Monday, 4 August 2008

PAULINE BAYNES: QUEEN OF NARNIA AND MIDDLE-EARTH


Pauline Baynes
(1922-2008)

It is with deep sadness that I write these few words about our dear friend, Pauline Baynes, who died, on Friday, in the cottage in Dockenfield, Surrey, where she had lived and worked for many years.

There are certain illustrators whose work is so intimately interwoven with the author's text as to rank as the books' co-creators. Sir John Tenniel, for example, the first illustrator of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and E H Shepard who, with A A Milne, led us into the world of Winnie-the-Pooh.

Similarly, Pauline Baynes' pictures of country and denizens in C S Lewis' seven Chronicles of Narnia are still – despite the recent big-screen movie imagery – the definitive depiction of that extraordinary land beyond the wardrobe...


I can remember, precisely, where I was when I read each of the Narnian Chronicles: for example, I read The Magician's Nephew one winter's day curled up before an open fire while my mother was making cakes and pastry on the kitchen table.

Once glance at the vista on the jacket of the Puffin paperback edition of that book still not only evokes what is, for me, the essence of the land of Narnia – with its seashore, mountains, woods and lakes – but also gives me back a specific day from the tenth year of my life!


I first met Pauline almost thirty years ago, in October 1979, at a 'Narnia Book Fair' held at Church House Bookshop, Westminster. I was carrying one of my most treasured possessions: a copy of Tolkien's The Adventures of Tom Bombadil which the author had signed for me ten years earlier. She added her own signature to the title page, doubling its value to me as a collector.


Following that initial meeting, we kept in touch, collaborated on a book, The Land of Narnia, and, during the past 10 years, became close friends.

After the death of my and David's mothers, she became a kind of adoptive mum and (perhaps because she had no children of her own) interested herself in what we were doing and fussed over and cared for us in the various ups and downs of our lives. We loved her dearly and are deeply aware of how we – and others in her extended adopted family – are going to miss her...

She had a ceaselessly inquiring mind and energetically debated every topic imaginable. She could be sharply critical and quixotically changeable; she never suffered fools gladly, sniffed out cant and hypocrisy in a second and enjoyed nothing better than the kind of conversation which could veer from total seriousness to helpless laughter.

But all these are personal feelings and what I want to do in this posting is remind people of the extraordinary talent possessed by this modest, unassuming woman who created images that define the childhoods of millions...

After producing illustrations for various books of fairy tales, Pauline Baynes' career was established when, in 1949, J R R Tolkien's publishers showed the author of The Hobbit a portfolio of her artwork. Tolkien had written Farmer Giles of Ham, a fanciful novella with a faux-medieval setting, and being dissatisfied with the pictures that had been produced for the book was looking for a new illustrator.


Pauline produced a series of witty line illustrations that perfectly caught the essence of Tolkien's story to an extent that he declared them to be "more than illustrations, they are a collateral theme." He also delighted in reporting that friends had said that the pictures had reduced his text to "a commentary on the drawings"!

Pauline revisited the story of Farmer Giles and his exploits with the somewhat reluctant dragon, Chrysophylax Dives, on several occasions such as for the 50th edition of the story published in 1999...


It was the beginning of a long friendship between author and illustrator with Pauline decorating Tolkien's subsequent books, The Adventures of Tom Bombadil and Smith of Wootton Major.


It had been Tolkien's wish that Pauline should illustrate The Lord of the Rings, but the book grew into a project that rendered that plan impractical although it was her slipcase design for the three volumes that was adapted as a cover for the first one-volume paperback edition: providing what was, for an entire generation, a peek into the essentially English landscape of Middle-earth...


Posthumously Pauline illustrated Tolkien's Poems and Stories (including Leaf by Niggle) and Bilbo's Last Song. She also created that memorable map of Middle-earth that was a feature of thousands of student bedrooms...

Click to enlarge

I remember Pauline telling me that she always wondered whether Tolkien's wife, Edith, had ever actually read her husband's magnum opus. Her doubts stemmed from the day she took her artwork for the Middle-earth map to show the author. Above the map she had drawn the figures of the Nine Walkers – Frodo, Sam, Aragorn, Gandalf, Boromir, Legolas, Gimli, Merry and Pippin – setting out on the Quest of the Ring; beneath the map she had added an array of villains: marauding Orcs, the Nine Black Riders, Gollum and, the bottom right hand corner, Shelob.

