A headline on the BBC website caught my eye, "A secretly filmed adaptation of Salman Rushdie's novel Midnight's Children has finished shooting in Sri Lanka."

But there was trouble again for the author.

It turned out that Director Deepa Mehta chose the island location over India or Pakistan, where the story is set, to avoid religious protests. Iran had objected to Sri Lanka's Premier and filming came to an abrupt halt. You will recall Iran's former leader Ayatollah Kohmeini was the source of the misguided (potty) Fatwa on Rushie for The Satanic Verses. I have never believed the author sought controversy or intended offence. He is an exceptional writer who sets his work in complex societies he knows well. He was a soft target for zealotry.

I leave this well-worn topic and return to more innocent times, at Stanley Studios, London SW10, as I set about designing the original paperback cover for Midnight's Children. Not for the first time Pan's commitment to the significance of the book was to be reflected in the point-size of the typeface. The trouble with a brief of 'Big Author + Big Title' is that it can be a typographical blunt instrument. But Sonny Mehta's unerring literary judgement had picked another great. In fact he saw it as a possible Booker Prize winner. So the task was to work with it and bring some character to bear. Devouring the tome hungrily in my West London flat I found there was a feast on offer. I was particularly struck by the doctor who when visiting a young woman is confronted by female family members protecting her modesty with a sheet. The sheet has a carefully placed hole through which only local examination of the immediate medical problem is possible. Over time the various local areas build an overall picture for the doctor who has gradually fallen in love with her. The film-maker's must have had a such an amazing time with such rich narrative.

Potential bestsellers on the mass-market list at Pan Books (parent to the Picador imprint) endured relentless pressure, in cover briefs, to parade 70s film-poster style collages of heroes and helicopters exploding or some such chaos. It was clearly dated even then and I fought the good fight for better graphics where I could. On Picador we worked to develop ways to set the mood and entice interest with the visuals in subtler, but no less effective ways. Midnight's Children was seen to have huge sales potential yet its target audience is inclined to more nuanced sensibilities. (Read between the lines people, work with me here) As some scribbled notes on the inside of the hardback edition reveal (just unearthed from a box emptied to fill yet another new bookshelf) the 'just before midnight' clock hands were my first idea but survived scrutiny. The execution would provide the character. I would handle the type differently now but remain happy with my apparently perverse choice of Ian Pollock to create for me the pealing paint/ faded opulence wall. He was widely celebrated for his brilliantly bizarre, idiosyncratic characters at that time. And we incorporated one big peel in case it won the Booker Prize. In that space I could announce its triumph and avoid a Daz-style corner flash. And if it didn't, well it's a peeling bit. The illustrator gave me the original painting (shown) and that recently emerged from another box.

I keep reading that blog posts should be kept short. Shame. Because coincidentaly that was the title of his next novel. I took the painted wall route again with the cover. This time with 'Shame' as graffiti, in Urdu I recall and Salman popped in to Stanley Studios to write it for me. Hard to imagine within a few years he would be in hiding.

Sonny Mehta left London for New York. I left Pan (well it was important for me!). Salman Rushdie went to Penguin with The Satanic Verses. Midnight's Childen went on to win the 'Booker of Bookers' in 1993. Time sure keeps moving after midnight . . .

Can't wait to see the film of Midnight's Children. Or whatever else turns up in boxes come to think of it.

 

 

You may have noticed I often let the serendipity of events determine the subject on this blog. This is no exception. In fact three strands converge to weave into a single plait. It is some relief that Maxine Hong Kingston wears her magnificent long white hair loose, as otherwise I am sure that I would be tempted into a tortured follicle metaphor. See how close it was?

The first strand is the recent publication of I Love a Broad Margin to My Life which is a memoir, in verse, by Maxine Hong Kingston. She is Senior Lecturer for Creative Writing at the University of California, Berkeley. Her memoirs and fiction have won numerous awards, including the National Book Award and an American Academy and Institute of Arts and Letters Literature Award. I recommend a quick search for her podcast lectures available from BBC and itunes/Berkley/Yale.

