One of the consequences of that dazzling display is we have no internet so I have no idea when this will see publication.
Let’s keep it brief.
The London Nobody Knows (Geoffrey Fletcher, 1965 Penguin) is a book I picked up at Henry Pourdes, a shop I recommend to anyone who appreciates books. It was made into a documentary with James Mason in the presiding role, as a kind of pre-Attenborough. Except where Attenborough will wax enthusiastic about the hunting rituals of the blue-crested booby, Mason is more interested in the wrecks of old London town.
“There is romance and adventure,” said the Guardian in its review, “but mostly there is malnourishment. London looks like a shithole.”
The more things change.
This is all the more surprising since it’s a 1960s phenomenon, a time Cool Britannia looks back on with fondness. British culture and music seemed to be taking over the world stage. Shop-worn and crumbling parts of it may have been, but this is London at its predominance in the modern world.
Looking back over its shoulder at its Victoriana, forgetting that the most prevalent bits were slums and cheap structures built for industry and the working class.
This is definitely one for the Bookhounds crowd.
Borrowing from page 61:
The cast-iron lavatories of London (I mean those entirely of cast iron ...) are very decorative. [The Star Yard lavatory] has an intricate pattern of ornament to offset the starkness of this strictly utilitarian structure, providing standing room only. [Presumably because to do anything else would require intricate plumbing and sewage arrangements.] The Royal coat of arms appears in several of the panels; no doubt, the manufacturers had a royal warrant for their other productions – greenhouses, perhaps. Birmingham and the surrounding Black Country was the home of these iron conveniences, and they are all of them more solid than their French counterparts ...
Public lavatories are a worldbuilding finesse that most world builders seem to avoid, probably because the average GM/DM never excretes. They suffer.
The structure Fletcher describes still exists and is Grade II listed, but don’t expect to use it for its intended purpose should you visit. I understand the house next door owns the structure and has turned it to alternate use. God knows how; the thing must stink like a midden in hot weather.
Interesting that the example Fletcher picks is standing room only. I suggest a reason for that, but another reason might be that, where it is, was at one time the warehouse district. You wouldn’t expect to find many women there.
I have mentioned Whittington’s Long House before; this is another example of some forgotten urban architect coming up with a solution to a common problem.
Which brings me to:
Poetry Without Motion
There’s a scribbler who hangs round the shop cadging fags and cups of tea. Geoff, his name is. Nobody knows his last name; they just call him The Blot, on account of the ink stains he leaves wherever his fingers wander. Shop staff must keep an eye on him when he’s in, lest he damage the stock.
He’s always trying to publish his poetry, without much luck. It’s foul stuff, turgid and unremarkable. He ekes out a living with the Radical crowd, writing up their screeds. He’s not a bad editor, just a lousy creator.
Except for this last month, when he started coming out with the most intriguing poetry. Ethereal. Otherworldly. Gothic. Haunting. Not quite world-beating, but interesting enough that one of the smaller presses is giving him a chance. His book’s out next month. The Blot is over the moon.
The shop staff want to know where he got his inspiration, but the Blot isn’t talking.
However, the Blot is spending rather a lot of time at a public lavatory not far from the shop ...
Option One: The Ghosts of London. Thanks to generations of public use, this little corner of London has become a Fane, of sorts. An overlooked source of Magick, an accidental creation. The Blot has tuned in to this frequency and that’s where his inspiration is coming from, but it’s only a matter of time before more unscrupulous users of Magick realize what’s going on and muscle in on The Blot’s turf.
Option Two: Otherworldly Frequencies. Peculiar entities have attached a special device to this cast-iron convenience. It’s operating as a kind of receiver for Yithian agents, who have a cell nearby. They weren’t expecting some rando to tune into their broadcasts. If they find out the Blot is listening in they shall not be happy. Of course, they’re bound to find out when the Blot’s poetry gets published ...