Tolkien was pleased with the map – apart from one mis-spelled name that had to be corrected – and called to Edith to come and see. "Look what Pauline's done," said Tolkien. Edith scrutinized the map and the two groups of characters and then - pointing to Shelob - said: "Ooo, look at that horrid spider!"


It was the collaboration with Tolkien that resulted in Pauline's subsequent association with the septet of children's novels by C S Lewis beginning with The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe and known, collectively, as The Chronicles of Narnia.


 "Met C S Lewis. Came home. Made rock cakes." That, according to Pauline, was how she recorded in her diary one of the two meetings she had with the author whose work she so memorably embellished. It tells you exactly how she viewed her contribution to books that, for millions, of us were seminal childhood reading.


The illustrations for the Lewis books contributed significantly to their success and now are inseparable from the text, but she illustrated over a hundred other books as well as designing jackets and frontispieces for others and contributing numerous decorative pictures (left) to the illustrated magazines which proliferated in the 1940s and '50s such as The Sphere, The Tattler and The Illustrated London News. Her artistic output was astonishing: designs for inn signs, stained glass, church embroideries and Christmas cards.

Other commissions included pictures for school text books, and fanciful advertisements for a variety of products such as, here (courtesy of her friend, Martin Springett), Huntley and Palmer's biscuits...


Among her finest works (and there are a great many more) should be listed Henri Pourrat's A Treasury of French Tales; Amabel Williams-Ellis' Fairy Tales from the British Isles and The Arabian Nights reflecting her fascination with Persian miniatures.

She also decorated The Puffin Book of Nursery Rhymes, collected by her friends Peter and Iona Opie; and, spectacularly, Grant Uden's A Dictionary of Chivalry which contained a staggering near-600 illustrations in its margins and won the artist the coveted Kate Greenaway Medal.

She illustrated stories by Helen Piers, Rosemary Harris and Rumer Godden  as well as the final volume of Mary Norton's Borrowers saga and produced another iconic images for the cover of the first paperback edition (right) of Richard Adams' Watership Down.

What her work on these and other books show is her tirelessly painstaking research into the detailing of period costume and architecture and, above all, her extraordinary talent for conveying landscape and depicting natural life – especially animals, whether wild or domestic and, in particular, horses and, of course, dogs which were so much a part of her life.

Her later picture books – many on religious subjects such as All Things Bright and Beautiful, The Song of the Three Holy Children, Noah and the Ark In the Beginning and I Believe – demonstrate the artist's talent for design and her superb mastery of fluid line, gem-like colours and the use of negative space.

 There were also an amazing number of drawings done as favours for charitable organisations and friends. For example, in 1977, I was editing Bandersnatch, the newsletter of the Lewis Carroll Society when the discovery of the 'lost' chapter of Through the Looking Glass and what Alice Found There, featuring a Wasp in a Wig reading a newspaper came to light.

The episode had been dropped from the book at proof stage because John Tenniel had said such a bizarre character was beyond his powers to illustrate. But Pauline proved Tenniel wrong by creating this superb miniature (left) which I featured on the mast-head to Bandersnatch for several years.

Pauline remained prolific until the end of her life, illustrating a selection of writings from the Qur'an and the Book of Job (below) which are still to be published...



Pauline's last completed projects was producing 21 full page illustrations for a story of mine, entitled Oscar the Extraordinary Owl. She was disappointed when a succession of publishers declined the book, and concluded that her style was now too old fashioned and out of step with the current trends in children's publishing.


One day, I trust, someone will recognise again her singular talent for composition and publish some of these works which she made towards the end of her life purely for the pleasure of making pictures – so that they may bring pleasure to others just as her illustrations to the books of Lewis and Tolkien have done for fifty years...

When we visited her a few weeks ago, the drawing board facing in the window that looked out onto her pretty cottage garden, was covered with a series of energetic drawings – each a Baynesian mini-masterpiece of design – illustrating Aesop's Fables (right).

Today, that drawing board lies bare.

The artist is gone; but the artwork that she created lives on...



You can read my full obituary to Pauline Baynes here in The Independent.

Other obituaries appeared in The Guardian and The Telegraph; although unsigned they were written by two more of her close friends, respectively, David Henshall and Charlotte Cory. There was also a full obituary in The Times.

Post Script: According to Pauline's executor (who has read her diaries), she didn't write, "Met C S Lewis. Came home. Made rock cakes." However, I've let it stand because the fact that she said that's what she wrote provides an intriguing insight into her complex character.