The second strand is the arrival on the mat of an invitation to the Lifetime Achievement Award in International Publishing at the London Book fair in a few days. It has been awarded to Sonny Mehta, Chairman and Editor-in-Chief of the Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group. Regular readers her will know that I worked with Sonny for a decade and I count him as a mentor. One day I will summon up the courage to write about the influence of this fabulous man had on me. But that is for another time.

And the third strand is the first 'Guest Blog' on here which is coming soon. It will be from an art director in New York who worked with us at Stanley Studios in the 80s as an intern. The eccentric Stanley Studios was our Art Department sanctuary from the steel and glass Pan head office in London. More on that later too.

These are the elements that prompt me to show two of the very first of my cover designs for Picador Books with Sonny at the helm. China Men and The Woman Warrior. She has a special voice and you know I am not going to give you a cheat-sheet on here. They are both a great read. Seek them out and see life through the eyes of a Chinese-American.

There is no perfect recipe for all book covers but some choice ingredients can be found here: Genuine original writing, crackling, inspiring publisher, a slightly bonkers studio space and an art director who reads, having the time of his life. And thrilling at the wealth of illustration talent to be discovered and enjoyed. llustrator Cathie Felstead took her maiden voyage with us. And what a debut she made!

In China Men we are taken into the world of workers migrating to America (the Gold Mountain) for work to enable them to send money home to their families. How they are seen as one amorphous group but who, by turn, see the caucasians as all looking alike. For their white-skin they call them ghosts. The Postman Ghost, the Carpenter Ghost . . .

Cathie's beautiful artwork was the first commission where I bought the original for my home too. There are few objects, except books and music, I treasure but this sure is one. The colour is built up with layers of collage tissue. The rough edges kept for character. Background off-white as in Chinese culture white associates with death. The fish, which appeared elsewhere in Cathie's glorious portfolio were added as a migration motif and to draw the eye to an early "First British Publication" slogan without destroying the cover with graphic devices more commonly linked to Daz.

Today there are so many references to Branding. Here the distinctive artwork is the success. It worked in a tough, competitive market-place. It's all about character, identity and paying due attention to the very special. Human appeal counts.

Hear Maxine Hong Kingston reading from her new book here: http://bit.ly/eCH8W4 . . . and follow @RandomPR on Twitter.

You cannot live in a rural community, as I do, without observing what an all-encompassing interest horses are to many. Not only racing but riding, owning, grooming, breeding and showing. The equestrian fan is totally absorbed by their pastime. Quite an industry too. It's not my specialst subject – only ridden twice, once on the Guinness Estate as a guest (good), the other in Algeria (bad). Amazing creatures though. Equine athletes. Limited expertise here. Must say I prefer Delacroix to Stubbs. But do check this stunning volume, Horses by Yann Arthus-Bertrand, Jean-Louis Gouraud. The sheer beauty of the animal does not escape me. Also the fertilizer is very impressive for the garden.

And I do enjoy reading a good thriller . . .

. . . Who could not help but be gripped by the extraordinary events at Newbury Race Course last weekend? In the viewers' enclosure several of the race horses suddenly became extremely distressed. And two died instantly. Ghastly, even on the radio. Possible cause is suspected to be an electric shock from an under-turf source. Not only was it an attention-grabbing news item but I was struck by how many reporters said the event was 'like a Dick Francis novel'.

A select few authors become synonymous with a sport. Norman Mailer on boxing leaps to mind, but more often than not it is sport as a major strand of popular culture that inspires the novelist, rather than sport per se. Short story writers, however, do favour the activity. But I digress. So you see why I value great writers so highly - for their skill and craft eludes me.

Dick Francis was a serious achiever in British National Hunt racing before he started writing about that world. He won over 350 races, becoming champion jockey  just as Noddy was entering my consciousness. He quit racing as the result of a serious fall. His most famous moment as a jockey came while riding the Queen Mother's horse, Devon Loch, in the 1956 Grand National when the horse inexplicably fell when close to winning the race. Wikipedia just told me that bit. '56 is the year I acquired a hyphen.