Option Three: The Unnamed Poet. The Blot isn’t the only frustrated poet in London. He has a co-author, a Ghoul. This public convenience is their meeting spot, one where neither author has to see the other. They collaborate in secret. The Blot is the editorial mastermind, the Ghoul the creative brain. Together, they could become an unstoppable poetic force. Though the Ghoul is beginning to wonder if he really needs the Blot. Surely, the Ghoul reasons, I could just ... consume him, become him, absorb his editorial skills and make my own success. The Ghoul isn’t wrong, but this kind of reasoning spells trouble for the Blot.
The last time I mentioned Larry Nixon it was because I'd picked up the saddest book, Vagabond Voyaging. That got me on a bit of a Nixon kick, because he also published What To Do When War Comes and I was so fascinated to find out what a travel guy thought about the upcoming global conflict I kept seeking it whenever I went into an antiquarian bookstore.
Finally I broke down and bought a copy off of the internet (boo!) and since the internet was so helpful I also decided to pick this up. Because why not.
It's the same concept as Vagabond Voyaging. Go on vacation for a dollar a day. The difference being this time it's within the United States, not on a packet steamer going heaven-and-commerce only knows where.
In and of itself there's nothing wrong with the idea. There's a lot in its favor.
He starts the book with a chapter called Shank's Mare.
The cheapest form of vacationing is found when you do all the work yourself. Spend no money for transportation on train or bus. Walk! Shoe leather's cheaper than gasoline, and while you're out burning some of the winter's fat, you'll add strength and endurance to help you face the long grind in the coming months. Don't pass out your coin in tips. Be your own waiter, cook, bus boy, and hotel clerk. Hit the trail!
Sounds nice, doesn't it? Not relaxing, exactly, but meditative. An early iteration of touch grass.
Published 1940.
In 1942, at least a third of his American adult male audience is going to go on an extended walking tour of Europe, North Africa and, for some lucky few, selected parts of Asia and the East. If I had been one of those and had read this book, I would have come back and kicked that Nixon character right where it hurt the most. Never have I read an author whose work entirely failed to read the room.
Mind, as I said before, I've almost no idea what happened to Larry Nixon. About the only thing I've got on him is a Times obit, June of 1953, which I shall reprint here in full.
Larry Nixon, Director of Public Relations for Hewitt, Ogilvy, Benson & Mather, advertising, died on Wednesday in his home at 42 West Fifty-sixth Street. His age was 56. Mr. Nixon had been in public relations work for thirty years. He was the author of “Vagabond Voyaging” (1938), “American Vacations” (1939), and “See Canada Next” (1940), all published by Little, Brown & Co. He was born in New Orleans and had served as assistant to the publisher of The Billboard, theatrical periodical, editor of Airways, assistant public relations director for Pan American World Airways, and public relations consultant to the New York State Civil Defense Commission. In 1939-1940 he was press representative at the Bell Telephone Exhibit at the New York World's Fair. He also formerly was a partner in the public relations firm of F. Darius Benham and Larry Nixon. He leaves his wife, the former Dorothy Eiser; three daughters, Mrs. Cynthia Falkoff and Robin and Jan Nixon; his mother, Mrs, Leola Nixon, and two sisters, Mrs. Dorothy Younse and Mrs. Mildred Nolan.
No mention of what he did during the war. Presumably he was too old to serve. I note the obit doesn't mention his other book, What To Do When War Comes, of which he was editor. The company he worked for as DPR still exists; it's called Ogilvy these days.
Honestly, he reminds me not a little of Anthony Scaramucci. If it had been possible in his day, Nixon would have been a podcaster. Just exactly that level of not-famous-but.
Should Keepers buy this book? Well, not unless you absolutely want to. It's a fun read and there's lots of information to help you set sessions in the 1930s, but it's a specialist subject. If you can get it in the library, great! I'd class this in the same category as Ruth Brown Park's book about running book stores. It's handy to have, a source of inspiration. It's not absolutely necessary.