Images: Photographs of Pauline Baynes and her drawing board © Brian Sibley, 2008; Art: Copyrights in the illustrations and artworks of Pauline Baynes are held and administered by The Chapin Library of Rare Books.

Sunday, 3 August 2008

WOW FACTOR

My latest book has 520 pages and yet I have only written 366 words of it!

WOW! 366 is a collection of "Speedy stories in just 366 words" or, as the above-the-title blurb immodestly puts it, "Mini writes from MASSIVE writers"!

Leaving aside the references to my girth, I should explain that the book was conceived for this Leap Year and contains stories each of which - as you've guessed by now - are written in just 366 words.

WOW! 366 is published by Scholastic (price £6.99) and all the authors have donated their stories in order that profits from the volume can go to the NSPCC charity, ChildLine.


The role call of writers is impressive: Roddy Doyle, Terry Jones, Michael Morpurgo, Charlie Higson, Nina Bawden, Raymond Briggs, Michael Bond and many others including Prime Minister Gordon Brown and Tom of McFly!

Writing a short story this short is far from easy (it's always harder to write briefly rather than at length) but it also turned out to be a herculean counting task for the publishers, since computer word-count systems are neither uniform or totally reliable - especially when confronted by hyphenated words or even numbers.

I mention this because to add to the constraints imposed by the original brief, I decided that my story 'The Lucky Guess' (page 84) was going to be about the number 366!

The diversity of subject matter and the inventiveness of approach taken by the authors is really fascinating and as well as providing a lot of enjoyment to bookish kids might also manage to seduce some young non-readers into taking up the habit...

So, whether you know kids who read or kids that don't, this could provide them with a good summer gift that will also be helping a desperately worthwhile cause.

It's also the only way in which you're going to find out how I wrote about the number 366!!


Friday, 1 August 2008

HIGH ANXIETY

Following my blog the other month about having (or not having) a head for heights, I recently took my first (and probably only) spin on the London Eye.

Our friend Michael was in town from Nashville, Tennessee, and - not unnaturally - wanted to ride this premiere tourist attraction -- in fact, he very kindly bought tickets for the three of us...

The night before the scheduled trip we were driving over Westminster Bridge when I came eye-to-eye with the Eye and got a sudden attack of cold feet. Eight years ago, I had waited at ground zero while David and a bunch of friends went round. Would the next day see a repeat performance...?

I spent a troubled night and an anxious morning and - until the moment our pod doors closed and we 'took off' - I still doubted if I would go through with it.

The first half of the trip was not too pleasant - I sat glued to the seat in the middle, looking away from the river and when we drew level with the top of the old Shell Building I felt decidedly queasy.

Somehow, however, I managed to stand up when we reached the top and took a hasty look around and even posed for a photo - just to prove that I did it!


Anyway, in the end, I decided it wasn't any worse than watching Batman Begins on the giant Imax screen (which we did that evening) in which the audience were tossed hither and yon above the dizzying heights of Gotham City.

But I can't say that the Eye cured my fear of heights, which is one reason why I watched Man on Wire (opening in cinemas today) filled with such heart-in-mouth apprehension.


'MAN ON WIRE' were the words on the charge-sheet drawn up by the New York Police against a 24-year-old Frenchman, Philippe Petit, who, on August 7, 1974, illegally rigged a 3/4" cable across the 138 foot gap between the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center and, in one of the most audacious stunts of the 20th century, spent forty-five minutes walking on a wire -- indeed not just walking but pausing to kneel and lie flat on his back -- 1,350 foot above the Manhattan sidewalks.

Petit who was a tightrope walker, juggler and magician (and who has, he says, the mind of a criminal) had already wire-walked between two of the pylons of the Sydney Harbour Bridge and the two towers of Notre Dame Cathedral.

These escapades were but a prelude to the incredible coup that was, all the while, fermenting in his brain. After six years of planning and one aborted attempt he achieved his fantastical dream: an event which brought him - and the WTC - onto the front pages of newspapers around the globe.

Man on Wire is a tale of a man driven to a deed of daring bravado by the demon of a passion that began when, in 1968, he saw an article in a French magazine in a dentist's waiting room about the still to be constructed World Trade Center. On an artist's impression of the Twin Towers, Philippe drew a tightrope across the void...

I first read Petit's story in his 2002 book, To Reach the Clouds, and this excellent documentary film, directed by James Marsh, captures the courage and insanity of the project and retells it - through the archive recordings, recollections of Petit and his accomplices and dramatic recreations - with all the pace and panache of a gripping heist movie.

