Artwork from the cardboard slipcover of the redesigned set: scruffy kids and Maxfield Parrish backgrounds. Aslan wonders who’s ironing their clothing. Click to see larger.
Somewhere in the late 1970s or early 1980s the British publisher that held the rights to the Chronicles, Williams Collins, Sons & Co., ** decided to update the look of the books to appeal to the current audience of young readers. Up to then they had relied on covers using Pauline Baynes’ original artwork, but this was decided to be too old-fashioned and fusty. A fresh start was called for, similar to how American publisher Collier-Macmillan updated the books in 1970 with colorful psychedelic artwork by artist Roger T. Hane.
The artist chosen for the product, Stephen Lavis, was only in his early 20s at the time, but very talented. He beat out the competition with his combination of human realism and fantastic, Maxfield Parrish-like fantasy backgrounds, sumptuously painted in the earthy tones popular at the time. The covers impressed an entire generation of Narnia fans and were reproduced in editions all over the world, like these from Brazil.
Lavis was one of those artists who read the books, not skimmed them or trusted a synopsis. He even relied on some of Baynes’ earlier conceptions for the characters.
The new set was published in 1981 by Collins under the Fontana Lions imprint, which was for young people and teens.
Looking at the covers today, I appreciate their vigor and detail. But they also look as dated as the covers they meant to replace back then. Lavis relied on photos on of contemporary children which were then projected onto the large canvases as references, so their clothing and hairstyles showed the era. They’re not Baynes’ slim, graceful sylphs. They’re chubby, have wrinkled clothing, freckles and mussed hair. Real kids, not idealized, striking a happy median between commercial art and portrait art. They stand as a snapshot of their era, which saw a turn towards more gritty realism in children’s literature with authors like Judy Blume, Susan Cooper, and Diana Wynn Jones who included religion, sexuality, addiction, and family trauma in their works. The covers reflected this.
The 1970s cover of Blubber, in which an overweight classmate is relentlessly teased by the book’s protagonist, who is undergoing his own torture by preparing for his upcoming Bar Mitzvah. I credit Judy Blume with teaching me about Jewish traditions.
Below the covers of the Lavis books front and back.
The covers were made with different techniques: watercolor, ink and colored pencil for the first four, acrylics for the rest. Each employs a trompe l’oeil framing devise at the top and bottom. For LWW it’s the top and bottom of a well-polished wooden wardrobe. Two of the kids are playing with the concept here, breaking the illusion by standing outside of it. Unfortunately I can’t tell who’s who. I assume the boy on the far left is Edmund because he’s closest to the witch, but I am not sure because they all look the same age. Though charming, I admit it jars me to see them in t-shirts, sweatshirts, and off-the-rack dresses.
Notice that Aslan is missing the full golden mane that has become iconic for him on Narnia cover art. His is rather flat as a zoo lion’s would be.
I made fun of Lavis’s White Witch here for her foul looks, but I in the context of the whole cover I think the artist was just being true to the book. Nowhere in LWW does it say Jadis looked like a supermodel, though it’s fun to depict her so. Coloring her an ashy gray to fade in into the background was a stylistic choice, meant for her to be part of the background of this fantasy world and not entirely real, like the kids are. She is evil and not to be trusted. She even wears a satanic pendant.
Another nice job. Lavis took a nod from Baynes’ depictions of the dwarves with their pointed noses and medieval armor — Trumpkin’s looks Norman. But for some reason, he gave Caspian dark hair rather than blonde. The tents suggest the Miraz duel that occurs later on, the triangular stone to right the trilithon tomb that the Stone Table turned into, and the seasons seems autumnal. Thankfully there’s no Reepicheep, only Trufflehunter. It’s not an especially exciting cover, but true to the rather blah tone of the book.
The framing device here is a short wall on the bottom and an ivy trellis at the top, with the golden chess piece the Pevensies found earlier in the ruins at the castle. From here on out there’s a slight shadow behind the trompe l’oeil element that suggests the whole is a flat element placed on a white background, another layer of illusion. On the whole it all works.
