An Avant-garde Wordless Picture Book: The Marvelous Voyage of Spot and Dot

Potty és Pötty Kalandos Utazása. Budapest: “Ifjuság” Kiadása, [ca. 1920]. (Cotsen 12617)

Say “visual storytelling” and the names of David Wiesnieski, Shaun Tan, Raymond Briggs, and Peter Spier are more likely to pop in the mind than the Hungarian artist Sándor Bortnyik, creator of a single wordless picture book in 1926: Potty és Pötty, kalandos utazása.  While it is not well known outside connoisseurs of the modernist picture book, other such books were published during the 1920s, such as Otto Geismar’s Old Testament stories acted out by stick figures or Edward Baumer’s Kinderparadies.

The story is familiar: a boy and girl are flying kites in the park when a great puff of wind pulls them up into the sky.  When they come down to earth, they find themselves in a strange land where balls grow magically.

Two of the balls carry them down the river to a castle, where they are welcomed by the king and his subjects, which include stereotypical renderings of a Black boy, a Chinese man, etc. in the crowd..  After a sumptuous tea, they enjoy a performance of the circus, fairground rides, a drive in  a touring car through the countryside, and the front row seats at the opera. They bid the king farewell and travel back home in an airplane before transferring to the backs of stars.The style of the illustrations in Potty és Pötty with its palette of flat bright colors and two-dimensional geometric figures bear comparison to Bortnyik’s famous contemporaneous advertising graphics, the best known being for Modiano cigarettes. The major difference was that he was under no obligation to promote a commercial brand, which gave him leeway to experiment with a visual narrative in the style of  Gebrauchtskunst, the early twentieth century design movement which redefined style and purpose of applied art.

If he was trying to break down the distinction between commercial art and book illustration as a minor form of fine art, the story of  two bourgeois children consuming a variety of elite pleasures while guests of royalty, was vendible if retrograde to a socialist who had spent time at the Bauhaus in Weimar.   Probably Bortnyik was pragmatic enough to realize that adapting Bauhaus ideas to trade children’s book illustration was a dead end.  Perhaps having proved to himself that a story could be told as a series of wordless posters, he had no desire to continue it, which might explain why he said nothing about book over his lifetime–unless he relented and included it in one of the many exhibition catalogues and retrospectives of his work in Hungary.

The book’s history is a curious and complicated one and all known editions are quite rare.  To date, the only scholarly article in English is by Samuel Albert at Fashion Institute of Technology in the 2015 collection Children’s Literature and the Avant-Garde.

(Cotsen 12617)

Cotsen owns an edition issued by Ifjuság in Budapest with Bortnyik’s name on the cover title label, title and last illustration.  The color illustrations unaccompanied by text are mounted on leaves of thin card hinged with dark blue cloth in blue publisher’s cloth case; it seems unlikely that an artist’s copy (as the Cotsen copy has been described) would be in an edition binding.  Laid in is a typescript of 22 rhymed stanzas credited to Ernö Szep.  It has not been established if this is the Hungarian text published in a later edition.

Die Wunderfahrt. Leipzig: Alfred Hahns: Dietrich & Sell, [1929]. (Cotsen 1985)

In 1929 Alfred Hahns Verlag and Dietrich Sell copublished the illustrations with a verse narrative by Albert Sixtus, new endpapers conceivably  by Bortnyik, and an illustrated dust jacket by another hand (the Cotsen copy, like most surviving ones, doesn’t have the dust jacket).  Except for the copies designated as the 1.-4. Auflage of 16,000 copies, I have not been able to establish the date of the other copies in WorldCat.   In Germany, the book enjoys a sufficiently high reputation to have been reissued as a facsimile in 2008.An English-language text for Bortnyik’s illustrations called Tatters and Scraps: Two Paper Dolls in Toyland was brought out in 1933 by Chicago publisher Albert Whitman.  It’s almost as rare as the Hungarian edition!  During the 1930s the firm also issued translations of a few modernist German picture books by Tom Seidmann-Freud and Franz Ostini, which were quite different from the rest of the backlist.  Bortnyik—but not the author of Tatters—receives  credit on the title page.  Although the children have been turned into paper dolls, the original illustrations are unchanged.If there is a moral to this peculiar publishing history, it might go like this: pictures need their thousand words, whether or not the artist judged them easy to grasp!

