Vintage Dinosaur Art: Big Animals of Long Ago - The Dinosaurs

Remember being a child in the 1970s? I don't (on account of not yet existing), but having reviewed so many remarkably similar kids' dinosaur books of the era, I feel like I've been there. Tail dragging yet sprightly tyrannosaurs, chunky title fonts, sauropods taking to the land, vibrant yellow-green colour palettes, the oil crisis, flares, the birth of punk; yes, they were probably the days. Let us now introduce Big Animals of Long Ago - The Dinosaurs, yet another identikit children's dino book from 1979. But for one very important twist. (This is another one sent to me by Charles Leon, by the way - cheers fella!)

Written by Ruth Wheeler and illustrated by Harry Baerg, Big Animals makes its level of ambition very clear by its cover, which is a competently executed but rather bland Neave Parker knock-off. Note the standby ferns and horsetails, but otherwise remarkably little in the way of vegetation; the generic beasties in the background are pretty dull, too, although one does sport a peculiar head crest, resembling some sort of corythosaur-cum-retro-sauropod. Three-fingered Rexy (look carefully) is suitably sneering and dismissive.

Shortly after the book's opening, we are introduced to the motley crew of prehistoric beasts. I love the quietly smiling styracosaur-thing, happily walking by as the world's tiniest brachiosaur emerges from the water. The odd beast in the foreground is probably one of those new ornithischian theropods I've been hearing so much about.

Perhaps the most accomplished illustration in the book features none other than Our Bronto - accurate it ain't, but the shading, while simple, is executed effectively to indicate muscular bulk. It appears powerful and hefty, but not overweight.  The classic camarasaur-like head might be wrong, but at least it's drawn with a nicely squared-off snout and retracted nostrils (as was typical at the time). The sweep of the tail is quite graceful - the neck, not so much.

The book pays little heed to chronology (for reasons that will become apparent later), skipping from Jurassic sauropods to Cretaceous ornithopods, and then back again. These are fairly typical pre-Renaissance hadrosaurs (with webbed hands and all), but the more '70s 'Gangly Dork Hadrosaur' (a la McLoughlin) does also make a notable appearance on the right. That one Corythosaurus is all legs, all the time, baby.

A wild Neave Parker Iguanodon appeared! What will you do?

FIGHT
RUN
WARM NOSTALGIC EMBRACE
ROLL EYES

It's nice enough for what it is; I always find those humanoid arms endearing.

Iguanodon gives way to Brachiosaurus, and it's enough to make one wish that Baerg had copied an established palaeoartist a little more closely in this case. The Burianesque feet and fat, lengthy tail are all well and good, but that head is plain weird. It appears to sport a bifurcated crest, like a dilophosaur. It's almost as if Baerg was given a copy of Burian's famous brachiosaur piece that was missing the top of the image, and had to draw the animal's head based on vague descriptions of its appearance.

Given that we've had Brontosaurus and Brachiosaurus already, the inclusion of Diplodocus is only right and proper. This is perhaps one of the most unusual illustrations of this animal that I've seen, simply based on the pose alone. The text obscures a chunk of land that would presumably answer the many, many questions I have about how the perspective works here. I suppose the neck and tail are both in front of the body, with the tail projecting towards us from the base, else there's a vertical drop on the left hand edge. Having said all that, the shading on the body is, again, actually rather nice - one can see the influence of the skinny-o-saurs movement that was gaining momentum in the late '70s, although this remains a healthy-looking creature. At least in terms of fleshiness.

But I've been hiding something from you, dear reader. For this isn't quite a normal kids' dinosaur book.

Turkeys and giraffes, together at last! Oh yes, I'm afraid this is one of those creationist books, although as Ken Ham wasn't yet on the indoctrination scene, it isn't too screamingly in-your-face about it. That doesn't mean there isn't a fair amount of absolute nonsense. The above scene, I imagine, is intended to depict some sort of fantastical paradise in which drooling, toothy wolves leave those tasty deer well alone, because there isn't any Sin around just yet. Unfortunately, it's conspicuously missing a pair of naked people. What Eden is complete without a naked lady with long hair artfully arranged to cover her breasts? And also a man, hidden in the undergrowth except for his manly torso.