Keepers who might benefit the most from this are those wanting to run sessions of Campfire Tales. While I have a copy I haven't read it yet and don't feel familiar enough with the rules to comfortably run a session. But I am keeping this in mind ...
I will add a warning against period racism. It's not egregious, but it is there.
There are two parts of Larry's book I'm going to draw on today. One is the shank's mare chapter, the other The Farmer And His Daughter.
Shank's Mare spends a lot of time talking about Walking Clubs. This is the later 1930s and FDR ha spent a decade building up America under the Civilian Conservation Corps program. There are now plenty of walking trails, cleared and established, across the country. On their heels come hundreds of Clubs whose members walk those trails, and who establish cabins along those trails for overnight stays.
Supper-and-lodging is available for two dollars. That pays for your meal and bunk, mattress, pillows and blankets. There are dormitories for men and women. The campfire conversation is free - as is the advice you will get from the local huntmaster, who is always glad to help the stranger discover the beauties of the side trails. Breakfast is seventy five cents, lunch at the hut or in a parcel for eating out on the trail is only half a dollar. Visitors who want to stay all day pay three dollars for their meals and overnight bunk.
Sounds cosy, doesn't it? Much like the Conservation Corps, all this will come to an end in 1942. Parts of it will stagger on during and after the war, but this is a system that relies on civilian volunteers and there aren't going to be many of those in the next few years.
The Farmer and His Daughter describes the common practice of taking rooms at a farm house or plantation (again, period racism). If Larry's to be believed, not only was it all quite nice and civilized, it was a repeat business. Farmers would regularly rent out space to city dwellers looking for time out in the country. Whether they'd rent their own space or build special rental units was up to the farmer. An early form of Air B&B, effectively.
The food, like the quarters, varies with the territory, the farmers, and the insistence of the guests. If you complain long enough and loud enough the farmer will stock almost any kind of food you choose, but take what is put before you and you'll more than likely gain weight; farmers aren't known for underfeeding.
Beside the conventional sports and swimming, you'll often find specialized farm activities that interest the visitor. The farmer has discovered that his guests like to fuss around and pretend to work. Pitching hay is good for your back muscles and even chopping the garden does something to strengthen you. The first few days at the farm the average visitor will pull the weeds or hoe the corn in frantic energy while farm folks look with wonder at their unpaid helpers. It's the old story of the other fellow's work being more interesting than your own ...
What happens if you rent a farm in Lovecraft Country for your vacation?
A Little Place in the Woods
There's a cottage near Arkham, in Billington's Wood, part of a farmstead owned by Eugene Blanchford. It's something Blanchford got by marriage; his uncle married a Billington, died without issue, and the cottage became part of Blanchford's farmstead. Blanchford values the acreage (all the better for his apple plantation) but had no use for the cottage until four years back, when some Arkhamites seeking a rural vacation spot persuaded him to rent the place.
Since then, Blanchford's had enquiries from as far away as New York City. The cottage is a miniature gold mine, particularly in the off season just before picking time. He's even had a few who want the place over Christmas, in spite of its isolated location. The wintertime is just like a picture postcard, say his guests.
Mindful of his newfound success, Blanchford has started collecting furniture and other creature comforts to make his vacationers feel at home. There's even a small library, made up principally of books that his people leave behind them but also a small collection of things the family has gotten, over the years.
Including a dusty copy of Ward Phillips' Thaumaturgical Prodigies in the New-English Canaan, with annotations, nestled between the battered S. S. Van Dine locked room mysteries and the Mills & Boon romances.
Option One: Romancing the Stone. Blanchford asks for help uncovering the origins of a peculiar stone monolith that one of his guests has found not far from the cottage. It has markings on it that resemble Ogham, and Blanchford wonders whether this is a significant find. It turns out that the holidaymaker didn't find it, exactly; they were guided to it by notes in the Thaumaturgical Prodigies, and the stone dates back to the early 1800s, when it was put there by one of the Billington breed.
