The Blog-Health-o-Meter™ reads Wow.

Crunchy numbers

A Boeing 747-400 passenger jet can hold 416 passengers. This blog was viewed about 11,000 times in 2010. That’s about 26 full 747s.

In 2010, there were 53 new posts, not bad for the first year! There were 147 pictures uploaded, taking up a total of 67mb. That’s about 3 pictures per week.

The busiest day of the year was July 1st with 254 views. The most popular post that day was The Leviathan.

Where did they come from?

The top referring sites in 2010 were alphainventions.com, facebook.com, slashingtongue.com, webcache.googleusercontent.com, and digg.com.

Some visitors came searching, mostly for kronosaurus, basking shark, leviathan, dogfish, and leviathan melville.

Attractions in 2010

These are the posts and pages that got the most views in 2010.

The Leviathan February 2010

Captain Nemo Provokes the Orange Monk, Unpunished! March 2010
1 comment

The Orange Monk Surfaces from 20,000 Leagues May 2010
5 comments

The Orange Monk Besieged by Pirates! (Part 2) February 2010
2 comments

The Orange Monk Besieged by Pirates! (Part 1) February 2010

Captain’s blog 070510

DAVID: Spirit of The Dam Busters. Yeah? The squadron never dies, does it? Seen that film?

GARRETH: Yeah, I got it on video.

DAVID: Well, then! Before he goes into battle, he’s playin’ with his dog and everything—

GARRETH: Yeah. “Nigger.”

DAVID: That’s not offensive, that’s the dog’s name. And it was the ’40s, as well, before racism was bad, innit, so…

GARRETH: Yeah, dog was called “Nigger.”

DAVID: Well don’t keep saying it, but…

—The Office (UK series), episode #6.1, “Judgement”

“Before racism was bad”

I really did hesitate to deal with the topic of racism here at this blog. It’s such a serious issue, warranting ongoing discussion and debate, that it seemed out of place at a blog where the order of the day is escapist fiction. Then again, I have to remember that the reason I started this blog was to examine adventure and genre fiction with the same rigors normally reserved for high-brow fiction. And since much adventure fiction trades on the idea of “exoticism,” in which non-European cultures are purposefully rendered as dark and mysterious, sometimes even magical, for the purposes of increasing the sense of adventure— racism is one of those issues which is going to rear its ugly head time and time again.

But it is with great trepidation that I move forward on this topic of discussion. Racism (and to a lesser extent, race itself) is such a sore issue, and rightly so, and I haven’t the proper qualifications (either in experience or in academia) to confidently navigate these murky waters. What I need from you, those who courageously read on, is an open mind. Please forgive me a few bungled sentiments, the occasional gaffe in political correctness, and certain misrepresentations of facts or truths, as this simply isn’t my area of expertise. I proceed in the name of academic inquiry, but the nature of blog writing — which is to say that what you are reading is pretty much always going to be a first draft, and not as carefully regulated as a thesis paper — is such that I am bound to say something which doesn’t come out quite right. When I’m introducing an author, that’s less urgent of a mistake. When I’m discussing issues of race and tolerance, the stakes are clearly much higher.

Having thus declared my anxiety about approaching this topic in this forum, I have to also say I would be remiss not to address (or redress?) the topic of racism in a discussion about King Solomon’s Mines. Not that this novel is particularly rife with racism, but it was written — as were many adventure novels — during the Victorian era, when British Imperialism was a way of life. As a consequence, non-European cultures were pretty commonly believed to be unsophisticated, or in some way actually sub-human. That’s what enabled the British Empire to colonize these cultures and sleep soundly at night, without the pesky feeling that some sort of villainy had been done. Some authors who arose out of this period, such as Rudyard Kipling (whom I’ll be reading next) eventually fell out of favor with the public for holding strong Imperialist views which gradually lost popularity. In short, many adventure novels were written in a time that Ricky Gervais (creator and star of the original The Office television series) satirically refers to as “before racism was bad.”

