Deightonship

Everyone knows about about my predilection for all things appertaining to Len Deighton. Be it novels (particularly those of the 1960s), cookbooks, non-fiction and the various books he edited. One, though, had escaped me for years until last week I finally got my hands on Drinks-man-ship at the right price and in excellent condition for it's age (1964). It's a superb piece of Deightoniana: large (235mm x 325mm), beautifully designed by Derek Birdsall and in it Deighton brings together writing by his pals on all manner of drinks and drinking. It's a magnum of good things- classic sixties photography, typography, and reminisces of drinking by the likes of George Melly and Anthony Haden-Guest (very funny). But do you know, I'd have bought it just for the dust jacket. That's Len himself in close proximation to the model Pattie Boyd (she of Smiths Crisps TV commercials and married to both George Harrison and Eric Clapton who wrote Layla about her). The caption reads 'Photograph of Len Deighton and friend by James Mortimer', and it's still got that 'wow' factor that hasn't dated. It all makes me want to knock back an Underberg and break into a blue packet of Gauloises before reading. 

Action Stations

I can't keep away from Len Deighton for long. You will all know him as a thriller writer, but lesser known is his superb expertise as a cook, and indeed as a designer. Deighton contributed a weekly Cookstrip (his word for the comic strip style of presentation) in The Observer from 18 March 1962 until August 1966, and they were so popular with readers that they demanded them as teatowels and wallpaper. The style is very compelling, and when staring at a lump of meat and wondering what to do with it I will always see what Deighton has to say. At least he keeps it simple, as he says "Why write the word 'egg' when a simple oval drawing tells the story?". Sharp-eyed afficianados will have noticed a selection of strips pinned to Michael Caine's kitchen wall for an early scene in the film of Deighton's The Ipcress File, cleverly added-to later on. When Caine prepares a meal he hopes will be enjoyed by Sue Lloyd, he appears to break two eggs into a bowl with one hand. But the actor struggled to do it, and Deighton, who was on set, offered to help. So it's the be-spectacled master cook's hand that is seen in the film, and in the year of its release the Cookstrips were gathered together in Action Cookbook. Now, what does he say about corned beef...

Stars and Stripes

Staring at my Len Deighton collection this evening, as one does, I looked again at this superb Raymond Hawkey cover for the first Penguin edition (1965) of Horse Under Water. This was the second volume Deighton wrote after his debut The Ipcress File, and his Royal College of Art chum Hawkey was involved with the covers right from the start. The early hardbacks are now much sort after classics, with monochrome photography on white backgrounds and minimal typography, but Hawkey was presented with a particular problem here. The first novel had been made into what is now, quite rightly, a cult film, and Penguin wanted this cover, albeit for a different book, to be an all-singing, all-dancing reference to the movie. Frustrated at having his more discreet ideas turned down, Hawkey produced this in desparation. Yes, here's Michael Caine in big dot newsprint, with those thick-framed spectacles ensuring a passing resemblance to Deighton himself. But then the designer crossly caught the attention of the book-buying public with those big shouting stripes, just to make a point it seems. The first print run of 60,000 copies was sold out in 48 hours. To me, this is an essential item in the iconography of the sixties, the stripes immediately bringing to mind the security barriers at Cold War checkpoints. Hawkey continued the bold graphic theme with the original Penguin covers for Funeral in Berlin (orange and white) and Billion Dollar Brain (silver and black). Somehow you can't imagine tie-in covers ever being this good again. Horse Under Water, although optioned for production, was never made into a film.