Option Two: Tree Loving. In a fit of boredom, and guided by notes in the Thaumaturgical Prodigies, some of the Christmas vacationers try out a 'pagan ritual' for jollies. After this, they report seeing something peculiar out in the woods, where they tried their magic spell. Are those trees moving? Why? Blanchford gets involved because it's his orchard; are those valuable apple trees moving about?
Option Three: Former Owners. Some of Blanchford's guests complain of noises in the night. Creaking and muttering that can't be explained by floorboards or rats. Blanchford doesn't want his gold mine to lose its lustre and he's willing to try anything once, so he brings in some bona fide exorcist types to cleanse the place. Turns out one of the pieces of furniture he brought in has an unsavory past: that four-poster bed has seen its share of deaths, and one death in particular lies heavy on it. Are those bedsheets moving?
I know you’re away from your excellent blog at the moment for personal reasons, but when you’re back (not sure if you take suggestions) I’d be really interested in how you’d generally approach updating Bookhounds to the present(ish) day.
Would I update Bookhounds to the modern day, as in 2020s? I'm not sure.
Part of my hesitation is due to the simple fact that there are plenty of modern-day horror games already, some of them very well established. Night's Black Agents and Esoterrorists being the two obvious examples. True, they have a different feel, being espionage-tinged rather than mystery-oriented. But they would be fighting for the same thoughtspace.
That's a minor issue.
The larger point has to do with M.R. James and emotional resonance.
Eton's master of ghost stories, M.R. James, was known to wax lyrical on the subject of atmosphere.
... the setting seems to me all-important, since in it there is the greatest opportunity for variety.
It is upon this and upon the first glimmer of the appearance of the supernatural that pains must be lavished. But we need not, we should not, use all the colours in the box. In the infancy of the art we needed the haunted castle on a beetling rock to put us in the right frame: the tendency is not yet extinct, for I have but just read a story with a mysterious mansion on a desolate height in Cornwall and a gentleman practising the worst sort of magic. How often, too, have ruinous old houses been described or shown to me as fit scenes for stories.
‘Can’t you imagine some old monk or friar wandering about this long gallery?’ No, I can’t ...
Roughly speaking, the ghost should be a contemporary of the seer. Such was the elder Hamlet and such Jacob Marley. The latter I cite with confidence and in despite of critics, for, whatever may be urged against some parts of The Christmas Carol, it is, I hold, undeniable that the introduction, the advent, of Jacob Marley is tremendously effective.
And be it observed that the setting in both these classic examples is contemporary and even ordinary. The ramparts of the Kronborg and the chambers of Ebenezer Scrooge were, to those who frequented them, features of every-day life.
In a story-heavy game of this sort, you need to hit the key notes. You need to be able to persuade the players that this is where they want to spend their time. James makes an excellent point about the supernatural: the setting should be contemporary and ordinary.
But.
Emotional resonance requires a shared emotional state. You need to bring the players with you on the journey. You need to make this setting Bookhounds and at the same time make it modern. It needs to feel contemporary to those who inhabit the setting.
The question then becomes, what makes a setting Bookhounds as opposed to, say, any other game setting, and how to make that modern while at the same time retaining its Bookhounds qualities?
Once you know that, you can nail the Contemporary bit down.
The global Depression has driven an unprecedented number of collectors – both individual and institutional – to sell off their holdings for whatever they can get. The global crisis has also driven an unprecedented number of over-educated, morally bankrupt aristocrats and resentful would-be Great Beasts to experiment with black magic … including the Cthulhu Mythos. Between the two groups, sellers and buyers, a specialty market has sprung up in blasphemous tomes, no questions asked.
You cater to that market ...
Now, you could argue that sounds a lot like the 2020s, and broadly speaking, you're not wrong. However, I would argue there's a better version of London you could use. One that more accurately fits the great Depression/Great Depravity model, with its resentful Beasts and whinging aristocrats. One that is more Bookhounds than the 2020s.
The London Nobody Knows (James Mason)
Say hello to the late 1960s early 70s.