Racism, of course, is not like ultra-violet rays: it’s not something that at one time was thought beneficial, but newer studies now show to be harmful. Anything which rises out of fear and/or hate is surely a bad thing always. But there was a time (in America, before the Civil Rights Movement, for example) when subscribing to these prejudices and espousing narrow-minded opinions was not the strictest taboo. You could, apparently, get away with having a black labrador named “Nigger” in your movie. In fact, that wouldn’t even tarnish the heroic aspect of the dog’s owner. These days, that’s not an appropriate expression. It doesn’t mean that racism has gone away. I would like to think that racism is less profuse in our day and age, but it may simply be that “political correctness” has come to replace open racism as a standard. While Haggards and Kiplings could spice up their adventures with savage dark-skinned natives, modern adventure writers now have to find P.C. ways of injecting a sense of the exotic into their narratives.

“That word”

To some extent, readers who approach older fiction expect —or are at least not surprised to find— certain opinions that we now deem “backward.” Even works my Mark Twain, who is often considered socially progressive, freely use the word “nigger,” and sometimes aren’t fully enlightened when it comes to dealing with racial equality. So what could I have expected, embarking on a novel written in 1885 and set in Africa, besides a goodly amount of racist moments?

Haggard seems to bring the topic to the fore immediately. Just after the introduction and only a few paragraphs into Chapter 1, there is this, in the voice of Allan Quatermain:

—no, I’ll scratch that word ‘niggers’ out, for I don’t like it.”

At first, there is a feeling as of a fresh breeze coming in through a window. Ah-ha, a Victorian-era voice with a surprisingly modern view! How unusual to find someone from this period of time who will criticize that word, when so many use it if only just because it is the word society has taught them to use. But the next lines complicate Quatermain’s stance:

I’ve known natives who are, and so you’ll say, Harry, my boy, before you’re done with this tale, and I have known mean whites with lots of money and fresh out from home, too, who ain’t.”

art by A.C. Michael

“Are” and “ain’t,” in this context, refer to being a gentleman. Quatermain is asking himself whether he might be considered a gentleman, and somehow it seems as if for him the term “nigger” implies someone who isn’t a gentleman. The grammar of this paragraph gets a little tricky, but what seems significant is 1.) Allan Quatermain reflexively used the word “nigger” out of habit but decided to cross it out and go on record as saying he doesn’t like that word, and 2.) “that word” seems to be less of a race-specific epithet to him, and more of a negative description of character, which some but not all “natives” may fit, and which some but not all “whites” may also fit. Owing to the race-specific origin of the word, it can’t easily be re-defined this way, as simply a description of character. One would still have to take exception to the fact that a word describing bad character just so happens to also be a word used to refer to darker-skinned people. But what is admirable about this passage, I think, is a self-awareness about the use of that word which seems unusual for the time. Also, if we remove the word in question entirely, what we see is a person who does not rush to judgements about people based on the color of their skin, nor on their origin, nor on how much money they have, nor on how good their pedigree may ostensibly be. There are rotten apples in every barrel, and Allan Quatermain seems the sort of person to engage with each and every apple on its own terms before rendering a judgment. Of course, this reading of Quatermain is largely dependent on what may be an inaccurate interpretation of the complicated grammar in the above quote.

Still, I feel like there is a social conscience within H. Rider Haggard that he himself may not even be fully aware of, but which is rattling at the bars of his prose, trying to break out. He spent a good deal of his life in Africa, and no doubt had first hand experiences with locals that may have challenged some of the blind opinions programmed into him as a subject of the crown and a good little Imperialist. Then again, perhaps not: Kipling was raised in India, and was a raging Imperialist until he drew his final breath.

Umbopa Doo-Wop

Paul Robeson played Umbopa in the 1937 British production of King Solomon's Mines

It is interesting to note that one of the central heroic characters in King Solomon’s Mines is a Kukuana native (the Kukuanas being a fictitious African tribe much like the Zulu people) by the name of Umbopa. Actually, Umbopa enters the service of Allan Quatermain and his white cohorts, Sir Henry Curtis and Captain Good, passing himself off as a Zulu. Without spoiling the plot to anyone unfamiliar with it, this subterfuge is significant. Suffice it to say that Umbopa enters the novel as a footman, but ends up making a much more significant contribution to the plot.

Having a black African hero in a Victorian adventure novel is an awkward situation. In fact, Haggard might be praised for a progressive attitude here. But it’s important to recognize that he is not entirely absolved of his era’s discomfort with native people. Consider the following introduction to Umbopa:

I [Quatermain] was rather puzzled at this man [Umbopa] and his way of speech. [...H]e was somehow different from the ordinary run of Zulus. [...] He certainly was a magnificent-looking man; I never saw a finer native. Standing about six foot three high, he was broad in proportion, and very shapely. In that light, too, his skin looked scarcely more than dark[...] Sir Henry walked up to him and looked into his proud, handsome face.