In addition to lacking humans, the first Eden scene lacks any saurians. Which is odd, given that that is the focus of the book. For some reason, dinosaurs only arrive when Sin comes. Because someone did a bad thing, Eden's turned all monochrome, and hideous giant diapsid reptiles have invaded in all their ferocious, primordial horror. It'll also now be necessary to have a Pope at some point. At least there's a lot more vegetation here than in the other scenes; if it weren't for the anachronistic species mash-up, it'd be by far the most convincing-looking illustration of the lot. Oh, and Chazza K is presumably hidden behind one of the trees on the right while those hadrosaurs pose for him.

And finally...how did the dinosaurs die? Was it a giant asteroid? Volcanoes? A disease? I read a book by this guy named Bakker, and he said dinosaurs died of disease. But according to Willer, it's none of the above. Rather, there was a great Flood, and they were subsequently all drowned and covered in mud, which hardened to rock in the intervening...number of years. But where did all the water go? Now you're asking too many questions.

Coming next time: something more orthodox, I imagine!

Vintage Dinosaur Art: Dinosaurs (Books for Young Explorers)

Once again, Charles Leon has sent me a real peach. Dinosaurs (part of the National Geographic Society's Books for Young Explorers series) was published in 1972 and features artwork by Jay H Matternes, with text from Kathryn Jackson. Matternes was an accomplished palaeoartist, but given that his speciality and main area of interest was apparently fossil primates (particularly hominids), his name will be unfamiliar to many dinosaur enthusiasts (it certainly was to me). In spite of this, his work here is beautifully painted and easily a match for near enough anything else around at the time.

According to his website, Matternes worked with a great number of illustrious clients, from Nat Geo to Time to all manner of natural history museums. Based on his talents here alone, it's easy to see why. The illustrations here are all very retro now, of course, and typically early '70s in many respects - in the underdeveloped musculature of the dinosaurs, their often tail-dragging postures, and so on. However, it's the appreciation of fine detail, the often surprising dynamism of the pieces, and the entirely naturalistic feel of the animals that let us know there's an accomplished artist at work.

But before we get to all that, let's just take a moment to appreciate these excellent 1970s fashions. Rockin' those stripy trousers there, kids.

Our story begins, as it is wont to do, in the Triassic. A herd of Placerias-like beasties are hanging around a swamp, trying to avoid the attentions of a big-headed smiley fellow. At the lower edge of this scene - leading us off over the next page and on to the Mesozoic adventures to follow - are a pair of generic 'thecodonts' (possibly based on Lagosuchus or Euparkeria). Tellingly, the thecodonts seem to have had the most detail lavished upon them; they feel better textured and more solidly three-dimensional than the other animals in the scene. Which isn't to say that the whole thing isn't beautifully painted, not to mention remarkably peaceful-feeling. That can't last.

No sooner have the 'thecodonts' had a chance to evolve into true dinosaurs, than they are snapped up by some prowling phytosaur by the water's edge. (Of course, these days Saltopus is thought to have been a dinosauriform rather than a 'true' dinosaur. Sucks for Saltopus.) I would mention that the attention to detail on the phytosaur here (crater nostrils!) is commendable, but I'm being far too distracted by the water. That water's gorgeous. I might even be tempted to go for a swim if it wasn't quite so rust-coloured.

Now we're into more solidly dinosaurian territory (except for Teratosaurus).The plateosaurs are fine and dandy for the time, but I love the angry Coelophysis in the lower right. Crouched down, tail whipping in the air, mouth wide open, it's spoiling for a fight.

Perhaps my least favourite piece is this one featuring a merry band of very Knightian brontosaurs, trudging boringly off into the water to escape Allosaurus' clutches. At first glance, there isn't a lot that elevates this above a typical Knight/Burian clone, but the fantastic work done on the sky and water in particular does demonstrate a superior artist at work. Hey, dinosaurs weren't his speciality.

And now we come to the main reason I opted to write a post about this book rather than one of the many others Charles has sent me recently - a brachiosaur with a rainbow. Well, almost a rainbow. Again, at first glance, one might be tempted to write this off as another Burian knock-off (even if the brachiosaur is happily standing on dry land). However, note all the small things - the carefully shaded muscle tone, the intricately detailed head, and the single claw on each hand. And again, the sky. I love a good sky.

