Anyway, I have been encouraged by Voronwë to post the following. As I am incapable of knowingly displeasing him, I have agreed to do so after no more than a few minor threats. And I don’t think he’d really drive by my house and throw a rock at the porch light, but there’s no point in taking such a risk.
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Ladies and gentlemen! I direct your attention to my latest art acquisition…
Sir John Tenniel’s engraving of Alice and the Cheshire Cat, from Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland!
This image was printed from the original 1865 woodblock, which was never used in Carroll’s day. It is from the only edition of Alice illustrations ever made available for private collection, and it is the only version that is completely faithful to Tenniel’s intentions.
Here’s the story: Tenniel drew the original illustrations in traditional media, afterward using tracing paper to transfer each to a boxwood engraving block. These were then engraved (an unimaginably labor-intensive process) by the famous Dalziel brothers, whose name appears in each image along with Tenniel’s monogram. Bear in mind that the white spaces, not the black lines, had to be cut from the block: ah, there were craftsmen in those days!
When the complicated process was finally complete, the Dalziel brothers advised Lewis Carroll not to use the original blocks for printing the book: they explained that the wear and tear of printing would damage the images, ultimately ruining the fine work of one of England’s most acclaimed cartoonists.
Carroll saw the wisdom in this advice. Indifferent to the expense, he ordered the creation of copper electrotype copies of the blocks, and it was with these copies that the first edition of Alice was printed.
Tenniel hated the results: the second-generation images did not do justice to his work, and he requested that the whole edition (consisting of 2,000 copies, paid for by Carroll) be destroyed. There is some disagreement over the extent to which this was actually done: I have read from some sources that the inferior books were instead shipped to America for the “unsophisticated” readers there!
At any rate, another edition (strictly for the discriminating British) was ordered, and this time the printer had greater success. Carroll and Tenniel approved the new edition, though certain details of Tenniel’s designs were still indistinct.
Here again is the “real” Cheshire Cat, as printed from the original wooden block:
And here’s another version, printed from the duplicate copper plate--or perhaps from a copy of the copy. See how much detail has been blurred in the cat’s face, and notice the comparative harshness of the lighting. The darks are too dark, and the lightest areas (examine the tree trunk) drop out entirely. This is the sort of image that might appear in a typical modern edition.
Look at another example from elsewhere in the book. Here’s the “real” version of art from the Pool of Tears chapter, featuring a wide range of subtle grays and rich detail:
And here’s a second- or third-generation version. The softness of the original is lost entirely, and the effect is harsh and grainy.
The pictures in your personal copy may look better or worse than these “bad” examples. At any rate, you can see that the richness and depth of the images has varied considerably since the days of Tenniel and Carroll; and since both text and art are now in the public domain, the book has been subjected to every imaginable printing abuse.
Back to the history lesson:
The original, unused woodblocks were packed in a box and placed in a bank vault belonging to Macmillan Publishers. There they remained until everyone forgot where they were, and eventually it was assumed that they were lost. It was 120 years before somebody finally noticed them and decided that prints should be made from these blocks for the first, and last, time.
Extensive tests were conducted to determine which inks and papers most closely resembled those used for Victorian engravings. In the case of the paper, a new variety was created to exactly match that used for the book’s first edition. Small editions of each illustration (including those from Through the Looking-Glass) were printed then by hand. This process occupied three years.
The blocks were then returned to their vault. They will be displayed in museums from time to time, but they will never be used again. Future editions of the Alice books will feature digital reproductions of these original images; all existing editions of the books are now obsolete, as far as the pictures go.
A few personal notes:
I cannot tell you how important the Alice books have been to me throughout my life. I had them mostly memorized by early grade school, and passages from them are still burned into my memory more clearly than my home address. It was from these books that I really learned the power of the English language. They influenced me a bit too much: they made me a “British” writer for most of my school days, and when I recognized my strange proclivity I had to force myself to avoid the Victorian flourishes (often appearing in my school reports and homework!) with which I had become so comfortable. I am still a fish-out-of-water Victorian in my mind; and every day I wish I could pull my old top hat off the shelf and wear it (let’s say) to the grocery store.
As for the astonishing, absolutely essential Tenniel art… how can I overstate its importance to me, as an aspiring illustrator? I labored for years to master that intricate crosshatching style. I later developed a far less intricate, modern style that has worked well enough for me; but when I look at Tenniel’s pictures I am reminded of my fathomless mediocrity. (Fortunately I have a streak of artistic masochism that makes this experience weirdly exhilarating.) Tenniel gave indelible, living faces to characters who faithfully remained with me as real-life friends came and went. Today I would gladly be rid of any and all politicians and pop stars; but a world without Tenniel’s Mad Hatter, Cheshire Cat, Mock Turtle and Jabberwock is to me unthinkable.
There are two ladies at work who are waiting to see the engraving. Each has a little girl of almost Alice’s age when Wonderland was written. When I take the engraving to the office, I will surprise each lady with an un-birthday present for her daughter: a very fine hardbound edition of the Alice books, which neither child has read. Each book will be delivered with a custom-made, red-tasseled Alice bookmark featuring an Alice postage stamp from England, a quote from the book and a golden teacup charm. I have a special Lewis Carroll font, based on his actual handwriting; and I have written their un-birthday cards in that font. The letters are purple: Carroll liked to write in purple ink.
Oh, and there are tea biscuits, too! They might enjoy a tea party, mad or otherwise.
Why do I do all this? Because Lewis Carroll would have done it, and I have an absurd wish to think that I would please him.
And perhaps to say thank you, Reverend Dodgson.
AtYou
And how lovely that you got such a treasure for yourself.