‘They make a good pair, don’t they?’ said Good; ‘One as big as the other.’

‘I like your looks, Mr. Umbopa, and I will take you as my servant,’ said Sir Henry in English.

Umbopa evidently understood him, for he answered in Zulu, ‘It is well;’ and then, with a glance at the white man’s great stature and breadth, ‘we are men, you and I.’”

Each time a statement is put forth which humanizes Umbopa, it is qualified in the very same breath. He is “magnificent-looking,” but only for a “native”; his skin is not quite black, but instead he looks more like a dark skinned European, and this detail is for some reason worth mentioning; his face is proud, but when Sir Henry looks into it he claims Umbopa as his servant.

As Sir Henry’s servant, Umbopa already occupies an elevated, more heroic role than any of the other black Africans we have encountered in the novel at this point. Sir Henry is presented as a sort of mythological Nordic hero, an Aryan ideal of strength and manliness:

[Sir Henry] was one of the biggest-chested and longest-armed men I ever saw. He had yellow hair, a big yellow beard, clear-cut features, and large gray eyes set deep into his head. I never saw a finer-looking man, and somehow he reminded me of an ancient Dane. [...] I remember once seeing a picture of some of those gentry, who, I take it, were a kind of white Zulus. They were drinking out of big horns , and their long hair hung down their backs, and as I looked at my friend standing there by the companion-ladder, I thought that if one only let his hair grow a bit, put one of those chain shirts on to those great shoulders of his, and gave him a big battle-axe and a horn mug, he might have sat as a model for that picture.”

Sir Henry, the great white hero of King Solomon's Mines

Haggard’s description of Sir Henry verges on the homoerotic, and is completely devoid of the kind of qualifying statements that pockmark Umbopa’s description. And Sir Henry will even live up to the above description before the book’s end, as Haggard reserves one of the more important “boss battles” for Sir Henry (not, as you might have expected, for Allan Quatermain), and he fights it with a battle-axe, clad in a chain-mail shirt. At the point in the novel during which the battle takes place, it’s probable that Sir Henry’s hair has grown out “a bit,” so all that’s really missing from the picture Quatermain describes is the horn mug.

But Haggard has gone so far in comparing Sir Henry and Umbopa that in fact the only difference between them is the color of their skin: Umbopa is presented as a Zulu, and Sir Henry presented as a white Zulu. They are, as Captain Good points out, “one as big as the other.” They literally see eye-to-eye. Umbopa recognizes this, and expresses a sentiment of equality: “We are men, you and I.” Sir Henry recognizes it and asserts an immediate hierarchy: “I will take you as my servant.” Though Umbopa is reigned in socially, to conform with the mores of Haggard’s day, he is still treated with a great deal of respect. We get the sense that not anyone could be the god-like Sir Henry’s servant, but Umbopa is somehow equal to that task. By the end of the novel, in fact, Umbopa will prove more than Sir Henry’s equal, at least so far as relative social rankings go.

To Sum Up

Haggard’s King Solomon’s Mines certainly doesn’t strike me as the most racist work I’ve ever come across, but it hasn’t wholly succeeded in transcending the attitudes of its day. How much racism, if any, do we excuse as being just an artifact of the culture out of which a work has come? How much do we chalk up to being “before racism was bad”?

When I was minoring in film at college, I repeatedly encountered a tension between people who felt films should always be examined in contemporary contexts, and those who believed films should be evaluated with their original contexts in mind. On the one hand, a film that fails to seem relevant to the modern age is deemed unsuccessful: maybe it’s boring now, too quaint or mannered, cheesy, etc. On the other hand, films would need to be understood in context of the time period and culture from which they arose: a movie which fails to stimulate us today would have to be acknowledged for the shock effect it had when it was initially seen, for example.

The question of context is at the heart of this issue, as well. Do we see King Solomon’s Mines as progressive in comparison to novels in its peer group? Or do we criticize its imperial tendencies for being woefully out of step with today’s “politically correct” standards of taste? Or, to put the question in a nutshell: how much intolerance do we tolerate?

