These magical and mysterious jacket illustrations by George Adamson for Alan Garner’s two children’s fantasy classics, The Weirdstone of Brisingamen and The Moon of Gomrath give the four-shilling (in 1969, the back cover also carried the decimal equivalent, ’20p’) Puffin paperbacks I still own the richness of jewel-encrusted incunabula from a wizard’s study.
Garner himself was delighted with the Weirdstone cover, commenting ‘I could not have hoped for the mood of the book to be better expressed. George Adamson has caught it exactly. Fenodyree is just as I imagined him and the eyes are the best part of the jacket.’ [Fenodyree is one of the main characters, a dwarf]
On re-reading the Weirdstone – accomplished with the same kind of voraciousness I remember giving it as a child: that not-wanting-to-stop feeling – I’m struck particularly by a couple of things. It’s quite a radical book. It doesn’t flinch from death, or darkness, or pain. Susan, one of the two central human characters, makes several decisive interventions, and is never made to shrink behind the other, male, characters – quite unusual, I would think, for a book written in the late 1950s. There’s a minor character, a stuffy local businessman, who turns out to be a spy for the forces of darkness – a small thing, but a reminder never to trust petty respectability. You never can tell. Philip Pullman is a big admirer of these books, and this, I’m sure, is one reason why. Then, Garner’s descriptions of the Cheshire landscape – the brooding hills, the torturous underground passages – make the natural environment a shaping force of the narrative. There’s something out there older, other, than us, and it affects what happens to us. It’s not a backdrop.
Now for Gomrath. I can’t wait.
Filed under: children's books | 5 Comments
Tags: alan garner, george adamson