In the Critics this week

Paul Morley travels on the Tube, Richard Overy on David Cannadine, Kate Mossman on Justin Bieber and much more.

In the Critics section of this week’s New Statesman, Paul Morley relives the experience of listening to his first Sony Walkman on the London Underground in 1979. “I … imagined I was the first person to sit on the Tube listening to music of my own choosing.” That music would have been the avant-garde rock that Morley himself, in the pages of the New Musical Express, had christened “post-punk”: “It was a culmination, rearrangement, refinement of experimental ideas, sounds and principles instigated by punk.” And much of it was influenced by the German group Can, whom Morley describes as “less a rock group than a compact orchestra, a jazz collective, a cartel of dreamers … This was my kind of pop group.”

In Books, the historian Richard Overy reviews David Canndine’s The Undivided Past: History Beyond Our Differences. Cannadine chastises his fellow historians for concentrating on conflict rather than on what human beings have had in common down the ages. Overy is not convinced. “There remain profound differences in the world that have deep historical roots … Appeals to a common humanity are not going to change that.”

Also in Books: John Sutherland defends Stephen Spender against charges laid by James Smith in his book British Writers and MI5 Surveillance, 1930-60 (“Spender has attracted more than his share of sneers during his lifetime and after … Among the admirable scholarship in this book, there is, I think, an injustice”); Simon Heffer reviews Does Spelling Matter? by Simon Horobin  (“This book is a sane, comprehensive and authoritative lesson in why we spell the way we do and why, in order to preserve the richness, subtlety and history of our language, it is right that we keep doing so”); Jon Day reviews John Jeremiah Sullivan’s Blood Horses: Notes of a Sportswriter’s Son (“The focus of Blood Horses is Sullivan’s relationship with his father, a poetically inclined sports journalist”); Claire Lowdon reviews This Is the Way, the second novel by Irish writer Gavin Corbett (“This fresh and funny novel is a devastating love story … that stays with you long after you’ve finished reading”); Talitha Stevenson reviews Andrew Wilson’s biography of Sylvia Plath, Mad Girl’s Love Song (“For all the posthumous inventions, some of the Plath fantasia was created by Sylvia Plath [herself]”).

Elsewhere in the Critics: Kate Mossman is forced to wait two hours for Justin Bieber to take the stage at the O2 (“Bieber comes on stage at 10.20pm, which is a bit of an issue on a Monday night for an audience of 20,000 children …”); our film critic Ryan Gilbey reviews Rufus Norris’s Broken and Robot & Frank, directed by Jake Schreier (“The joys of Robot & Frank are numerous”); Rachel Cooke reviews ITV’s Broadchurch and Mayday on BBC1 (“Aidan Gillen [in Mayday] is so compelling, it’s almost embarrassing”); Antonia Quirke listens to After Saddam on Radio 4 (“Presenter Hugh Sykes had no trouble digging up horror stories”).

PLUS: “Tremor”, a poem by Fiona Sampson, and Will Self’s Madness of Crowds.

Justin Bieber on stage (finally) at the O2 (Photo: Getty Images)
Via David Moloney of the Great News For All Readers blog
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The dark, forgotten world of British girls’ comics is about to be resurrected

The UK’s most surreal and innovative comic strips have long been gathering dust. As a publisher acquires the archives, they could be heading for a renaissance.

Comics now exert a massive influence on popular culture, yet those that do are almost exclusively drawn from two American publishers, and mostly exist within one genre: Superheroics.

Comics, though, are a medium, not a genre, and, in acquiring this prominence, American superhero comics have obscured almost everything else done in the medium both in the US and elsewhere.

British comics, from publishers like DC Thomson, IPC and Fleetway, rarely involved superheroes, and were traditionally anthologies, with multiple episodic serials running at all times. They were divided by their publishers into three categories, humour comics aimed at younger children (The Beano and The Dandy remain well-known, although only the former still exists), comics aimed at boys (largely war comics, such as Battle, which also incorporated sports stories and science fiction), and titles specifically targeted at older girls.


All scans courtesy of David Moloney of the Great News For All Readers blog​.

The girls’ titles, particularly, have largely disappeared from common memory, acknowledged only by a handful of enthusiasts. This is odd, as at their peak, they routinely massively outsold the boys’ titles they shared shelf space with.

Bunty (1958-2001) is one of the few girls’ titles to retain any cache, but it had many stablemates and competitors. Some were devoted to straightforward romantic series, and strips with “improving moral messages” (eg. the girl who gets her dream job after helping a blind man out rather than be on time to her interview; it turns out to have been a test).