I would love to hear from you on this issue. Particularly, I would love to hear from people who habitually read older fiction or watch older movies (such as The Dam Busters) and may have to regularly turn a blind eye or deaf ear on certain taboos committed by their favorite works of art. Is there a maximum amount of contextual “backwardness” that is tolerable before it begins to interfere with your enjoyment or respect for the work? Do you run a constant filter, essentially ignoring those incidences? Or do you make excuses for them, or rationalize them as artifacts of a bygone era and make peace with them?

Zip me a comment, and let me know how you reconcile modern tolerance with antiquated views…

In the meantime, I really would love to hear suggestions on what actor would make the quintessential Allan Quatermain. (Or actress; I feel like Cate Blanchett was the best Bob Dylan in I’m Not There.) What’s that you say? You haven’t read the novel? You don’t have a very good grip on this Quatermain guy? No matter! You can’t possibly do any worse than Hollywood has already done by selecting Sam Worthington (no offense to you personally, of course, Sam). Why, even Larry David would be an step in a more suitable direction… So don’t be bashful!

Now that this book is printed, and about to be given to the world, the sense of its shortcomings, both in style and in contents, weighs very heavily upon me.”

Allan Quatermain

Those are the first words of H. Rider Haggard’s King Solomon’s Mines, and I thought they were meant to be the author’s own sentiments about his novel. But the rest of the apology that follows from this sentence is signed by none other than Mr. Quatermain, the novel’s fictitious hero himself.

It is the first surprise among several in store for me about Allan Quatermain. So far, the sum of my understanding of this character comes from his appearance in both the graphic novel and the movie adaptation of The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen,a Hallmark-produced TV-movie of King Solomon’s Mines, and a vague knowledge that there are several old adventure movies featuring Allan Quatermain exploring torch-lit tombs and swinging on vines, eventually giving rise to Steven Spielberg’s and George Lucas’ Indiana Jones series.

Quatermain, as drawn by Kevin O'Neill in the "League of Extraordinary Gentlemen" graphic novels.

Sean Connery plays Allan Quatermain in the film of LoEG. He cuts a more muscular silhouette than the way Kevin O’Neill draws the same character in the original graphic novels, and one gets the impression that this Quatermain is a retired and possibly now-irrelevant shade of a once more dashing adventurer — in fact something more along the lines of Patrick Swayze in the aforementioned Hallmark television version: square-jawed, brawny, squinty eyes with that 100-yard stare. Essentially, I pictured Allan Quatermain in his prime (that is to say, as he would appear in his first adventure, King Solomon’s Mines) as Harrison Ford playing Indiana Jones in the 1980s.

But in actuality, Quatermain is a grizzled older man of smallish build and a distaste for taking foolish chances, even in his debut appearance. The novel is narrated in the first person by Quatermain, who tells us right away in Chatper 1 that he is “fifty-five last birthday” and “a timid man” who doesn’t like violence and is “pretty sick of adventure.” He leads elephant hunts for tourists in Africa and sends money back to England for his son Harry, who is studying to be a medical doctor. Quatermain is troubled by pain in his left leg, the result of an old lion-related injury. This placid, limping old family man is… our hero?

These days, the post-modern “anti-hero” is a well-known trope, and doesn’t really raise eyebrows. We’re used to “reluctant heroes,” or heroes who may have so much baseness in them we’re never quite sure if they’re meant to actually be the villain. These days, heroes like Casablanca‘s Richard Blaine, who sticks his neck out for no one; or the ne’er-do-well-turned-do-gooder Han Solo — are just so much background noise. But there was a day when heroes were properly “heroes,” near gods, sparkling and triumphant monuments of virtue, bravery and strength. King Solomon’s Mines was published near enough to that golden age of heroes that I expected Allan Quatermain to be Errol Flynn with a bullwhip and a necklace made out of crocodile teeth. I’m surprised to find in place of that image the slight, quiet, older man who is “sick of adventure.”

