A Penny Dreadful
Description
$21.95
ISBN 1-894663-41-1
DDC C813'.54
Author
Publisher
Year
Review
Summarizing this book is an extremely difficult task, since each image
encapsulates broad concepts ranging from individuality to consumerism to
sanctified murder to national identity. And that’s only a small
portion of the first chapter (titled “9”). What I can give are the
mechanics.
The term “penny dreadful” originated in 18th-century England.
Comparable to contemporary tabloids, penny dreadfuls—produced so
cheaply they could sell for a penny—were gory and violent, with
graphic, lurid illustrations that included monsters, damsels in
distress, and sensational criminals guilty of blood-curdling acts.
Author and artist Gustave Morin plays with the penny-dreadful concept
in that his images are also disturbing and unsettling. The cover
features a 1972 Canadian penny exploding in a yield-shaped traffic sign.
The penny presumably marks the year in which Morin exploded into life
(he kindly includes a copy of his birth certificate at the end of the
book). In an excerpt of text, Morin outlines the time and angst required
to produce this fine work. “This is,” he says, “a book about the
past, intended for the future and formally marks the end of my immature
work.”
The first page has a “Pull” graphic, seemingly inviting you in.
With ticket stub in hand (or, if you believe the picture, ticket with
finger stub), you then sit through a movie’s pre-film countdown, where
the circled numbers count the chapters down from “9” to “2.” The
chapters, ranging in length from 16 to 18 pages each, are filled with
collage-like images. This is followed by a curtain, credits, and a
flurry of words. The book concludes with what is normally a book’s
beginning, the copyright and cataloguing information page. Then the
Pull/Push page reappears, telling you it’s time to move on.
This “novel” is a collection of Dada-esque sepia-shaded collages,
reminiscent of 1950s kitsch rubber-stamp art. It is cleverly composed
and thought-provoking, and I for one am grateful for Morin’s turbulent
youth and the “immature” work that this phase in his life produced.