They also ran features that reflected then contemporary assumptions as to what all girls would/must like (Bunty often had a “cut-out wardrobe” clothes section as its back page), but there was also more variety in tone and content than you might expect.

The Seventies saw the creation of Tammy (1971-84), Jinty (1974-81) and Misty (1978-80). Tammy’s stories were often bleak, and many were variations on the darkest aspects of Cinderella (“Alison All Alone” saw a contemporary girl locked up by step-parents for reasons that are never really articulated).

Jinty ran some relatively normal contemporary school stories, eschewing a jolly hockey sticks angle and pushing something closer to kitchen sink drama (eg. “Pam of Pond Hill”, a Grange Hill-like series set in a comprehensive). But, as time went on, it became darker and odder, running series like John Wagner’s “The Blind Ballerina” (which has been described by acclaimed comic book writer Alan Moore as “cynical and possibly actually evil”).

The lack of credits in most comics in this era meant the audience would’ve been largely unaware that their favourite stories, with their almost exclusively female casts were, like “The Blind Ballerina”, largely written and drawn by men.

Misty creator Pat Mills’ recollection is that while the publishers of the time had many women on staff, most of them saw magazines for older girls and women as the more worthwhile publications than comics.


Women who left a significant mark on these male-dominated titles include Jinty editor Mavis Miller, writer Benita Brown (later an author of historical family sagas set in the northeast which could rival Catherine Cookson when it came to being borrowed from public libraries), and Shirley Bellwood whose consistently magnificent covers for Misty – reputedly largely portraits of her own younger self – were responsible for establishing its aesthetic.

Pat Mills intended that Misty would do to, and for, girls’ comics what his own 2000AD had done with boys’ comics. Whereas 2000AD was, and indeed is, the ultimate science fiction anthology book, Misty would be – as its logo of a bat silhouetted against the moon suggested – unapologetically a horror comic.

Typical Misty serials include “The Loving Cup” (a cursed goblet vessel causes women who drink from it to be possessed by Lucrezia Borgia), and “Winner Loses All” (in which a girl sells her soul to Satan to both save her alcoholic father and become a champion showjumper – the horse is cursed, of course).

Then there’s “Screaming Point”, about a hangman who dabbles in diabolic resurrection of his own clients, or Misty’s longest running single story, “Paint it Black”, in which cursed paints cause a girl quite a lot of trouble. More sci-fi than supernatural – but still within the horror remit – was “The Sentinels”, a serial about two tower blocks in contemporary Britain, which simultaneously exist in the real 1970s and in an alternative timeline where the country has been occupied by the Nazis since the 1940s.

If you’re now wondering why these amazing-sounding stories are no longer available to read, here’s the good news: you may very soon be able to. In August, Rebellion, the owners of 2000AD, bought a vast archive of old classic British comics from Egmont UK (the Fleetway and IPC Youth Group archives), which includes all the above material and more.

Rebellion, initially a computer games company known for the Sniper Elite series, bought 2000AD from Fleetway in, well, 2000AD. Fleetway was also the original publisher of Misty, and so on, although they’ve passed through other hands since.

This is oddly reminiscent of the “hatch, match and despatch” process, where a publisher would “merge” a cancelled comic into another they owned, incorporating the most popular characters and strips into the new composite title. This was the process whereby Tammy absorbed both Misty and Jinty as their sales declined. Mills has suggested that, had he had more direct control, Misty would, like 2000AD, still be running today.

Rebellion has already published a single slim volume of two Misty serials (containing the very odd, and very Seventies, reincarnation drama “Moonchild”, and the genuinely horrifying “The Four Faces of Eve”) and more are planned, but may depend on sales of this volume. If I could take this opportunity to call for a public vote in favour of reprinting Tammy’s startling “Karen, the Loneliest Girl in the World” here, I’d be grateful.


Reprints though, should really only be the beginning. With Rebellion having access to the Egmont archive and its intellectual property, could we see films or television series of some of Misty or Jinty’s best series?

With their female leads, strong emotional content, science fiction and horror aspects and political and social angles, it’s hard to deny that much of the content of Misty or a Jinty has a similar appeal to the kind YA books that become billion-dollar film franchises these days, in the exact same way American boys’ comics do.

It is startlingly easy to imagine opening an issue of Misty and finding a forgotten 1970s strip version of Twilight, or seeing The Hunger Games on the centre pages of Jinty. The main difference would be that they’d both be set in Slough.

With a bit of luck, some of the most peculiar, imaginative and challenging work in British comics could soon be raised from the dead in a new century and in a different form entirely, and then go on to dominate the world. Which, rather appropriately, sounds like something out of Misty.