At Pan Books Dick Francis sales were cantering along nicely. But the feeling was that he should be read beyond his devoted fans in the horse-racing fraternity. "Whether you followed the gee-gees or not they are a good read" they said. And we need covers for his books that stretch his appeal to include them. I was skeptical (the description of jockeys as dwarves dressed as clowns always tickled me) but gave it a shot. I read a few. They were right. He writes at quite a clip. Fast paced, accessible, one sitting reads. All made credible by his wealth of insider knowledge. So the challenge was to package his novels without overt equine imagery to keep the thriller appeal wide as possible. OK marketing peeps.

The design shown is about nefarious deeds with counterfeit vintage wine against a racing backdrop. I designed two dozen or so with photographer Colin Thomas. A few are shown above.

A graphic design snippet for you: See the bubbles on the meniscus? When photographing drinks you need to be able to control the bubbles. Especially with wine. Too many will appear oxidized. Too few looks flat. And, whilst there is some settled wisdom, opinions differ on the ideal size and number with the wine producer. An air-filled syringe is a time consuming option and as bubbles burst they splash colour on the perfect glass. Solution: you can buy plastic bubbles in unlimited configurations to drop into liquids. They pick up the colour by reflection. Life before PhotoShop.

Thrillers are often referred to as 'electric'. Maybe that was the cause of the Newbury tragedy? Time, and Clare Balding, will tell.

Will they ever find Proof?

This blog was born thanks to the devilishly smart guys at Like Minds. Scott Gould recognised that I have a compelling track record of successful design selling other people's products and services. But he also saw that I can become diffident and uncomfortable selling my own skills. This diagnosis took him less than 30 minutes on our first meeting. He gave me what I can only describe as Alex Fergerson's Hairdryer Treatment. But, and here's the clever bit, having harshly isolated a problem he swiflty moved to the positive. Scott's observation was that once I stopped 'trying to sell' I relaxed and just chatted about work experiences in my own words and became animated and enthusiastic. Before I had time to be indignant and defensive he instructed me to set up this Blog and tell the stories behind the portfolio.

"There aren't half some clever bastards" as Ian Dury once said. Thank you Scott. Right on the money.

Q:Why is there a "Blockbuster" Jacket up there?

A1: I thrive on variety. With books it is healthy to be able to sell a big airport read as well as a Booker Prize Winner. I have done both. Many times. Only doing the former I would have become a design hack. Only doing the latter I probably would have disappeared up own ego long ago.

A2: Because designers don't design just for other designers. Designers solve problems, for clients.

Savages is a novel, "Five Rich Women forced to go Native on a Desert Island". I won't expand, read it if that appeals.

Shirley Conran had been lured away from Penguin to Pan. I was due to design the paperback but the hardback publisher wanted me to create something early for them. Publisher, Phillipa Harrison flattered my design work and I took the bait. I took the manuscript home to read. Back in my West London flat that evening I turned to putting thoughts to layout pad. Had ideas, like you do.

For some ideas to work I was going to need the pooled budgets of both publishers, and it would make a nice big fuss of the author, I thought. Never a bad move, especially with the big ones. Good ROI, as Pan later agreed.

But for now all I had was crumpled paper. Doodles, random notes, thoughts etc. This stuff is very rough just an aide-memoire to me. No, you can't see it. My squeeze, Sandy, posed for reference for one idea in a T-Vest holding up a broom handle as a spear-gun (see above).

Next day, back at Art Director central, a normal morning, return from lunch, my quiet time in the Busabong, Fulham Road, with the papers. My recently appointed assistant says, "Shirley Conran called." Pressure already? 24 hours, Jeez, that's a record. "What did she say?", I asked. "Wanted to know if there were designs for her to see yet. Don't worry I saw them on your desk." Cardiac arrest as she announced, helpfully, "I sent them straight over by courier."

Bear in mind this is Shirley Conran, ex of Terence, mother of Jasper. Me, boy-art director. Shortly to be ex-art director. What she has been sent were random ramblings, scribbles, thinking on paper. Un-edited. Rougher than rough. Did I mention they were rough? This was not good.

