 Four thousand nine hundred... four thousand nine hundred fifty... Hmm... Make it an even five thousand, then maybe. 
Above: A paticualrly nice Franco Picchioni cover for Per piacere, non toccate le signore!, written by Mark Wheeler for Edizioni MA-GA and published in 1965 as part of its Il Cerchio Rosso collection. The title means, “please don't touch the ladies.” You can get more peeks at Picchioni by clicking his keywords below.
 So here's the thing I prefer about indoor cats. You never have to do this. 
The Judas Cat by Dorothy Salisbury Davis is an unusual mystery about a ninety-two-year old toymaker and engineer found dead in a locked room with a terrified expression and scratches on his face. A few reviews of the book say the main suspect is the man's cat. Not really. Davis makes clear from the beginning that some malefactor may have used the cat in a mysterious way to facilitate the murder. The police chief Fred Waterman, who was so intimidated by the cat's aggressive behavior that he shot it just before discovering its owner's body, has it sent for a post-mortem to determine whether it was sick, had been posioned, or perhaps had poison on its claws. Local newsman Alex Whiting is the one who first notices something unusual about the animal's body. Thus begins the novel-length team-up between chief and reporter as they try to unlock the puzzle. While the method of murder continues to baffle them, the motives slowly coalesce around valuable patents, a will with a recent codicil, and hidden connections between various townspeople.
In general we liked the book. The characterizations are pretty sharp and the portrayal of life in a town where everyone knows everyone else's business is both fascinating and frustrating, as Davis intends. The story may not contain enough menace or action for some readers, but it's a pretty good example of a rural mystery, a decent examination of the effects of murder on a supposedly wholesome community, an interesting look at the quaint courtship rituals of the immediate post-war period (where a woman must simply wait to be noticed and courted), and a reminder of how political power was wielded in a time when those in control had fewer fears of exposure. We would read Davis again without hesitation, especially considering The Judas Cat was only her first novel. She probably got better with experience. We'll find out. We have another of her books. The nice purple cover on this 1951 edition from Bantam was not credited, and as we always say, that's a crime in itself.
 My diagnosis is that you're a nymphomaniac, but I'll need to run a few tests to be sure. 
Psychiatrist sleaze novels are safe havens for us. Whenever we can't think of anything to post, we just grab one of these. They're ridiculous, and easy to riff on. John Dexter's Sin Psycho was published by Greenleaf Classics and it appeared in 1962 with unattributed art. We don't keyword for “therapy” or “psychiatrist,” so we can't point you to all the others in this style we've posted, but you can see most of them by starting here.
 Yes! Another fight over me successfully started. My work here is done. 
We've never seen a fight over a woman that the woman influenced in any way except being seen as an object of ownership by testosterone filled guys, but for this piece of art for Roger Duchesne's Faut les avoir bien accrochées we're going with femme fatale-induced violence because of her lifted glass and smile. There's a signature: “Marculeta,” which left us with some sleuthing to do. We think the illustrator is probably Alfredo Marculeta, a Basque artist, primarily known for comic book work, active in Spain and France during the 1950s and 1960s. Don't quote us on it.
The title Faut les avoir bien accrochées has an amusing translation: “must have them well hung.” Ahem. Actually, though, we think the phrase is a colloquialism meaning to have one's heart set on, or to have a strong heart. Don't quote us on that either. We'd prefer if the title actually did mean being well hung. Then the femme fatale's smile would be perfect: “Don't bother fighting over me, boys. I must have them well hung.” This came from Éditions le Trotteur and was published in 1953.
 If you want to kill something, how about you knock off that pile of dirty dishes in the kitchen. 
Above: a cover for The Hunter, by Hugh Forsburgh, for Bantam Books, 1951. This one is Hemingway with a geographical shift—big game hunter Monk Taylor lives and shoots in the Rocky Mountains instead of Africa. It's man, nature, and love, as Taylor is presented with the possibility having his macho fun ruined by a normal existence with faithful Marge Davies. We were tempted to buy it, but we already have other hunting novels on tap. The art on this is uncredited.
 Of course you were the first. Geez. Why does every guy ask the same question? 
Above: a very nice Tom Miller cover for Stuart Friedman's novel Irina, from Monarch Books, copyright 1963. The maxim, “Don't ask don't tell,” would seem to apply here.
 You'll love this. It's called a body shot and it makes American girls squeal with delight. 