You've had the Wars. You've had Suez. Mau-Mau and Maylasia. The Empire is on its way out. There's war damage, bombed out wastes and the occasional still-ticking bomb hidden away in the mess. Thirteen Wasted Years! (of Conservative rule). Vietnam is smoldering away and, while the UK isn't directly involved in that mess, several thousand troops are Over There along with a massive quantity of British made munitions. Mind you, if you don't like Over There there's always Across The Water, in Ireland, where things are getting very nasty. The economy's sputtering and while we haven't quite reached the age of constant strike action, you can see it without a telescope. The country (the world) is months away from an oil crisis, an economic collapse, a banking crisis, and in Britian's case a collapse of the government.
You've got a UK that's all but on its knees, and a London that still hasn't excavated itself from the rubble left behind by Nazi bombs. A London that's lost its shipping status and now has eight square miles of derelict land right at its heart, where its Docklands used to be.
If that isn't ripe for horror storytelling I don't know what is.
Added to that, you have the bonus of Fall of Delta Green, which is also a Gumshoe setting. This is happening at about the same time, and you can liberally borrow from it to enhance your game.
How would I adapt the existing rules for this setting?
Well, the great thing about picking a period like the 1960s-70s is there's less of a need to adapt the character sheet or invent new abilities. Yes, technically there is Computing, but it's such a specialized skill and directly affects the lives of so few that I'd be inclined to leave it to the Boffins, to the NPC experts. Other than that, I don't think there are many, if any, abilities that need to be added or modified.
I would be inclined to steal the Chase and Thrilling Chase rules from Night's Black Agents, if only to recreate The Sweeny.
I don't think I'd change the character creation rules with its heavy emphasis on creating characters who run away. Running away is a good idea. There's no reason to create combat monsters. This still isn't a combat game.
Not sure I'd steal the Cherry rules. Again, this isn't that kind of game. You still aren't playing hyper-competent people. If anything, you're creating barely competent people. Flawed heroes. More likely flawed protagonists - forget the hero part.
What I might steal are the achievement rules. This feels like the kind of game where pools deplete more quickly than the original, and a means of instant refresh midway through a scene could improve play. Besides, in gaming, achievements aren't limited to the Halo and Modern Warfares of this world. Any game can have them. Even point-and-click adventures.
The biggest rules draw, from my POV, is that you wouldn't have to change the Auction rules.
Auctions are at the heart of Bookhounds. A Bookhounds game without some backroom shenanigans and Lovejoy antics at the sales room just isn't a Bookhounds game.
Lovejoy Action At The Auction
I can't help but think, however, that if you introduce the internet and outside bids to the auction room you need some kind of rules finesse to account for it. Greater Auction pools, possibly, or some means of making the auction a Thrilling contest in the same way Night's Black Agents makes chases thrilling. Which would also mean bigger Auction pools or at least an easier way to get Auction refreshes mid-contest.
Admittedly in the 1960s-70s you have the option of telephone bidding, but it's relatively rare, in-period. You don't need a rules finesse for that.
In any setting change, TBH, one golden rule ought to be Keep It Simple. You can tack on a Stupid, there, if you like, for the whole KISS. Any settings change that lets me keep the major mechanic of the setting intact, no finesse or additional rules, is a good thing.
That's the rules bit discussed.
However, the biggest setting change would have to be international travel.
There's a travel component in Bookhounds 1930s. You're expected to wander off to forgotten libraries in the Home Counties, perhaps to attend auctions on the continent. No further, though. It is Bookhounds of London, after all. Edinburgh, perhaps Berlin, is about as far afield as anyone expects you to go.
The 60s, though, is the dwindling of the Jet Set era.
The Jet Set kicks off in the 1950s-ish, with international travel winging across the ocean blue. It's the purview of the rich and brainless, of course. The ones with cash to pay. But it's getting cheaper and cheaper all the time. By the time the late 1960s roll around, flights become truly international. Anyone can go anywhere.
Which means your Bookhounds might as easily be in New York as Norwich.