Using the words of the man himself - a born showman and storyteller supreme - and the, often emotionally charged, memories of his compatriots (including, most movingly, his former lover, Annie, and his best friend, Jean-Louis, both of whom lost their friend as a result of his walk on that wire as surely as if he had fallen to his death) we piece together not just the events of that August day, but are also forced to confront the desperate nature of life's challenge that few of us face or acknowledge...

"What a beautiful death," speculates Philippe - filled with arrogant, death denying bravado - before stepping onto the wire, "to die in the exercise of your passion."


Unlike the book, James Marsh's film never mentions the events of 9/11. It is as if the Twin Towers conquered by Philippe Petit still stood head and shoulders high above the Manhattan skyscrapers.

Is that curious? I think not...

The destruction of the WTC in 2001 is an event that most of us can replay in our mind's eye without prompting and we each bring our own memories and thoughts of that tragedy to the viewing of this film. It is the unacknowledged phantom overshadowing this story of impudence and insane heroism and, again and again, images of Petit's triumph trigger painful recollections of other tragic images - such as that photograph (later suppressed as being unseemly) of 'the falling man'. In one contemporary photograph we see Petit standing mid-wire while a plane passes behind him looking - it now seems to us - as if it is going to crash into one of those towers...

A construction worker interviewed by Petit while researching his coup in the disguise of a architectural journalist is asked whether the buildings are safe.

"What do you mean?" he asked, "Could it come tumbling down? Impossible!"

Breathtakingly exhilarating Man on Wire is a compelling, emotionally-charged record of an impossible vision: an absurdly daring dance on a wire strung between heroism and stupidity above the gaping void of certain death.

It is the not just a tale of an exceptional man, but also - as a cover of the New Yorker (right) moving suggested three year after the destruction of the WTC - a memory of what is now a lost era...

Here's the trailer...




“When I see three oranges, I juggle;
when I see two towers, I walk.”


- Philippe Petit on being asked why he did his stunt



Images: London Eye - Brian Sibley & David Weeks © 2008

Wednesday, 30 July 2008

PREHISTORIC PLEASURES

The other week - before the big break - the weather was so unseasonably nice that we took a small break and made the trip to one of my Favourite Places --- Crystal Palace Park.

Of course, there isn't actually a crystal palace there any more and hasn't been for the past 62 years but the name - like a dream - lingers on...


The famous cast-iron and glass building was designed by Joseph Paxton to house the 1851 Great Exhibition. This Temple to the Gods of the Industrial Revolution was 1,850 feet long (Joe definitely missed a trick there: one more foot and it would have been an appropriate 1,851 feet), had an interior height of 108 feet and covered 990,000 square feet of exhibition space displaying the best examples of arts, crafts and technology from ever corner of Victoria Regina's boundless Empire.

In 1854, the Crystal Palace was relocated to Sydenham Hill (where it stood until it was destroyed by fire in 1936) and the grounds surrounding the great building were opened as a public park with ornamental gardens and a series of man-made lakes in and around which dinosaurs were encouraged to frolic!

Not real dinosaurs, since they were by then somewhat extinct, but accurate recreations (or so it was thought at the time) of prehistoric reptiles and mammals sculpted by Benjamin Waterhouse Hawkins with guidance from the eminent palaeontologist, Sir Richard Owen.

Hawkins set up a studio in the Crystal Palace grounds in which to create his giant sculptures...


To begin with the plan was for a series of early mammals such as giant sloths, tapir-type animals and the magnificent Irish Elk...


Then project was extended to cover examples of the great reptiles.

Fifteen species were exhibited (others were planned but never made) and the resulting Dinosaur Court, as it was known, were the first dinosaur sculptures in the world.

Prior to the opening of the exhibit, Hawkins used one of his two iguanodon sculptures as the venue for a private dinner party on New Year’s Eve 1853, to which prominent naturalists of the day were invited (right).

The iguanodon sculpture was located beneath a striped marque with part of its back removed (the operation scar is still visible to this day!) in order to create a space within which a dinner table could be set up complete with all the requisite china, silver and candles demanded by Victorian good taste.


When it was first opened, what a stir the Dinosaur Court must have caused for Victorians whose Christian beliefs were being assailed by the new religion of Evolution! One can imagine them strolling with their top hats and parasols and gazing in total awe - probably disbelief - at these inconceivable beings from the mists of time.