Here the frame is like an actual picture frame, that kind that rests on its own tripod, bringing to mind the kids’ first sight of the ship in the picture at Eustace’s house. Reepicheep balances on it as the ship weathers a storm in the background, denoting the dangers. He does not mug for the camera and there is lots of foamy green sea. On the rear cover is a draped map and a compass. Simple and effective.
Did the artist use the same model for Puddleglum as for the witch? It appears so. The framing device is another picture frame with a bright green dragon crawling around it. A major mistake by the artist as the reptile is a serpent in the book. But… in English fairy tales the two were often used interchangeably. Tolkien referred to dragons as serpents on more than one occasion. If it’s a mistake it’s an honest one.
I like the way the boy is looking at the viewer while raising his sword as if to show off how grown-up he is.
The lime green tone is effectively echoed in the title lettering, Puddleglum’s headband, and Eustace’s cape.
I think this one is the best of the series even with its egregious mistakes. The framing device is an Ottoman-style latticed wall. The Tisroc sits on his throne with his bodyguard behind him on the near side while Shasta and Aravis ride by on the other. He seems to be watching them thoughtfully. This suggests to the viewer there is a connection between them, but in the book their conflict is indirect at the best. The city of Tashbaan rises mistily, or perhaps dustily, in the background. The scene just screams intrigue and adventure.
What I don’t like: The contemporary clothing on the kids, who are practically clones of the ones in the book above. Actually, that same boy with shaggy bowl haircut was used five times in total for the series, if you count the slipcover. His open-collared shirt, and the girl’s, are anachronistic and don’t help matters, and neither does the fact they ride ponies not full-grown horses as Bree and Hwin were. (Though the equines’ coloration is correct.) Perhaps it was an editorial decision.
There’s an excellent, subtle detail with the striped cat sitting front and on the wall which Shasta glances at and smiles. It’s a the cat that later comforts him at the tombs who, as you remember is Aslan in disguise. The encounter here implies Aslan is always there, watching over them.
Lavis went above and beyond as an artist of Narnia in this scene from The Magician’s Nephew with Fledge. The chestnut-colored winged horse, his feathers dazzlingly striped like a pheasant’s, leaps into the sky as Uncle Andrew, based on Pauline Baynes’ version, gestures weakly — “Hey! Come back with my rings!” — as Polly gives him a nyah nyah nyah look. That didn’t happen in the book, of course, but it’s the essence of what happened in the book.
Again the kids’ hairstyles date them. Polly’s recalls the 1970s pageboy style worn by celebrities like Toni Tenille — popular for men and women on both sides of the Atlantic — while Digory is the same moppet who appeared in the covers of HBB and SC. At least their clothing makes a gesture towards the Victorian era in which the book is set.
Featured on the bottom of the frame are two apples, one bitten, one not, and though they’re green like the Beatles’ old Apple record logo they do have a silvery sheen. At the top rests Uncle Andrew’s magical equipment including the rings and the guinea pig.
As for what Uncle Andrew is pressing against his face, I haven’t a clue. It looks like the ear piece of an old-fashioned telephone receiver and he’s about to complain to the police with it, but telephones hadn’t been invented yet. Or maybe it’s his monocle that he dropped in all the excitement. What do you think?
For Narnia’s last book Lavis went with a spectacle filled with motion and energy, an apocalyptic fire burning in the background. But nobody’s actually getting hit or hurt though weapons and creatures spill off the bottom of the polished, expensive-looking metal frame. Eustace — but not Jill — is shown fighting in front of Jewel, showing the difference in size and species between a full-grown horse and the diminutive ponies the kids ride in HBB. Tirian’s MIA.
Vignetted at the top of the frame are Puzzle and Shift. The ape seems to be wearing a Christmas cracker crown, a subtle touch from the artist to highlight the creature’s entitlement and ridiculousness.
After doing these paintings Lavis went on to do more fantasy book covers, some of the writers being Fred Saberhagen, Gene Wolfe, T. H. White’s The Once and Future King series, and Piers Anthony. He retired from the genre in the mid-2000s and now pursues fine art, doing abstract work.
What happened to the paintings? Two were stolen from the publisher and the remainder bought by a Tolkien collector.
** Collins bought the rights from Geoffrey Bles, the original publisher, in 1953.