On to the Late Cretaceous, and the skies aren't as spectacular, but the above piece is one of my absolute favourites. It's just plain gorgeous to look at - the animals' skin textures are handled beautifully, with any number of lifelike folds, wrinkles and bony nodules, and for the time they are superb from an anatomical standpoint. I mean, Styracosaurus actually appears to have a neck and defined muscles, rather than simply being a large tube attached to four smaller, stubbier tubes. The background details are especially superb in this one - the trees are beautiful, of course, but notice also small details such as the tiny mammals directly below the Styracosaurus. Lovely.

And so to Rexy. The head may look a little strange, but this is a very forward-thinking restoration for the early 1970s, and well-researched with it. Note in particular the appropriately tiny arms (by no means a given even now), firmly horizontal posture and birdlike feet. While the muscles are rather weedy (typical of pre-Dino Renaissance thinking), this is a portrait of an alert, active predator.

Ankylosaurus, meanwhile, is also quite typical in being a "Palaeoscincus"-style mish-mash of nodosaurid and ankylosaurid features (the shoulder spikes are very Edmontonia). In spite of this, this is another very good restoration from a time when ankylosaurs tended to be depicted as short-tailed grumpy pineapples with four feet, but no legs.

Unfortunately, the book's hadrosaurs are still web-footed water-dwellers feeding on soft 'n' mushy material, but at least they're well painted; the wonderful pebbly skin texture on the foreground individual reminds me of Bernard Robinson's work, only with rather more anatomical accuracy. In spite of being so ostensibly trope-tastic (angry geography, aquatic hadrosaurs, Pteranodon overhead etc. etc.) this is still a very convincing-looking scene. Just don't mention the fact that the animals depicted here predated T. rex by millions of years (although to be fair, Rexy isn't actually in the painting).

"STRONG AND STABLE LEADERSHIP!"

Monoclonius didn't live alongside Rexy either, but it hasn't stopped the two animals sparring over the years in palaeoart (and short films). Here, Rexy attempts to intimidate the ceratopsians with his birdlike strut and gaping maw, but they're having none of it. The flatter-than-Flevoland landscapes do get a bit tedious, but you've got to admire any work from 1972 that features a T. rex that almost looks like it was painted a good 20 years later.

Since the centrosaurs aren't budging, Rexy decides to tackle something twice as large and with a bad temper. As you do.

Yes, it's the front cover again. This painting doesn't quite feel of a piece with the others; the style seems to have changed, and the depiction of T. rex, formerly consistent, suddenly sports obvious differences (it's not even the same colour). It's gorgeously painted, but feels more 'retro' than the rest of the book. I'd hazard a guess that it was painted some years beforehand, and recycled here. It feels more like a standalone piece, with finer detail throughout, than the others (not to mention the fact that it seems weirdly familiar). If anyone has a clue, then let me know...

And finally...the endpapers, just as a reminder of what most other palaeoart was like at the time. Drag them tails, boys.

Vintage Dinosaur Art: Private Lives of Animals: Prehistoric Animals - Part 3

Since we've already looked at everything that's more important, let us now turn to the Cenozoic mammals of the wonderful Private Lives of Animals book on extinct beasties. And where better to begin than with a ground sloth with hair so wonderfully painted, you'll want to reach through the screen and run your fingers through it? (Just watch out for fleas and dandruff.)

As you will already be well aware, it's obligatory to restore Megatherium standing upright against a tree, with its hands gripping the branches; even the model in Crystal Palace Park is posed like this. Still, it makes sense to give an impression of the animal's massive size, and it is considered a likely feeding habit, as far as I'm aware. Although it's a very straightforward illustration of the animal in its environment (with a minimal background to make room for the text), this might just be one of my favourite illustrations in the book for reasons I can't quite put my finger on. It's probably that aforementioned beautifully textured fur, or the curling, gnarly, realistic quality of the tree. It looks like it could've been drawn from life, all the more because it isn't photo-realistic. If it wasn't painted by Burian, it's certainly worthy of him.

Following the format of the rest of the book, Megatherium's 'profile' is followed by a page of illustrations depicting its behaviour, contemporaries and relatives, living and extinct. Here begins the trend of illustrations depicting a group of humans throwing things at some unfortunate soon-to-be-extinct animal. Another illustration depicts two Megatherium under attack from a pack of 'wild dogs', and having watched documentary footage of wolves taking on buffalo, I really don't fancy the dogs' chances too much (no matter what the text says).