Phone rings. Assistant says, "It's Shirley Conran . . . wants to speak to you".

There is a strange spongy vertigo when you are sure you are about to get fired. "Are you the individual who did these sketches?" Bugger, sarcasm too. "I can explain . . ." I began. "No need" she declared imperiously, "I love one of them. It's genius!". Waves of relief, self congratulation, instant conviction I knew it was a triumph all along . . .

"The one that's got Conran The Barbarian written on it." she said.

No moral. It progressed to sell shed-loads. And on the way stuff happened - Accounts Dept. imploaded when I commissioned Vogue fashion photographer Tony McGee. Showing a 5x4 transparency to the Sales Force, I witnessed them turn the tranny around to see the model from the front. Same crew managed to successfully block me from carefully placing the 'A' in the title neatly on her bottom as they thought it "too suggestive".

And a week after the shoot Tony McGee called to tell something about the ferry that had tragically sunk recently with serious loss of life. The model had cancelled her ticket on that very sailing to take our assignment.

I have been fortunate to work with some really great people. Authors, Composers, Entrepreneurs, Actors, Publishers, Creatives. Working with the best is very demanding but it makes you raise your game.

I relish that challenge.

My latest project has been working with a very talented Musicologist in Chicago called Doug Adams. More on that project in a later post. But it's a good excuse to start this Blog with the similarly named, Douglas Adams. I love to listen to BBC World Service. That's where I first heard the radio broadcast of A Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy – at 3 am on a sleepless night in West London. I liked the way it played with the Science Fiction genre. So when editor Caroline Upcher bought the rights for Pan Books I already knew the nature of the beast. And together we were able to spread the word that this was more than the SF designation it had on the list. But initially that is where it stayed. Mick Brownfield produced worthy cover art for the first edition. The series grew. It became a Trilogy.

Douglas Adams was huge fun but awful at meeting deadlines. He once said, "I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by." Book four in the Trilogy (yup) was commissioned. Douglas was late with the manuscript. 'Late' is putting it mildly. Douglas was massively late. Publisher, Sonny Mehta, was pushed to extreme measures. He booked a London hotel room, stocked it with paper and booze and locked our author in until he finished it. And thus legendary publishing tales are born.

Now, this is what I mean by massively late. Sales needed a cover to rack up the orders. I had to deliver the design for the hardback jacket before Douglas produced the book. I made him promise to tell me what he had in mind. On his way out of the Fulham Road offices, unaware of his imminent incarceration, he stuck his head round my office door to brief me. He said, "It's called So Long and Thanks for All the Fish". And left.

I sat, lost for words. A few minutes passed and his head re-appeared, "But there are no fish in it.", he declared – and fled.

This left me license to match enigma with enigma. And when the penny eventually dropped, it landed in a pint of Guinness and produced a 'lenticular print'. I found one of a walrus that morphed into a dinosaur, originally produced as a give-away for a cereal packet. Douglas Adams wrote in my copy "The silliest jacket in the history of history itself".

An Olympic level of silliness reached (that, of course mirrored the product) we were able to cap it off nicely when we eventually produced a unified design livery for the whole series. Adams hard-nosed agent demanded that we get the new paperback editions in bulk display bins in WHSmith. Trouble was their policy was no bins for re-issues, which three of the four were. It's never just simple! It was going to take a real eye-catcher to encourage WHS break the rules.

I played around with some nice images. Chris Foss produced a classy SF illustration of a spaceship in the shape of a Rebok training shoe. Fate demanded a fish this time. A very small place in North London produced a towel with the legend "Don't Panic!" woven in. And Douglas had made a self-portrait on his AppleMac. But felt none of them were strong enough to stand alone. Off to our author's house in Islington. Unable to hear over the most sophisticated sound system I had ever seen we played games with paper. Marketing Gods would call it brain-storming. I chopped copies of the images into pieces. Then settled on cutting each image into four. So by reconfiguring them you see the whole of each image. Just out of devilment, the spines, when in chronological order spell out "42". In Luscher Colour Test colours. Nobody got that.

Great fun, and millions of books were displayed and sold.