He makes Indiana Jones — who I had long believed to be a direct conceptual descendant of Quatermain — look like one of those spotless god-like heroes of yore. When in fact, Spielberg and Lucas invented their bullwhip-toting archeologist to embody the antithesis of that mode of heroism. They wanted something to give James Bond a run for his money, and they did it by dispensing with the luxury automobiles, the perfect hair, the white tuxedoes, the upper-class drinks and the ease with women which 007 had. The idea was to make Indiana Jones more of an “every man,” rougher around the edges. His iconic outfit places functionality over style. He sports a permanent five o’clock shadow. He drops things, miscalculates, and frequently finds himself in over his head. That desperate last-minute grab for his rumpled fedora is a very meaningful gesture. He’s a shop-worn hero, but not the first of his kind by a long shot. Humphrey Bogart had been treading those same mean streets long before Harrison Ford. As Rick Blaine in Casablanca, of course, he may have looked at times like Sean Connery as James Bond, but his selfish go-to-hell attitude was refreshing in its jadedness. But of course Rick had a heart of gold deep down, just as Sam Spade (The Maltese Falcon, 1941) and Philip Marlowe (The Big Sleep, 1946) had. In fact, his character Dobbs from Treasure of the Sierra Madre may be more responsible for Indiana Jones (at least in the costume department) than Allan Quatermain.

Bogart's "Dobbs" from The Treasure of the Sierra Madre; the influence on Indiana Jones seems like more than mere coincidence.

But I want to be careful that I don’t divorce Indiana and Allan completely. I think there is still some genetic makeup handed down from Haggard’s hero to Lucas’. Both have larger-than-life adventures with decidedly paranormal elements, yet both balance those nutty adventures with very human traits: Quatermain’s frailty and cowardice, Jones’ exuberant oversights and handicapping phobias (“Snakes! Why did it have to be snakes?”). Neither adventurer strikes one as highly composed, unflappable, smooth, or bloodthirsty. Jones may have a looser regard for human life than Quatermain does when push comes to shove (Spielberg looks back with regret at the famous scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark when Indy cooly dispatches a showy swordsman with a single shot from his revolver), but in each case blood is shed only as a provision for self-defense, and never on a first-strike basis.

The curious common denominator through all of this is Sean Connery. Connery was the first (and some, such as myself, might argue the best) man to portray Ian Flemming’s secret agent James Bond on film. It was in Connery’s hands that 007 became known for his cool-under-pressure style, the perfect hair even after bone-jarring action sequences. “Bond” became synonymous for fashionable clothing, top-of-the-line accessories, luxury automobiles and women that were every bit as fast and sleek, and responded every bit as willingly to his prompting. Sean Connery, then, is the mode of hero that Indiana Jones deliberately set out to deconstruct. Yet who should be cast in The Last Crusade as Indy’s father? None other than the original James Bond, but this time in a far more docile and dottering mode. As Henry Jones, Sr., Connery aided in dismantling the same archetype he helped to establish in the early 1960s. Indy’s dad can’t handle a machine gun, and participates in action sequences by stirring up a flock of geese with his umbrella, and then quoting poetry. His rumpled hat and tweed three-piece suit are a far cry from Bond’s tuxedo.

Adventuresome genes: Henry Jones Jr. (don't call him "Junior") and Henry Jones Sr.

By casting Connery as Quatermain in the 2003 film adaptation of League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, director Stephen Norrington is drawing upon Connery’s persona as the original James Bond. But dressing him in a wide-brimmed outback hat guarantees that audiences will also appreciate the Indiana Jones reference. And in so doing, Norrington makes Allan Quatermain quite literally the father of Indiana Jones.

Allan Quatermain, or father of Indiana Jones? Or both? (And James Bond, too!)

In that sense, the casting seems appropriate. But that’s a post-modern, pop-culture sort of rationality which may suit the source graphic novel for League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (which itself practices a sort of post-modern witchcraft by uniting different heroes from Victorian fiction and treating them as though they might have co-existed in some kind of alternate history), but it does little in service of Haggard’s novel.

Deborah Kerr and Stewart Granger in MGM's "King Solomon's Mines," 1950

Back in 1950, MGM did very little to honor Haggard’s original vision, either. They forced a female lead into the story where there never was one (most versions of King Solomon’s Mines are guilty of this, but I confess it does seem like a good move), and cast Stewart Granger as Allan Quatermain. (The role of Quatermain was originally offered to Errol Flynn, who turned it down to star in the movie adaptation of Rudyard Kipling’s Kim. King Solomon’s Mines was far more successful, and helped propel Stewart Granger to stardom. He reprised the role of Quatermain in a 1959 sequel called Watusi. Haggard actually wrote a sequel to King Solomon’s Mines called Allan Quatermain, but as far as I can tell Watusi is not based on that novel; in fact, Watusi claims to also be based on Haggard’s novel, King Solomon’s Mines.)