A sandy-coloured Smilodon might seem eye-rollingly inevitable in a book like this, but at least the illustrator's done a fantastic job of it - this would make a wonderful book cover or poster. As well as obviously being very exciting, the pose helps emphasise the animal's hugely powerful and muscular forelimbs. The faces (especially of the individual in the background) are well-observed and very convincing, although they may be a little too like living big cats in areas like the placement of the eyes. The text is, of course, weird. Vampire Smilodon!

You may have been hoping to see some depictions of speculative Smilodon social behaviour - perhaps a mother with a litter of cubs, or a handful of animals chillin' in the feline fashion. Well get out of here, hippy! Private Lives is all about the bloody violence - it's what the kids want. Note that this page features one of the few illustrations of hominids in which they are on the losing side (in this case, thanks to Machairodus rather than Smilodon). The depiction of the tussle with the mega-elk is particularly awesome.

What other huge mammalian predator generally springs to mind when one imagines a pop culture 'Ice Age' setting? Giant cave bears, of course. This is a perfectly serviceable illustration (and look! Babies!), but does little to hint at the horror that will unfold on the following page.

Neanderthals versus Bears: the Fire and the Fury. Once again, we have a scene of hominds ganging up to hit some poor furry thing with sticks, but in this case, the furry thing ain't gonna take it lying down. As bats scatter everywhere in panic, a gigantic bear prepares to do its bit to ensure that only one Homo species will make it into the Holocene*. Wonderful, savage, highly evocative and action-packed stuff - gotta love it.

Carrying on down the 'Ice Age' checklist, we come to The Mammoth. Presumably the woolly mammoth, Mammuthus primigenius. A fine enough painting, but there's something a little strange about it - I think it might be the trunk (and a perspective issue).

Two of the additional mammoth illustrations aren't terribly exciting, with the animals depicted in a rather indifferent fashion, hanging out in the far distance. This all changes, of course, when there's terrible violence involved. This painterly evocation of the BRUTALITY OF MAN looks like something out of an unusually violent Ladybird book, and I mean that in the best possible way. Like the bears v Neanderthals scene, it's very busy and full of energy. I believe the mammoth is meant to have fallen into a trap, but it almost looks like it's struggling amid a raging tempest.

And now...oh boy. It's time for the evolution of MAN. Although at least we're treated to one of the few illustrations that is definitely by Burian (confirmed by the signature); as usual, his depiction of Homo erectus is quite distressingly lifelike. It's not quite up to the quality of the work in Life before Man, but this illustration of (presumably) 'Java Man' is suitably uncanny in its not-quite-human qualities - like looking into the eyes of a gorilla or orang-utan in the zoo, only worse.

Here the always florid text (translated from the original Italian, although apparently other translations are similar in tone) veers into alarmingly racist territory. In fact, it implies that the different 'races' of modern humans are effectively different species, or at least subspecies, which makes about as much sense as voting Conservative on the basis of Theresa May's promises. (There you go, that's my "irrelevant, intrusive political mithering" taken care of for this post.)

And finally...it's the 'ascent of man'. Happily, we are here given a glimpse into the 'private lives' of Neanderthals, beyond tormenting bears with torches; a charming illustration depicts a family group, while the text mentions their advanced culture and tool-making skills. Of course, it was the "descendants of Cro-Magnon man", rather than the Neanderthals, who went on to become "masters of the Earth" (nothing like a bit of 1970s hubris!). The text implies that the illustration at the bottom left depicts Cro-Magnons, but I rather fancy the original intent was to show a stage in the progress of their descendants - given that horses weren't domesticated until many thousands of years later.

As for the astronaut - bless.


*I'm aware that this depends on your view of the taxonomy. It's a joke, damn it.

Vintage Dinosaur Art: Private Lives of Animals: Prehistoric Animals - Part 2

Given the quality of the illustrations, I couldn't possibly feature only the dinosaurs from Prehistoric Animals (part of the Private Lives of Animals series). Here, then, are a few of those otherprehistoricanimals from the Palaeozoic and Mesozoic, as illustrated by Allen, Buonanno, Budicin, Burian, Chito...er...et al. We'll start with a firm favourite - a synapsid with so much pop-culture baggage (sorry, appeal) that it's often considered an Honorary Dinosaur.

