Thursday, June 30, 2011
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Crime, Insured
Awesome cover. Ring, cloak money and gold coins flying everywhere. Be better if the bills were hundreds and larger but it was 1937. Well painted and a great design with power packed into a not so simple hand. I love this cover and the story worked for me as well.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Monday, June 27, 2011
The Condor
A map. A cast shadow. Clews abound. I like the cover, but it doesn't rank as an iconic image for sure. The story? Well, check out the review here if you are so inclined.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Friday, June 24, 2011
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
The Hooded Circle
Oddly rendered cover by, I'm told, Graves Gladney. Typical pulp stuff; hero, disguised villains, guns and perceived danger. However, no ring on the left hand. That, in and of itself, makes this cover, for me, inferior. Perhaps the story lets us in on what that strange golden "branch" is.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Monday, June 20, 2011
Friday, June 17, 2011
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
CHAPTER VI THE SHADOW SUSPECTS
This is how I like to think of The Shadow. From "Six Men of Evil".
A click sounded amid darkness. A pale-blue light appeared in mid-air. Its
weird rays threw a lurid glow upon the polished surface of a table. Yet within
that sphere of light there was no sign of a living being.
The bluish glare seemed to fade at its outermost edges. It was a solitary
gleam that was battling with surrounding darkness that restrained the light
like a living shroud. The very atmosphere betokened the presence of some
sinister, living being.
This was the single light in the sanctum of The Shadow. Somewhere in
Manhattan, tucked away from the roar and bustle of crowded New York, this spot
formed the sanctuary where a master mind evolved its mighty plans to cope with
hidden crime.
Of all mysterious abodes, The Shadow's sanctum was most amazing. Its very
existence was not even suspected. The Shadow, himself, was a mystery. His true
identity was unknown. Yet he was recognized as a personage of power whose
strange activities were not restricted to New York alone.
It was an axiom among fiends of crime that The Shadow could be everywhere.
The biggest shots of crookdom feared The Shadow when they plotted crime. Months
before, a man of evil had spoken The Shadow's name with awe while riding
northward through Mexico. That was no exception to the rule. In every city that
harbored an underworld The Shadow was feared as a living presence.
In London, in Berlin, in Madrid, crooks of all nationalities lowered their
voices when they discussed The Shadow. In Paris, skulking crooks still mumbled
tales of The Shadow's prowess - of that eerie night when an unknown being in
black had battled single-handed against a horde of apaches. In Moscow, there
were men who remembered the time when The Shadow had fought himself free from a
regiment of Red troops.
Who was The Shadow?
No one knew. Gangsters recognized him as an overpowering menace. The
police of New York knew him only as a fierce foe to crime. Studious
criminologists had expressed the well-founded opinion that The Shadow was the
single factor that prevented the balance of justice from swinging to the side
of lawlessness.
When crime became rampant, then did The Shadow strike. A living being of
the darkness, he came and went unseen. Always, his objective was the stamping
out of supercrime.
Dying gangsters had expired with the name of The Shadow upon their
blood-flecked lips. Hordes of mobsmen had fallen before The Shadow's wrath. A
man garbed in black, his face unseen beneath the turned-down brim of a slouch
hat - that was the spectral form that gangdom called The Shadow!
HAD leaders of the underworld suspected the existence of The Shadow's
sanctum, they would have spared no effort to discover it. Often had vicious
plotters sought to reach The Shadow; but they had seldom gained more than a
surface knowledge of his habitats.
Those who had found themselves upon The Shadow's trail were no longer
living to pursue their quest. Time and again had The Shadow turned upon those
who sought to kill him; and those who had encountered The Shadow had
encountered death.
Thus, The Shadow, secret in his identity, preserved the places where he
lurked. This sanctum was inviolate. Not even the trusted men who served The
Shadow knew its location. In fact, they, like The Shadow's enemies, held no
clew to the identity of the black-garbed phantom of the night.
When the weird blue light glowed, as it was glowing now, its strange rays
were seen only by The Shadow. Into the revealing gleam came the first visible
symbols of The Shadow's presence. Two long, white hands, with tapering fingers,
crept across the surface of the table beneath the light. They were like detached
things, materialized from nothingness.
Upon the third finger of the left hand shone a mysterious jewel. The rays
that struck it from above were reflected in a gleaming glory. At first they
showed the blueness of the light that illuminated this corner of the room. Then
the color of the gem underwent a visible metamorphosis.
Its hues deepened and turned to purple. Then they acquired a crimson touch
that developed into a vivid red. Living sparks seemed to leap from the weirdly
glowing stone.
This gem was unique. A rare fire opal, known as a girasol, its splendor
was unmatched in all the world. That stone was The Shadow's symbol, its
ever-changing shades a token of The Shadow's own prowess. For The Shadow, when
he appeared by day, could adopt disguises that deceived the most brilliant
sleuths.
A click sounded amid darkness. A pale-blue light appeared in mid-air. Its
weird rays threw a lurid glow upon the polished surface of a table. Yet within
that sphere of light there was no sign of a living being.
The bluish glare seemed to fade at its outermost edges. It was a solitary
gleam that was battling with surrounding darkness that restrained the light
like a living shroud. The very atmosphere betokened the presence of some
sinister, living being.
This was the single light in the sanctum of The Shadow. Somewhere in
Manhattan, tucked away from the roar and bustle of crowded New York, this spot
formed the sanctuary where a master mind evolved its mighty plans to cope with
hidden crime.