As a child in the '50s, I found the place totally entrancing, even though there weren't any Stegosauruses or Tyrannosaurus Rexes - on account of the fact that they hadn't yet been discovered when Messrs Hawkins and Owen created their monstrous theme park.


Every school summer holiday, my Mum would make up a picnic lunch, we'd hop on a 227 bus, go to Crystal Palace and spend the day in the park before going on to my Nan and Granddad, who, lived nearby, for tea. I drew pictures of the dinosaurs and, a few years later, took some of my first photos (not the ones exhibited here) with my newly acquired Kodak Instamatic.

Along with the bony occupants of the Natural History Museum, the dinosaurs of Crystal Palace fired my youthful fascination with prehistoric life to the extent that I created my own model park in a soup tureen filled with earth from the garden and decorated with stones, small plants and half a dozen plastic dinosaurs that collected from packets of Shreddies breakfast cereal...

The chief failing of my replica was revealed when I attempted to create a lake in which to put the figure of the pleisosaurus. Every time I filled the lake the water disappeared until all the denizens and the vegetation sunk in primordial ooze!

The original lake has, fortunately proved rather more enduring...



Over the years, I came to learn that many of the sculptures were anatomically inaccurate: one creature appears only as a head emerging from the water (left), because all Hawkins had to go on was a fossilized skull. But I never lost my affection for the great beasts - even when they were re-painted for the umpteenth time in the most unsuitably garish colours.

Now, however, the dinosaurs of South London have been superbly restored: the several dozen layers of corroded paint have been removed and the great beasts live once more. True, they may prove something of a disappointment to kids brought up on the dinosaurs of Jurassic Park, but for me they are as dynamic and wondrous as when I entered their realm as a seven-year-old...


For a contemporary reaction to the Crystal Palace dinosaurs, check out a recent posting on button's blog...

Images: Dinosaurs today by Brain Sibley © 2008

Monday, 28 July 2008

AND YOU ARE-----?

Writing about 'Seyler Disease' the other day put me in mind of a conversation I had some years ago when I was working with the legendary black diva, Elisabeth Welch.

The star who in a sixty year career introduced theatre audiences on both sides of the Atlantic to many enduring songs including 'Charleston' (which launched the dance craze), 'Love for Sale' and 'Stormy Weather'.

John Gielgud once said of her: "You could hear a pin drop while she sang but when she finished, the thunder of applause could be heard in the street."

Towards the end of her life, Miss Welch appeared in a revue which I compiled for the BBC, entitled Hit the Heights, and I had the privilege of looking after her during rehearsals. This enabled me to have several long chats with an actress who had performed with and for the best.

She told me how, some years after her great triumphs in shows like Blackbirds, The New Yorkers, Nymph Errant, Glamorous Night, Tuppence Coloured, Oranges and Lemons and Penny Plain, she was asked by a director - who ought to have known better - to audition!

As she walked on stage, a voice from the darkened auditorium called out: "Miss Welsh?"

First mistake!

His second mistake was to ask: "What are you going to sing for us?"

With great dignity and an appropriate lack of modesty, Elisabeth Welch delivered one of the great put-downs of the theatre.

"Well," she replied, "perhaps, you'd like to hear the first number Cole Porter wrote for me!"

Superb!

And here is the immortal Miss Welch as 'A Goddess' in Derek Jarman's 1979 high-camp film version of Shakespeare's The Tempest, singing - appropriately - the song that became her theme tune...




Saturday, 26 July 2008

UNDERGROUND ART

Yes! It's another tin of mints from The Unemployed Philosophers Guild...


The decoration is based on the various paintings of Adam and Eve succumbing to the Forbidden Fruit in the Garden of Eden, as depicted by the 16th century painter, Lucas Cranach the Elder.

The most remarkable thing about Cranach's paintings involving nudes is the extraordinarily convenient way in which foliage grew at the time: puting forth leaf and bud at just the right moment and in just the right position to prevent unnecessary embarrassment...


A recent exhibition of Cranach's paintings at London's Royal Academy caused a bit a furore on the tubes when Transport for London took exception to a poster based on Cranach's Venus: a foxy lass 'dressed' in a piece of whispy gauze (I was reminded of Pete and Dud's famous conversation in the art gallery) and a string of pearls...


A TFL spokesperson said: "Millions of people travel on the London Underground each day and they have no choice but to view whatever adverts are posted there. We have to take account of the full range of travellers and endeavour not to cause offence in the advertising we display."