And it's a fine illustration of Dimetrodon, too, very much in the Burian mould. In fact, for the time it's quite superb. The animal isn't doing much more than reclining and flashing its gnashers, but there's nevertheless a beautiful sense of fluidity and movement; it has a pleasing organic quality, while maintaining a decent level of anatomical accuracy and not succumbing to monsterisation. Actually, that's true of a great many illustrations in this book, and is surely the primary reason for it being so loved.

The format of the book seems to largely revolve around an animal receiving a single, large, 'profile' illustration, followed by a page full of colourful illustrations of said animal's (usually violent) behaviour. Here, we see Dimetrodon (with varying sail configurations, which is actually very true to life) stalking various 'amphibian' beasties. By far my favourite of these is the one on the right (also starring Eryops); the background detail is just wonderful. The pose of the Dimetrodon in the lower left is very familiar - it strongly resembles a piece by Bernard Robinson, although Robinson might himself have copied it. Let me know if you're clued up...

As time marches on, so synapsids start to look decidely hairier...although not too hairy just yet, if you please. The artist hasn't done anything especially unusual in shrinkwrapping the animal's head, but the naked skin/mangy fur ratio here is quite peculiar-looking. No doubt it's intended to present the animal as a sort of - shudder - 'missing link', or a 'transitional' form as the text puts it. Benjamin Hillier (thanks again Benjamin!), over on Facebook, described it as resembling "some sort of ungodly fusion between a brown labrador and a Komodo dragon." Having said all that, given that I grew up with even less hairy depictions of this animal, it didn't bother me all that much at first...

Naturally, Cynognathus is treated to a few extra illustrations, which generally depict it being a big old meanie. In the top illustration, it menaces Euparkeria, which here resemble shrunken versions of old-school tripodal theropods. This illustration is, once again, marvellously atmospheric - it's all in the light-'n'-shade. Most amusing is the lower right piece, depicting Cynognathus pouncing ferociously on...a beetle. Times were hard in the Triassic, as the text implies.

On to the Jurassic, and - brace yourselves - pterosaurs. As was typical of the period, there is a tendency for pterosaurs to be emaciated-looking, with protruding ribs, skeletal faces, and a permanent look of pain and torment. Incidentally, the Rhamphorynchus above somewhat resembles Steve Bannon's true form.

Unusually, Rhamphornychus has to share its second page with other pterosaurs, including a number of clear Burian copies. Again, though, far more effort has been put into mood and setting in these pieces than could ever be expected. That sunset! Those waves! Never mind the terrifying zombie pterosaurs that inhabit these pieces; just drink in that atmosphere.

Any book that features pterosaurs can't help but throw in a few marine reptiles too, and a funky crested mosasaur is par for the course. They inevitably have a menacing, but simultaneously almost mischievous grin on their faces, a swishing tail, and a few frog-like warts thrown in for extra seamonsterishness.

Thankfully, the illustrators' many talents were utilised very well in depicting EPIC MARINE REPTILE BATTLES. That's what we came here for, after all - skipping the page dedicated to mosasaurs tussling with other marine life in churning waters would be like having a Godzilla movie that cut away before a big monster fight. These are a treat - there's so much movement and energy in each of them, although a particular highlight for me is poor old Pteranodon meeting a violent end yet again in the top left. The hellish orange sky really enhances the savage, primordial mood. I also had to include the Komodo dragon, staring defiantly at a steam ship in the distance as if guarding its territory. Small when compared with the ocean-going lizards of the past, but still a formidable beast.

Plesiosaurs get a look-in, too, in the form of the suitably weird and huge Elasmosaurus. The illustrations here follow the traditional tendency to portray the animal as keen on permanently sticking the full length of its neck and head out of the water, so as to resemble forged photos of the Loch Ness monster (which is duly mentioned). These days, of course, we know that plesiosaur necks really weren't up to that sort of thing, but even at the time it didn't make an awful lot of sense; one imagines the trope persisted because it makes the animals resemble classical depictions of mythical sea monsters that much more. Another lovely, painterly illustration, mind you.

