Arthur Rackham: Illustrating Dreams
When I close my eyes and think of fairytales, it's Arthur Rackham's world that I envision. On one of the leading figures of the British Golden Age of book illustration, and his impact today.
A fairy sleeps in a midsummer wood.
Her head rests on the twisting roots of ancient trees. Star magnolias, dogwoods, and wild daisies bloom around her. Her crown lies on the earth beside her hair—close enough to touch, far enough that a roguish sprite could snatch it away. The woods are lush with summer’s green, but their hues are tempered by the darkness. It’s a scene of elfin magic, as beautiful as it is foreboding.
For young readers (and older readers, too), the illustrations that accompany a book can be just as exciting as the story itself. In the domain of fairytales, few illustrators have had quite the impact of Arthur Rackham.
Arthur Rackham was born in London in 1867 to a middle-class family; his father was a legal officer for the British government. The young Arthur was one of twelve children, and knowing this, I can’t help but see the potential influence this had on his later works—especially those that feature crowded, bustling scenes. I have to imagine that some of his inspiration came from his large family. Rackham discovered his love of drawing as a child; in art, he found a quiet world that belonged only to his imagination. Despite this, Rackham was advised to pursue a more stable career, and he secured a job as a clerk when he turned eighteen.1
It didn’t last long. Rackham was incapable of letting go of his drawings, and he enrolled in the Lambeth School of Art as a part-time student. In 1892, at the age of twenty-five, he was finally able to quit his day job and work as a full-time illustrator and journalist for the Westminster Budget. His skills soon commanded notice, and by his late twenties, he was taking independent commissions to illustrate novels and short story collections.2 It is this work that would occupy his career for the rest of his life.
Rackham’s work has been on my mind lately. As many of you know, our latest patron series, On the Origin of Fairies, follows the development of fairy folklore—and few examples of fairy art are quite as dazzling as Rackham’s illustrations for A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Or perhaps it’s the time of year? I’ve always associated fairytales with winter, the perfect season to curl up on your sofa, light a candle, and read a beautiful book.
Most of Rackham’s commissions were for fairytales, fables, and folktales. Notable examples include Fairytales of the Brothers Grimm (1900) as well as J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens (1906). Other standout works in his collection include a 1900 reprinting of Jonathan Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels and a 1905 reprinting of Washington Irving’s Rip Van Winkle. What strikes me about his work, which is characterized by precise and expressive line drawings, is that it seems to embody a fairytale-darkness even as the tone of fairytales was evolving.
Prior to the 19th century, fairytales served as tools to teach young people about the world’s dangers. They were the rhetorical answer to beating the bounds, a reminder that children who got lost in the woods didn’t always come back. When the Brothers Grimm were publishing their stories in the early 1800s, their renditions still contained some bloodshed, but they had already begun the process of making fairytales friendlier to children. These broader shifts also reflect changes in how children were treated in society and a greater understanding that childhood was a distinct life stage that deserved protection… but that is a topic for another day.
Nonetheless, by the Edwardian era, fairytales—like the fairies themselves—belonged to children.
As delightful as Rackham’s art may be, the sharp lines, the mischievous eyes, and angular features of his subjects seem to hint at a fairytale danger that had largely been wiped from these narratives by the start of his career. This is true especially of his fairies and sprites—they are beautiful creatures, but they still have their teeth. I believe this underlying complexity has allowed Rackham’s work to stand the test of time. His illustrations are whimsical, not saccharine.
Rackham also benefited from advances in printing that allowed for cheaper and faster distribution of the watercolor prints for which he was known. These technological developments, among others, resulted in a Golden Age of British illustration. Another prominent children’s illustrator who gained popularity alongside Rackham was Beatrix Potter. Like Rackham, Potter was able to take advantage of new printing technology for the watercolor paintings of the English countryside featured in her books.
Though timeless in their beauty, Rackham’s illustrations reflect the greater artistic movements of his period. The influence of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood is evident in his opulent details, his bold use of color (reminiscent of Quattrocento art), and of course, his works’ medieval inspiration. Other influences include the burgeoning Art Nouveau movement, especially its prominent offshoot born in Scotland: the Glasgow Style, pioneered by Charles Rennie Mackintosh, Margaret and Frances Macdonald, and James Herbert McNair. These artists fused Celtic and Japanese styles to create designs with distinctive line work, sleek curves, and highly stylized figures—attributes that are certainly present in Rackham’s portfolio.
Rackham’s art today is so synonymous with the fairytale that it may surprise some how recently he lived and worked; he passed away in 1939 at the age of seventy-one. His art still holds great sway over fantasy artists. (One of my favorite contemporary illustrators is Abigail Larson, and Rackham’s presence in her work is undeniable.)
Arthur Rackham was fluent in the language of dreams. That is Rackham’s ultimate spell—his own life was as close to us as the telephone and the television, yet through his art, he effortlessly transports us to a time long ago, to a land far away.
Related essays from The Crossroads Gazette:
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Derek Hudson, Arthur Rackham: His Life and Work (Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1960), 20-22.
Jeff A. Menges, The Arthur Rackham Treasury (Dover Publications, 2005), v-vi.
So many great little tidbits in here! I had one of those Brothers Grimm volumes at my grandmother’s house when I was a kid. I can say firsthand: Yes, the images were a bit gritty for a 3 year old! They really are so detailed they are more appropriate for YA category if there had been such a thing at the time. And of course, adults. I could look at them now time and time again, always seeing something different.
Thank you for introducing me to Abigail Larson’s amazing work.