That's pretty astonishing when you think about it: a 500 year old woman managing to shock and offend our liberal 21st century !

London Underground advertising is currently vetted by a firm called CBS Outdoor and the hapless Venus fell foul of the guideline that advertising should not "depict men, women or children in a sexual manner, or display nude or semi-nude figures in an overtly sexual context".

Hmmmm...

So what's this chap doing, hanging around Bond Street Station?


Obviously - if the warning sign is to be believed - he's a slippery customer...

Images: Cranach exhibition pictures from Daylife; Dolce-and-Gabbana-man by Brian Sibley.

Thursday, 24 July 2008

RETURN TO THE SHADOWLANDS

Tomorrow evening (Friday 25) BBC Radio 2 begins a repeat broadcast of IAN RICHARDSON's moving reading my book, Shadowlands, telling the story of the late-flowering romance between writer and Oxford academic, C S ('Jack') Lewis - famously the creator of the Land of Narnia - and Joy Davidman, an American, Jewish, former-Communist, divorcée, poet who had converted to Christianity as a result of Lewis' apologetics.

I do hope that mentioning this again on my blog doesn't sound too much like blowing my own trumpet, but actually I'm really wanting to blow Ian Richardson's trumpet...

This little book of mine has gone through many interpretations - including recordings by Joss Ackland, David Suchet and myself (on a Talking Book for the Blind) - but none of them have quite caught the essence of the story in the way in which Ian's reading does. It is full of passion and compassion, strength and gentleness, joy and sorrow...

It would have been, I think, an infinitely poignant performance even if the reader had not died just a few weeks after completing the recording. I am so proud that this was one of the last performances by a truly great actor.

SHARON MAIL, who has recently completed work on a commemorative volume about the life and career of Ian Richardson (and who, under a soubriquet, is a regular commenter on this blog) writes:

Ian Richardson was the complete actor. On screen he could convey so much by the raising of an eyebrow, on stage he had a wonderful, inventive physical presence. But what will be remembered most is his glorious voice.

When I interviewed actor Alex Jennings, he recalled the last time he saw Ian, shortly before he died, at a Carol Concert for the charity Cancer UK, which Alex supports. He had asked Ian to open the event by reading the lesson and recalled, "My partner said that it was like there was suddenly a Rolls Royce driving down the centre aisles of St Paul’s Cathedral and it was the voice of God."

How fitting it was then, that Ian’s final performances were readings of The Chronicles of Clovis by Saki; Accolades, Christopher William Hill's radio play about A L Rowse; and Brian’s beautiful radio adaptation of his work, Shadowlands.

Listening to Ian's performance of Shadowlands requires great concentration, because every syllable is given due attention and the words and phrases lovingly caressed in such a way that it is hard not to get lost in wonderment at the delivery. And yet, when he speaks his words, we feel Jack’s joy and his pain, his sense of love and of loss and when he reads extracts from 'The Chronicles of Narnia', we are in Narnia too.

The eight episodes of Shadowlands run across a nine week period with a one-week break on Friday 29 August (because it's Blackpool Lights Night and, as a result, there's no room for shadows!) and can be heard from 21:15-21:30 pm.

You can catch each episode again for seven days after transmission on the BBC's iplayer.





Tuesday, 22 July 2008

EXCITEMINTS

Here are some more tempting tins of minty mischievousness...

Firstly, a useful aid to theatre-going - especially if it's the uncut version of Hamlet...


And for anyone - like Hamlet - grappling with an Oedipus-Complex, here's a handy aid - whether you are a Freud or a Freudee...


And for those intimate momints that may well get discussed 'on the couch'...




Why buy a packet of Polos (itself a sweet with Freudian undertones) when you could hand round a tin of these?

So, where to acquire them, you ask? The answer: from The Unemployed Philosophers Guild where you will also find many more witty and irresistibly silly items such as magnetic finger-puppets of famous philosophers, writers and scientists not to mention Pavlov's Dog and Schrödinger's Cat - the former with a bell that doesn't ring and a total absence of drool, the latter clearly both dead and alive...*



You can visit The Unemployed Philosophers Guild in complete confidence knowing that, as the disclaimer proclaims: No philosophers or artists were harmed in anyway in the making of this website.

* Here's some useful background information for those needing a reminder about Pavlov's Dog and Schrödinger's Cat and what they got up to.