Of all mysterious abodes, The Shadow's sanctum was most amazing. Its very
existence was not even suspected. The Shadow, himself, was a mystery. His true
identity was unknown. Yet he was recognized as a personage of power whose
strange activities were not restricted to New York alone.
It was an axiom among fiends of crime that The Shadow could be everywhere.
The biggest shots of crookdom feared The Shadow when they plotted crime. Months
before, a man of evil had spoken The Shadow's name with awe while riding
northward through Mexico. That was no exception to the rule. In every city that
harbored an underworld The Shadow was feared as a living presence.
In London, in Berlin, in Madrid, crooks of all nationalities lowered their
voices when they discussed The Shadow. In Paris, skulking crooks still mumbled
tales of The Shadow's prowess - of that eerie night when an unknown being in
black had battled single-handed against a horde of apaches. In Moscow, there
were men who remembered the time when The Shadow had fought himself free from a
regiment of Red troops.
Who was The Shadow?
No one knew. Gangsters recognized him as an overpowering menace. The
police of New York knew him only as a fierce foe to crime. Studious
criminologists had expressed the well-founded opinion that The Shadow was the
single factor that prevented the balance of justice from swinging to the side
of lawlessness.
When crime became rampant, then did The Shadow strike. A living being of
the darkness, he came and went unseen. Always, his objective was the stamping
out of supercrime.
Dying gangsters had expired with the name of The Shadow upon their
blood-flecked lips. Hordes of mobsmen had fallen before The Shadow's wrath. A
man garbed in black, his face unseen beneath the turned-down brim of a slouch
hat - that was the spectral form that gangdom called The Shadow!
HAD leaders of the underworld suspected the existence of The Shadow's
sanctum, they would have spared no effort to discover it. Often had vicious
plotters sought to reach The Shadow; but they had seldom gained more than a
surface knowledge of his habitats.
Those who had found themselves upon The Shadow's trail were no longer
living to pursue their quest. Time and again had The Shadow turned upon those
who sought to kill him; and those who had encountered The Shadow had
encountered death.
Thus, The Shadow, secret in his identity, preserved the places where he
lurked. This sanctum was inviolate. Not even the trusted men who served The
Shadow knew its location. In fact, they, like The Shadow's enemies, held no
clew to the identity of the black-garbed phantom of the night.
When the weird blue light glowed, as it was glowing now, its strange rays
were seen only by The Shadow. Into the revealing gleam came the first visible
symbols of The Shadow's presence. Two long, white hands, with tapering fingers,
crept across the surface of the table beneath the light. They were like detached
things, materialized from nothingness.
Upon the third finger of the left hand shone a mysterious jewel. The rays
that struck it from above were reflected in a gleaming glory. At first they
showed the blueness of the light that illuminated this corner of the room. Then
the color of the gem underwent a visible metamorphosis.
Its hues deepened and turned to purple. Then they acquired a crimson touch
that developed into a vivid red. Living sparks seemed to leap from the weirdly
glowing stone.
This gem was unique. A rare fire opal, known as a girasol, its splendor
was unmatched in all the world. That stone was The Shadow's symbol, its
ever-changing shades a token of The Shadow's own prowess. For The Shadow, when
he appeared by day, could adopt disguises that deceived the most brilliant
sleuths.
The Voice
This seems to be a popular cover with the reprinted art crowd. Perhaps it's because it's a full figure with a large cast shadow and little else. However, I'm not a huge fan of it. Perhaps it's the orange wall, or the superhero use of the cloak. Either way, at least he's battling the bad guys on a pulp cover instead of missing on the digest covers. Check this out is you want to know about story inside the orange cover.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Monday, June 13, 2011
The White Skulls
Sorry, but the digests exist and these are the covers we are given. Granted, this is one of the more palpable ones. Here you can get a summary of Gibson's effort, and I hope it's better than the cover.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Friday, June 10, 2011
Thursday, June 9, 2011
The Spy Ring
I like Gladney's technique but his compositions leave much to be desired. Just a bit too much like a poorly directed scene from a 1940's serial. Too bad. Anyhow, if you haven't read this one and want to know a bit about it, check out this review.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Okay, Agent T...
since you got back so quickly (Burbank must really be on his game today) I'll break protocol and post a second clew the same day.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Monday, June 6, 2011
"Death's Head"
Back to the comic version of The Dark Eagle. This is the first issue of "The Shadow Strikes!", a terrific series from 1989 written by Gerard Jones and illustrated by Eduardo Barreto. I really loved this series, at the time because of the artwork but later for both the writing and art. I hope anyone who hasn't read this series will find this as much fun as I did (and still do). Enjoy "Death's Head". (and yes, I know that I have already run this cover but I want to be thorough...)
Friday, June 3, 2011
The Masked Headsman
Right again, Agent T. Very pulpish cover, this one. The blue garb of the villain is a bit too comic book but then again, I haven't read the story originally titled "Spanish Feud" so it may fit just the way Gibson envisioned it. I love the large shadow in the background although it would have been a bit more believable if it had conformed to the angles of the walls. But that's just pickin'...
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
The Veiled Prophet
I actually like this cover. Sure it's not the most iconic but the rendering is nice and I like the use of the small figures dangling in the foreground. I would like to have seen a large shadow cast on the background but that's alright. If you want to know a little something about the story just click here
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