Some things never go out of style. We don't mean body shots. We mean covers by the French artist Jacques Thibésart, aka Nik. He painted the above example for the 1953 crime comic Cette fille est sans pitié! No author is listed on the front, but it was written by George Maxwell, aka Georges Esposito, for Presses Mondiales and its series Les grands romans dessinés. We have a fair amount of Thibésart in the website. Two of his better efforts are here and here.
 I love you too, Billy, but you can't keep failing twelfth grade just to be with me. 
The Country School—A Teacher's Delight is—obviously—a sleaze novel. It was published in 1970 and has pretty nice Bill Edwards cover art. The book is fairly raunchy, and offers the added twist that author Sharon Gordon is also the star of the tale. We really doubt it was actually written by a woman, though. We feel like a woman would be a lot more subtle:
“Now it's your turn to come. I'm going to let you fuck me!” I was delighted with my foul language directed at this tender youth. “Yes, you must fuck me. Fuck me long, fuck me hard, fuck me for all you're worth, and I hope it lasts all night. Honey, I want you to push that long, hard cock of yours as far up my pussy as it'll go. Now, stand up, I want you inside of me, all of you.”
And so forth. Do you want us to explain the plot? Do you think the plot even matters? Well, there's some same sex action, a threesome, a night when Sharon—that bad little schoolteacher—even services five guys. By the end she's decided to settle down with a guy named Ted, but on the bus to his town screws a sailor and realizes, “A leopard can't change its spots overnight.”
Sleaze books—and we can't believe we're going to say this—are better when they're less explicit. Yes, it's true. Because explicitness is usually a substitute for writing skill. When decent authors tackle sexual subject matter it can be really fun reading. The Country School—A Teacher's Delight is interesting, but it definitely isn't delightful.
 A case of the permanent blues. 
The lyrically titled Blue Mascara Tears is a dark one from James McKimmey, author of able efforts such as The Long Ride and Cornered. In the tale a San Francisco cop named Jack Cummings can't nail crime kingpin Knocko Cutter because the fix is in at the police department. Cutter also employs two vicious and efficient torturer-killers to silence witnesses, which works for a while, but as Cummings notes, “The collapse was coming from the fault in the structure itself.” In other words, the kingpin's sociopathic nature compels him to mistreat his most trusted henchmen, and even henchmen have a breaking point.
Two events are threaded through the plot: the robbery and murder of a man who had $65,000 in his possession; and the rape of a fourteen-year-old girl. The crimes quickly tie together, reveal twists and lies, and the kingpin's search for the missing cash presents the most meager of openings for Cummings to possibly nail him. But that's easier said than done when the police department is corrupt from top the bottom. Realizing the odds are long, Cummings grows more determined—and more willing to cross the line. It all leads to a climax that's expertly dragged out to the final paragraph.
And speaking of experts, the front on this 1965 Ballantine paperback was painted by Ron Lesser, one of the more accomplished illustrators of the mid-century period. Occasionally everything dovetails perfectly with cover design. Here you have excellent art from Lesser, a unique choice for a font, and a perfect blue teardrop, which we assume was an inspiration from Ballantine's art director. Add them together with McKimmey's story and Blue Mascara Tears is a through-and-through success.
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The headlines that mattered yesteryear.
1961—Rudolph Nureyev Defects from Soviet Union
Russian ballet dancer Rudolf Nureyev defects at Le Bourget airport in Paris. The western press reported that it was his love for Chilean heiress Clara Saint that triggered the event, but in reality Nuryev had been touring Europe with the Kirov Ballet and defected in order to avoid punishment for his continual refusal to abide by rules imposed upon the tour by Moscow. 1978—Hussein Marries Halaby
King Hussein of Jordan, who had claimed direct lineage from the Prophet Muhammad and the most ancient tribe in the Arab world, marries American Lisa Halaby, who renounces her American citizenship, converts to Islam, and takes the name Queen Noor. Noor soon becomes one of the most glamorous and recognized royals in the world.
1995—Roger Zelazny Dies
American fantasy and science fiction writer Roger Zelazny dies at age fifty-eight of kidney failure related to colo-rectal cancer. Zelazny won the Nebula award three times, and the Hugo award six times, for novels such as ...And Call Me Conrad and Lord of Light, but was best known for his fantasy serial The Chronicles of Amber.
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