In fact, from a game perspective it might be fun for them to spend some time in New York since that city's famous Book Row still exists. It's dying off, of course. But from a plot perspective a dying Book Row is evocative, as well as a handy source of book stock. Besides, American buyers have deep pockets. You need buyers to keep yourself in the manner to which you would like to become accustomed.
Plus, if this is early 1970s then we're a couple short breaths from turning New York into a Warriors simulator. Which has its own plot lure.
However, and going back to London for a moment, one of the biggest draws to relocating Bookhounds to this period is London itself. You can still find relics of the Victorian age, the Edwardians, Art Deco rubbing shoulders with Nazi bomb sites. Anything you want to still be there in the 1960s can plausibly still be there in the 1960s. This becomes less and less likely the further you head into the future. Many of the things seen in the James Mason documentary (the full version of which is on YouTube) will be gone within a decade or so.
Not all of them, mind. I'm reading the book on which that documentary is based and just come across a bit where it waxes lyrical about the Bunch of Grapes, a fun little pub on the river currently owned by Sir Ian McKellern and which hasn't changed all that much since it was built.
Not every pub can have a famous savior, of course. The vast majority of the Docklands the Grapes was built in has long since vanished, including all the pubs that used to be next to the Grapes. Still, the boozer's a highly recommended venue, if you have an hour or two to spare in London. That rear balcony overlooking the river is not to be missed.
Leaving aside locations, this is also the last time period you can reasonably expect to have veterans of the First and the Second World War still living. Retired, probably, in the case of Great War vets, but still living. Whether this is useful to you will depend on your plots, but it can be very handy to have someone still living who remembers X - whatever X may be - and was a first-hand witness to events.
The main book goes to great lengths to describe each section of London and none of that has to change. The East End is still the East End. You don't see the great regeneration of the 1980s and 90s. Canary Wharf isn't even a glimmer in a developer's eye.
If you've already played Bookhounds in the 1930s then you probably have established locations, NPCs, rivals, bookstores. Some of them will probably still be around. Even the ones that aren't leave memories behind. A place like Du Bourg's, for instance, which was already on its last legs, might have gone under at some point during or after the War. The building may still exist. Is its cadaverous founder still down there in the basement, waiting for its people to read out the finances of the last year?
What I'm getting at is, if you've already played 1930s and now want to move on, relocating to the late 1960s doesn't mean you have to throw everything away. The greasy spoon the 1930s characters went to time after time can still exist. Or, if it's changed and under new management, the management can be the kids or grandkids of the originals. Same for the pubs, the shops, the auction houses - everything stays broadly the same, just with greyer hair and a paunch.
That eager beaver young constable, for instance, who walked the beat in the 1930s is probably still alive in the 1960s. Retired, likely, or very close to it. Probably had a promotion or two. But he still exists. Old Doctor Farringdon is most likely dead but the surgery he worked in is still there. The pub everyone went to at end of day is still there. Cracks in the walls, most likely, and there may be bomb damage. But it's still there.
Basically, if you go this route, then London is still London and is recognizably the London your players are already familiar with. Changed, yes. But still with enough similarity to the original that you don't have to start reinventing any wheels.
It's also one of the last times you'll see Old English traditions and customs in their unpolished state. Guy Fawkes. May Day. Old football. Cheese rolling. Yes, some of these things still exist in touristified form today, but it is touristified, made safe, made innocuous. It's not the way it was, for good or for ill.
From BFI's Barley Mow documentary
I don't think you'll find that one on YouTube but I recommend seeking out the BFI DVD if you like that sort of thing. Might be on the BFI Player as well; not sure.
In summary:
If you want to update Bookhounds to a modern(ish) setting, have at it, but I would recommend the late 60s early 70s rather than current modern day. There's enough left of the past that you don't need to change much in your historic background. The rules can stay broadly the same, with some minor tweaks. The major markers of the setting - economic near-destitution, rocky politics, the desolation and depravity of the great and good - are all still there.