Of course, this behaviour kinda does make sense if one supposes that plesiosaurs were busy grabbing pterosaurs' legs with their tiny heads, as in one of the illustrations above. (Note also the typical, Fantasia-esque rocky clifftop background.) It's fittingly moody and retro and a bit odd, but nothing can top the spectacular painting of elasmosaurs tussling with two Temnodontosaurus-like mega-ichthyosaurs. This seems a bit silly to me, as Elasmosaurus is far removed in time from the ichthyosaurs' heyday, and I'm not aware of any this huge coexisting with it - but feel free to correct me if you know more about marine reptiles (you probably do).

Dubious science aside, it's a very cool illustration, again bursting with positively muscular energy. The water is actually quite stylised, but it adds to a lively quality that only enhances the sense of realism. What I'm getting at is: dudes could paint. Although that still looks nothing like Plesiosaurus.

And yes...plesiosaurs weren't dinosaurs. Oh dear.

Next time: mammals!

Vintage Dinosaur Art: Private Lives of Animals: Prehistoric Animals - Part 1

It Came From the 1970s! Originally published in Italy in 1971, Prehistoric Animals is part of the Privates Lives of Animals series, which otherwise featured entirely extant wildlife. When I posted a little something from this book on Facebook, it quickly became apparent that a number of people, including palaeontologists and artists, remember this book very fondly from their childhoods. It isn't surprising - the art in this book combines a surprisingly high level of technical proficiency with flagrant Knight/Zallinger/Burian copying and a healthy dollop of pulp. Why, they even managed to get Burian himself involved. Many thanks to Benjamin Hillier for sending me this one - it's a corker! (Just see how many 'homages' you can spot to classic palaeoart pieces on the cover alone.)

While no author is credited in this 1975 English edition (Frederick Warne & Co is the publisher), the list of illustrators is alarmingly long, comprising the following (deep breaths now):

Andrew W Allen, Olimpia Buonanno, Sergio Budicin, Zdenek Burian (for it is he), Tino Chito, James H Cracknell, Edward S Dacker, Giorgio Degaspari, Bruno Faganello, Ezio Giglioli, M Fausta Vaglieri, Guido Zucca

...with Carlo Acciarino as compiler (artwork) and Lorenzo Orlandi as 'researcher'. He didn't stretch himself too much, as we shall see. Sadly, individual illustrations aren't credited, although a very small number are helpfully signed. Given the large number of artists involved, one would expect a certain amount of variation in the quality of the artwork, and this is indeed the case. None of it's terrible (for the time) but the perfunctory contributions of some contrast vividly with the exciting, painterly, often quite visceral contributions of others.

Take this Bronto spread, for example. It's highly reminiscent of work by Knight and Burian, and it's...fine. It's pleasing in a Ladybird sort of way. One could say much the same about the illustration in the top right, a blatant Knight copy. The most remarkable illustration on this spread is, surprisingly, not given central prominence.

Now, if you ever loved dinosaurs as a kid, you'll recall that by far the most breathtaking illustrations in your various dino-books featured clashes between the great reptilian gladiators of prehistory. Tyrannosaurus v Triceratops. Allosaurus v Stegosaurus. Deinonychus v Iguanodon, which appeared quite a lot, even if it didn't really make sense. Everyone loves an epic reptile battle, and this book surely delivers. Here, a brontosaur engages two ceratosaurs in mortal combat. The text implies that boor old Bronto will flail uselessly before collapsing into a bloody heap, but the creature in the artwork is clearly having none of it, crushing one of its attackers underfoot while turning to face the other with a suitably stern look on its vanishingly tiny face. What a fantastically energetic and evocative piece - gotta love it.

By way of contrast, here is a piece completely lacking in dynamism - Stegosaurus rendered almost as a rockface. Thanks to canny use of perspective, gazing upon this colossal lizardy lummox is like looking up the sides of Cheddar Gorge, an impression aided by the clever inclusion of vegetation twisting around the animal's spiked tail. Even if it's horribly dated, it's beautifully painted and very captivating.

