. So it seems Fred has graduated from an accidental killing to something far more serious.

Prevented from contacting the police by the young and glamorous Mrs. Johnson in case something should happen to her boy, Cross is forced to investigate on his own. It becomes clear there is more happening than first appears as bag men wind up dead, and sinister new faces arrive in town, including Miner’s disgraced navy buddies and a failed and embittered ex-starlet. What starts as a kidnapping ends with murder and blackmail.

The particular cover I have selected of Meet Me at the Morgue boasts an illustration by the great Victor Kalin, whose daughter, Rebecca, developed this handsome Web site dedicated to his work.

To the right of Kalin’s cover is Robert K. Abbett’s artwork for publisher Pocket’s 1958 version of The Lady in the Morgue, Jonathan Latimer’s second “comic hard-boiled detective novel” featuring Bill Crane. As The Thrilling Detective Web Site explains, Crane--one of several operatives for Colonel Black’s New York-based detective agency--was “a booze-soaked, seemingly inept detective who somehow always managed, despite always being either drunk or hungover, to crack the case …” Crane debuted in 1935’s Headed for a Hearse and tackled his last of four literary assignments in Red Gardenias (1939); The Lady in the Morgue was No. 3 in Latimer’s series, released in 1936.

A blog entitled Mostly Crappy Books (hmm--does that name really make you want to read any further?) offers the following description of The Lady in the Morgue’s plot:

Crane, sent to Chicago on a case arrives on time for the body of “Alice Ross,” a suicide, to vanish. Both the cops and two local gangsters think that he is responsible for the disappearance, so through most the book he is almost as busy avoiding them as he is solving the case. Going from strange beds to alcohol to cheap dance halls to alcohol to weed-wasted bohemian ceremonies to alcohol to acts of grave robbing to alcohol to alcohol to alcohol and so forth, the hunt for both the missing body and murderer and various missing women is convoluted but logical. Crane’s detective abilities can’t be faulted, even if his character can be.

Wikipedia adds that the novel “is remembered for its frank treatment of drug addiction among artists, for its frequent references to contemporary jazz and swing music, and for its bizarre setting (morgues, cemeteries).” A 1938 “B-movie” adaptation of The Lady in the Morgue starred Preston Foster as Crane. You can watch a clip from that film right here.

Random Discoveries

While I was putting together a rather lengthy news compilation yesterday for The Rap Sheet, I came across a few tidbits that deserve to be mentioned on this page, instead:

• Pulp International has assembled a rather terrific themed collection of vintage paperback façades, all of which feature “one figure looming menacingly in the foreground as a second cowers in the triangular negative space created by the first’s spread legs. This pose is so common,” the blog remarks, “it should have a name. We’re thinking ‘the alpha,’ because it signifies male dominance and because of the a-shape the pose makes.”

• Speaking of themes, when was the last time you checked out Existential Ennui’s page of “Beautiful British Book Jacket Design of the 1950s and 1960s”? Blogger Nick Jones points out that it now contains “well over 100 dust jackets,” including fronts by artists such as Val Biro, Sheila Perry, Craig Dodd (I dearly love his artwork for the 1969 Hodder & Stoughton edition of Richard Stark’s The Dame), Kenneth Farnhill, Donald Green, and Denis McLoughlin.

• Jones also directs our attention to this provocative front from the 1960 Midwood Books edition of All the Girls Were Willing, by Alan Marshall (aka Donald E. Westlake).

• And though Edward Gorey may not be remembered best for illustrating the covers of other people’s books, he certainly did some splendid work of that sort.

Two-fer Tuesdays: Extracurricular Activities

A twice-monthly pairing of book covers that just seem to go together. Click on either of these images to open up an enlargement.



Another academic year begins this month in the United States, and what better way to celebrate than with a couple of school-related covers? Actually, these might best represent parents’ worst fears of the salacious endeavors taking place on the campuses of the institutions to which they send their offspring.

On the left we find the front from Midwood Books’ 1962 edition of Campus Jungle, by Joan Ellis (one of several pen names employed by the prolific Julie Ellis). The cover illustration is credited to Paul Rader, who I’ve mentioned several times on this page--and about whom I intend to write more in the near future. The aptly monikered blog Those Sexy Vintage Sleaze Books explains that Campus Jungle is an “absurd and un-realistic” tale focusing on

Ravenwood College, a small Eastern institution somewhat like William and Mary or Bennington, [that] has been voted by a [New York] newspaper as the country’s Most Typical College. But there are also rumors of wild sexual abandon, not only among students but [between] students and faculty.