A loose comedy-adventure adaptation was made in 1985, starring Richard Chamberlain (who kind of looks like Chuck Norris to me) in the main role. The last live action version was the TV movie produced by Hallmark Entertainment in 2004, starring Patrick Swayze as Allan Quartermain (instead of Quatermain as it is in the novel). Finally, that ubiquitous action actor Sam Worthington is set to play him in some kind of sci-fi version of King Solomon’s Mines, in which Quatermain returns to planet Earth— well, enough said I guess. That sounds awful.

Sam Worthington — the Quatermain who fell to Earth.

I think you’ll agree with me, even if you haven’t read the book and have only read my scant introduction to the character, that none of these actors seems to quite capture Allan Quatermain. At best, they manage to capture other characters (James Bond, Indiana Jones, etc.) as a sort of place-holder for the man himself. Sean Connery may have been the most age-appropriate, but he didn’t exude the retiring nature of Haggard’s elephant-hunting accidental hero. What I would like to know is, who would you like to see play Allan Quatermain?

Contest winner John T. Woods provided this clever graphical depiction of his journey. "One League Into the East" even sounds like a pretty ripping good yarn by M. Verne. Well done!

Friend and neighbor John T. Woods (or Jaunty, as I like to call him) hoofed it along Wilshire Blvd. here in Los Angeles, and went approximately 3.01 miles (according to Mapquest). That’s .01 more than the official modern understanding of a league. The table of measurements the prefaces 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea indicates that in Verne’s usage, a league is equivalent to 2.16 miles.

So congrats, Jaunty, you walk faster than a Frenchman.

Not surprisingly, at the end of his league, Jaunty wished he had a horse on which to test a league on the way back! (Incidentally, if anyone can test out a horse’s distance walked in one hour, I’d be very interested to have that data.)

This result effectively closes the Walk a League contest. However, if anyone is feeling like a scenic walk, I still welcome any data. I still plan to walk a league, and will report my findings here at AOM once I do. So don’t feel discouraged! Summon up that spirit of adventure I know you have (since you’re here), and walk a league!

Meanwhile, if you still want a print there are currently 19 more available for purchase at StBernART, my store, which is located at the top of my website, StBernardsPass.com (just click on the red tab that says store!). Get ‘em while they last…

From the very beginning of my experience with Jules Verne’s 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, units of measurement have played a critical role. In fact, one can’t approach the novel without running up against a measurement, because there are twenty thousand of them in the title itself. But just what is a league, anyway? The average reader is probably somewhat unfamiliar with that unit of measurement. But it seems there is a discrepancy even among the more learnéd, and one need not poke around too long before discovering an array of differing definitions. (One table at the beginning of 20,000 Leagues actually attempts to standardize a number of measurements, one of those being a league, in order to square the various facts and calculations which were notoriously mangled when Verne’s works were translated into English from his native French.) My favorite defintion, though, has to be this one, from Wikipedia of all places:

The league most frequently refers to the distance a person or a horse can walk in an hour.”

A person or a horse?! Surely the distance a horse can walk in an hour is different from the distance a man could walk in the same amount of time. And even if it’s not, given the differences in people’s strides and natural land speed, surely the distance walked by any two individual men in an hour would be wildly different.

"20K Leagues Under the Sea," or 20KLUTS print

Naturally, I’m curious to know just how similar the distances might be for various individuals (I’m thinking people, here, not horses) walking non-stop for an hour. But I would need volunteers, and hence was born the Walk a League Contest. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to grab a pedometer and hit the streets. Set aside an hour, and go walking. Not 59 minutes, not an hour and change, but exactly an hour. No stopping, no lollygagging, no idle chit-chat with neighbors unless they can talk and walk with you.

The first person to report back to me (by leaving a comment on this post with the distance they travelled on foot in 1 hour) will win a limited edition signed print of the “20K Leagued Under the Sea” book cover I designed completely free of charge, shipping included! (19 more of you will be able to purchase a print for the low, low price of $10 + $3 shipping anywhere in the US.) To the fine print!