 

 

Driving Nails into the Coffin: A True Story in The Slave’s Friend (1835-1838), the First Abolitionist Periodical for Children

The Slave’s Friend. New York: American Anti-slavery Society, 1836-1838. (Cotsen 6598)

Because The Slave’s Friend was a “first,” certain facts are well known.  The monthly issues for children between six and 12 cost just a penny.  The editor was Lewis Tappan, the brother of the abolitionist Arthur,  the printer Ransom G. Wilson, and the illustrator the well-known wood cutter Alexander Andersen.  It was one of four publications The American Anti-Slavery Society launched in the early 1830.  In order to publicize its activities, the early numbers of the Friend were distributed free through the Society’s postal campaign to flood the southern states with abolitionist literature.  Incidents like the burning of bags of AASS pamphlets in Charleston, South Carolina post office proved great publicity for the organization.

Until recently, commentary on the periodical’s miscellaneous contents has been fairly cursory, as if the ways Tappan used to persuade his readership to accept the Society’s advocacy of immediate emancipation by non-violent means were self-evident.  Like any abolitionist publication, anecdotes of cruelty suffered by enslaved people figure prominently.  Should their sources be identified?  Should they be queried for accuracy? When reprinted from elsewhere, to what extent are they differ from the source material?

I decided to use as a test case a story in the July 1835 issue of The Slave’s Friend about two little girls named Joggy and Lorina.

The Slave’s Friend. July 1835

The Slave’s Friend. July 1835

My assumption that their story was probably reprinted from an earlier source was wrong:  it was literally hot off the press, based on articles about Captain Caleb Miller of the brig America, who brought them to America, that were run in The New Bedford Mercury and Boston Morning Post in June and early July.  Tappan seems to have drawn on the July 3 article in the Boston paper, which announced that Miller was charged with kidnapping and piracy in order to sell the two girls as slaves.  His story that the girls were given to him and he planned to raise them as his own was not believed.  He held on $3000 bail.

The Slave’s Friend. July 1835

Miller’s trial was closely watched by the abolitionist community because it would be the first case arising from the violation of United States laws against the African slave trade (The New Bedford Mercury suggested that “certain abolitionist gentlemen” had brought the case to light precisely for this reason.)   Tappan’s follow up article, however, focuses almost entirely on the girls’ whereabouts and welfare as more compelling way to rouse his readers’ sympathies than the details of Miller’s trial.  He went so far as to state that President Jackson deported Joggy and Lorena to Africa, a claim probably made on the strength of Jackson being listed as a supporter of the American Colonlzation Society (later revealed as  without his consent).

Reportage of the trial says little about the girls in comparison with Miller.  The Mercury, which was not noted for abolitionist sympathies, gave him a good character. The brig’s owners, New Bedford merchants William H. Hathaway and William S. Swain, testified that the ship had been trading on the African coast since 1830, but Miller had no orders to take slaves.  Testimony revealed that when the America was anchored in the “Rio Danda,” Miller was asked to transport 30 Africans to an undisclosed destination and his employer Swain claimed “it is common practice to take passengers, who are slaves, from one port to another, on the Coast of Africa,” as well as observing that “domestic slavery” was as common there as in the South.

Additional testimony from the trial in the August 7th Mercury via the New York Herald offered more information about the girls, confirming that they were  two places and therefore not related, that one was older than the other, and they disembarked the America on different days.  Their names are given as Lorena and Joarkana.   A crewman of color claimed responsibility for alerting New York  authorities about them being on board.  During the trial the girls made an appearance to “excite sympathy and to prejudice the jury against the prisoner.  There was no earthly reason for their being brought into court—and it reflected no credit on those who had ordered it to be done.” The captain and the mate were acquitted in New York on the charged of receiving and transporting Africans with the intent to sell them as slaves; however Miller was found guilty of bringing them back to be “held to labor.”

My effort to determine if the story of Joggy and Lorina was real did not exactly lay the matter to rest.   In making the girls’ story known, the newspapers had their own agendas, as did The Slave’s Friend.  It seems pretty clear that they were being used to rouse the public’s feelings and they drop out of the accounts without readers learning what ultimately happened to them.  More research will be needed to fill the blanks and reconcile the discrepancies in the narratives of Joggy and Lorina—and perhaps other scholars will investigate the origins of additional anecdotes about enslaved children in The Slave’s Friend.