Of course, it's not long before Stego, too, ends up in trouble with a large Jurassic predator. The typical scenario, as illustrated in countless dinosaur books, envisages Allosaurus either circling warily around its armoured quarry, or else busy getting a face full of thagomizer. Here, however, Allosaurus has actually managed to flop Stegosaurus down onto its side, tearing into its flesh while pinning it down using one of its plates. The gnarled, sinewy look of the Allosaurus is just fantastic, as is the largely impressionistic backdrop (the better to bring the action to the fore), although it's probably best you don't think too hard about the anatomy.

On to the Cretaceous now, and as I've often said on this blog, I have a lot of sympathy for artists who, working in the pre-internet age, often had to work hard to find anything close to a decent three-dimensional reference when restoring prehistoric animals. Burian famously did the best he could, but a lot of his reconstructions still ended up being quite ill-proportioned. I will therefore refrain from being too critical about this very Knight-inspired Triceratops, even though its head appears to have been steamrollered.

Some things in life, like death, taxes, and Brexit, just seem to be inevitable, even if they are a bit depressing. So it is with depictions of Triceratops confronting T. rex, an ostensibly exciting 'clash of the titans' scenario that is rarely executed well. The sky here is lovely, but this piece contrasts unfavourably with the earlier 'Bronto v ceratosaurs' and 'Stego v Allosaurus' illustrations. Triceratops' efforts just look a little half-hearted. Got to love the unusual 'primitive tank' comparison, though.

Triceratops' contemporary Trachanatedmontotitan also puts in an appearance, initially in a guise that will be very familiar to anyone who appreciates a bit of Burian (even the colour scheme is the same). It's serviceable, if not especially interesting.

Now this is more like it! The style here is wonderful, like Burian, but gnarlier (this seems quite likely to be the same artist as with the Stegosaurus fight scene). No attempt is made at strict 'realism' with the colours here - it's all about imbuing a suitably primordial atmosphere, lending an otherwise quite tranquil scene a strange, almost eerie quality. It's an approach that a lot of today's palaeoartists could learn something from.

And then you have a dirty great theropod with a conspicuously inaccurate number of fingers preparing to grab some poor Burianesque hadrosaur by the throat. Of course, there's only one sizeable Late Cretaceous theropod that deserves a page all to iself...

Struthiomimus! Again, this isn't bad for the time; the artist has taken care to avoid giving the animal disproportionate limbs, tiny Trumpian hands, or a chicken beak. They forgot to draw in the basketball it's dribbling, but other than that, it's a decent effort. Once again, though, the 'behaviour' illustrations are much more entertaining.

"Oh bother, there goes my tail again." Incidentally, you probably know "Phobosuchus" better as Deinoscuhus.

Oh boy. Here we go. Rexy had yet to go through his first 'timid scavenger' phase when this book was written, and so he's naturally described as the most terrifying juggernaut of a beast the Earth has ever seen. The "most bloodthirsty predator ever to exist," "every living being would have fled," "no creature could have offered any resistance to it except perhaps Triceratops" - you get the picture. My particular favourite line here is

"Moreover, even if the fiercest wild animals we know today - tigers and lions - were to face this monster in combat, they would look like kittens compared to it."

Yeah, take that, David Norman! The illustration here is quite typical of the time, in that the animal is depicted as a tail-dragging tripod, but at least it appears lean 'n' mean, with suitably muscular legs and an angry eyebrow and big nostrils, like it's been restyled by BMW. I'm quite sure this illustration has been copied many times, and it may itself be something of a knock-off - feel free to chip in if you can shed any more light.

UN-STOPPABLE!

Happily, an entire page is dedicated to the murderous adventures of the Tyrant King, who rampages through time and space in his rapacious quest to rend more and more dino-flesh. Particular highlights here include:

• A very Burianesque Rexy materialising among a group of terrified hesperornithines on an otherwise barren shoreline;
• Rexy striding confidently over to poor old retro, squatting Scolosaurus, safe in the knowledge that even its armour plating "will not protect it from being torn to pieces";
• Rexy travelling over 85 million years back in time in order to savage Diplodocus while posing for Charles Knight.

And finally...let's take a look at the whole page, shall we? After all, that tyrannosaur tussle at the bottom there is quite delightful. Note also the inclusion of the dead Rexy in the lower right, a reminder that empires are fleeting, everything dies, and geological time will ultimately bring oblivion to all.

On that note, have a lovely week! You'll note that I haven't mentioned any otherprehistoricanimals. This book will return..