THEM’S THE RULES:

To enter, you will need:

• a device (or methodology) to reliably gauge distance walked
• a device (or methodology) for reliably measuring time
• one (1) hour to spare

For ONE (1) HOUR (excluding any set-up or walking downstairs to get outside or whatever) walk at a normal, comfortable, and sustainable pace while using your distance-gauging device or methodology to keep track of how far you go in that hour. If you have an iPhone or iPod Touch or something like that, there are pedometer apps you can download (I will personally be using GoPedometer on my iPhone).

The idea is not to stop. This is a challenge if, like me, you live in an urban area and may confront cross walks or other obstacles to pedestrianism. Although I may look a bit insane, I plan on coping with this by making an about-face and continuing to walk in the opposite direction whenever confronted by a “don’t walk” sign. Or, by turning a corner where applicable — but be safe! I wouldn’t want anyone ending up in a sketchy area just because they were trying to maintain a continuous walk.

Once you have completed this task, navigate to this blog and click on the comments feature associated with THIS post to share your results with me. (IMPORTANT: just to maintain some sense of consistency, results left in the comments of other posts on this blog will be considered invalid, so follow directions!)

Exactly ONE (1) WEEK from the official date of this post (Pacific time-zone), this contest will be CLOSED. But that gives you the rest of this week and all weekend to get out and walk for an hour and report back to me. Your results comment MUST be received before the official closing time of this contest in order to be valid.

THE PRIZE:

The first person to validly report their results will win an 8″x10″ fine art print of “20K Leagues Under the Sea,” the digital artwork I made as a theoretical dust jacket for Jules Verne’s novel. (You may remember I made two different versions, and asked readers to vote on their favorite; this print is of the winning design.)

"20K Leagues Under the Sea" print, shown with certificate of authenticity

This is a limited edition print, representing the cover and spine artwork. It’s printed on luxurious Hahnemühle Photo Rag Ultra Smooth paper (305 gsm) with 6-color process archival ink. Each print is hand-numbered and signed by me (the artist) and comes with a certificate of authenticity, which also indicates the edition number.

There are only 20 of these bad-boys, as I’m not sure what kind of demand for them there will be. If I sell them out, I’ll most likely offer the next cover artwork as a larger edition. One of these 20 prints is obviously going to be the prize for whomever wins the contest. The remaining 19 will be available for purchase from my newly minted StBernART store, my own personal e-storefront made possible by Vendr.com. To visit the store, simply go to my personal website, StBernardsPass.com, and look for the fairly obvious red tab at the top of the page that says “Store.”

If I have any prints from this edition that don’t sell at StBernART, I will make them available on Etsy, but they will probably cost a little bit more than $10, just to cover the percentage of the sale that Etsy collects. So if you’re interested, lock down a print from StBernART today!

Now, go walk a league!

Until then — let’s get going on King Solomon’s Mines. Hoping to keep up the tradition of designing original art for the novels read and discussed on this site, I’ve decided to post a little bio on author H. Rider Haggard in a format which can easily slide into the “author flap” template in the future:

H. Rider Haggard

Henry Rider Haggard (b. 1856 – d. 1925) was an author of Victorian adventure novels. English born, Haggard lived and worked in South Africa for many years and his knowledge of the land and its cultures add depth to the exotic locales featured in his stories. One of the founders of the Lost World genre, his Allan Quatermain character (King Solomon’s Mines, Allan Quatermain) served as the template for George Lucas’ and Steven Spielberg’s Indiana Jones character.

Another of his most famous works, She: A History of Adventure, is one of the best-selling novels of all time, and is generally regarded as a classic of imaginative fiction. Haggard has inspired generations of writers such as Robert E. Howard (Conan the Barbarian) and Edgar Rice Burroughs (Tarzan), and with his continued popularity (Allan Quatermain was featured heavily in both the graphic novels and the film of The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen) he will doubtlessly influence storytellers— and dazzle readers —for generations to come.”

Stay tuned to find out how to win this as a digital print:

Richard Burton as Alec Leamas, The Spy Who Came In From the Cold (Ritt, 1965)

This past week I’ve been in Berlin, Germany on business — and that’s the reason activity at this blog has slowed to a stand-still. Never fear, though! I have returned, and will be ramping up speed at this blog again. Keep tuning in: find out which 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea book cover emerged victorious in the poll, and find out how to win a print. Also, stay tuned for discussions on King Solomon’s Mines, by H. Rider Haggard.