Seeking her Big Break, scandal, and to make a name for herself, Annie Winters, a cub reporter, has talked the New York Comet, a daily paper like the Observer or Post, [into sending] her undercover to the college [to] find out if the rumors are true. She’s 24 but can pass off as a 19-year-old undergrad.

The story that follows features copious carnality, the liberal dissemination of booze, and even “a secret lust cabin where the old Dean, and some faculty, lure young women to and have sex.” (Hey, it sounds like my college experience! Just kidding ...) Author Ellis eventually wrings a cheerful ending from this short work, copies of which are easily available online and not terribly expensive.

Now shift your eyes to the right, above, and you’ll find the façade from Campus Affair, a 1966 Beacon Books release by someone named Mame Christy. Sadly, I don’t find any background for Christy on the Web, but I do notice that the cover art for this novel about an older woman seducing younger men was executed by Victor Olson (1927-2007), a graduate of New York City’s Art Career School and a lifelong resident of the area around Bridgeport, Connecticut. Over the decades, Olson worked for publishers such as Bantam, Doubleday, Avon, and Monarch, in addition to Beacon. A few other examples of his fine artistry can and should be appreciated here.

READ MORE: “Duped: Awake to Love,” by J. Kingston Pierce
(Killer Covers).

Four Play

• Between 1943 and 1951, American publisher Dell Books did something rather remarkable with the rear sides of hundreds of its releases, especially crime novels. As Wikipedia explains, “the entire back covers [were] given over to maps, or variously charts, blueprints, or what have you to represent story locale or scene of the crime: a stretch of California highway, the interior of an apartment, a sheik’s ‘city of stones.’ It was an enjoyable if slightly goofy gimmick and, amazingly, managed to last nearly ten years.” As Gary Lovisi explained in this article for Mystery Scene, “Dell editor Lloyd Smith … came up with the idea for the back cover maps (or someone at Western Publishing suggested the idea to him). Smith was, in essence, a one-man publishing whirlwind. According to most accounts, he designed and envisioned the series, originating the maps, casts of characters and other features, and even suggested the airbrushed covers that Gerald Gregg and others would paint so effectively.” To honor that classic series, Mystery Fanfare’s Janet Rudolph began last month to post “mapbacks” every Monday. You can keep up with her offerings by clicking here.

• British comics historian Steve Holland pays deserved tribute to the work of Scottish-American espionage novelist Helen MacInnes by posting this gallery of her many book fronts.

• The blog Battered, Tattered, Yellowed & Creased showcases some of the illustrations Robert Maguire did during the last half of the 20th century for a variety of paperback publishers. If you would like to see more of Maguire’s artwork, track down a copy of Jim Silke’s terrific 2009 volume, Dames, Dolls, and Gun Molls. Or clickety-clack here to find Killer Covers posts highlighting his efforts.

• Finally, Yvette Banek has collected a wealth of paperback façades featuring old-time nurses in all their starched and proper glory.

“Not Dead Drunk, Just Dead”

I’m pleased to see that independent publisher Raven’s Head Press has recently released a new edition of Harold Q. Masur’s first novel, Bury Me Deep. That 1947 book, which introduced Masur’s long-active lawyer-detective protagonist, Scott Jordan, was also given a favorable write-up this morning in John “J.F.” Norris’ Pretty Sinister Books blog. He explains that the novel opens with Jordan returning home to discover “Verna [Ford] in her lingerie helping herself to expensive brandy in the appropriate snifter.

She’s been waiting for someone in Jordan’s apartment but it can’t possibly be him. He was away in Miami and cut his trip to come home. No one was expecting him. Verna tries to put the moves on Jordan but he won’t have any of it. Then she downs her brandy and immediately passes out. Jordan foolishly takes her to a cab, bribes the driver to baby sit her until she comes to and asks him to let her out at her home. But the driver soon discovers Verna is not dead drunk, just dead. The lawyer is immediately suspected of doing her in and trying to dispose of the body. So he decides to find out who she is, why she was in his apartment and who poisoned her brandy. The case becomes a lot more complicated than that as it turns out Verna was involved in a legal battle involving a will that will provide millions of dollars to the proper surviving relative of a husband and wife who died in a car crash. Lots of down and dirty action that turns pretty nasty. Villainy and double crossing galore! It’s a corker, gang.

I wholeheartedly agree! And it’s a kick to see the cover illustration on Raven’s Head’s reprint, done by artist Doug Klauba, following the sexy example set by previous editions of Bury Me Deep--though I think this 1984 Quill paperback cover still has the new one beat. I’m only hoping that somebody at Raven’s Head caught the egregious typo on the back cover of this edition before it went to press. As you’ll note in the image above (click on it for an enlargement), the last line of the copy reads, “Under suspicison of murder, Scott Jordan, newest detective sensation, raced the police to a desperate killer in this rapid biting tale of pulp fiction.” Oops!

READ MORE: “Bury Me Deep—Harold Q. Masur,” by Chris Bekofske (Battered, Tattered, Yellowed & Creased).

Two-fer Tuesdays: Floor-to-Floor Fears

A twice-monthly pairing of book covers that just seem to go together. Click on either of these images to open up an enlargement.



Have you ever noticed how often stairways are employed to create apprehension on vintage paperback book fronts? An unsuspecting women might find herself menaced at the base of an innocent-seeming cascade of steps by a man with a pistol. Or she might have been pushed down those steps to become a heap of laundry and bloodied limbs at the bottom. Or perhaps she is surprised at the top of a staircase by somebody who intends her significant harm. It is rarely men being menaced as they passed from one story to another; women bear the overwhelming brunt of these flights to fright.

Two examples appear at the top of this post. On the left, you’ll see the cover from the 1955 Bantam edition of Death’s Long Shadow, a novel originally published in hardcover two years before as Dear, Dead Days. It’s credited to “Jay Barbette,” which was a pseudonym used by Bart Spicer (1918-1978). Spicer is best known for penning half a dozen Chandleresque novels about Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, private eye Carney Wilde (introduced in 1949’s The Dark Light). But he and his wife, Betty Coe Spicer, also turned out four books starring newspaper reporter Harry Butten--of which Dear, Dead Days was the second (after Final Copy, 1950). I don’t own a copy of the book, but a short review on Amazon’s Goodreads site says it’s “the story of photographer Mike Chaney and his partner Dorothy Baird…

Essentially it’s a murder mystery. Mike and Dorothy become tangled in someone else’s murder and they enlist the help of Harry Bullen and his newspaper contacts to get to the bottom of things. The plot is intelligently laid out and takes place in Devon/New Devon USA.

It’s an easy read with twists and turns, which don’t break the logical plot line, that keeps your attention to the final climax in the office conference room with an unexpected ending.

Credit for the artwork that fronts Death’s Long Shadow--and graphically supports its title--belongs to the highly talented Mitchell Hooks, about whom I’ve written before on this page.

To the right, above, you’ll see the cover from the 1958 Pyramid Books edition of House of Hate, by W. Craig Thomas (not to be confused with the late Welsh thriller writer, Craig Thomas). Again, this novel bore a different name in hardcover: The Gregory Hill (1957). A Kirkus Reviews write-up on the book supplies this plot summation:

Passions, loosely controlled, combat intelligence and love in the life of young Paul Gregory whose father’s death is judged to be an accident, but which he knows is murder at the hands of Aaron Layton. Aaron’s son, Roger, is willing to ally himself with Paul against his father, but Paul, heeding his dead father’s last wishes, tries to help and protect his mother, Lela, who, a very short time later, marries Aaron. Aaron’s humiliation when he learns that the Gregory Place is destined for Paul, not him, makes firm his efforts to thwart Paul’s dedication for carrying on his father’s ideas about the farm; Lela hardens when she is ostracized by the valley people; Roger furthers the discord by his desire for her and for discrediting his father. Aaron’s ruttish pursuit of Lela to get her to bear his child, [and] his try at killing Paul, have their climax in the truth about Lela's part in the murder and in Aaron’s permanent death-in-life from the horses who fear him, and chain Paul, Lela and Roger to a cripple whose loathing will always be a weapon. An unidentified locale, a narrow range of hatred, weakness and selfishness that almost spell defeat, limit this to morbid tastes.

Hmm. Not exactly an unstinting recommendation, is it? Still, the cover of that paperback is quite captivating. Coincidentally, it’s a second work by Arthur Sussman, an illustrator I first mentioned last month in another “Two-fer Tuesdays” post.

And now, because you are such a fine audience, I’m going to violate my usual twinned-covers format for these posts and offer you a third front (right) that also fits this week’s theme: the façade of Berkley’s 1958 edition of The 31st of January, by Julian Symons. The painting in this case is by Robert Maguire.