In the previous two posts of this series I’ve concentrated on the lighthearted (back then) wink-wink smirk-smirk types of covers that sold “adult” — or those that were marketed as adult, even if they were rather tame — SFF novels. Though these might be considered sexist today, there was a humor to them, an idea that the material therein shouldn’t be taken so seriously. A martini-type dryness, if you would.
There was also another genre of “adult” paperback books in the 1960s that rode another trend: the series/TV/movie tie-in. Of which the example below is typical.
I can guess the marketing/re-marketing of James Bond paperbacks — the beloved thrillers of US president John F. Kennedy — and their imitators like The Man from U.N.C.L.E. inspired this original paperback series of an agent’s erotic adventures. The cover isn’t as playful as those is posts 1 and 2, but amusing nonetheless. For example, the white-clad agent gives me serious Robert Scorpio vibes from the Luke & Laura General Hospital storyline of the early 1980s, and the blonde on the floor clearly seems to be relishing “the fresh clean scent” of the his trousers.
The book was published in 1975 which takes it, I guess, out of the realm of the 1960s. But it is what all the adult paperbacks of the 1960s eventually grew into.
Only three books in this series were published, according to Goodreads. The agent’s name is Peter Lance (how’s that for a double entendre?) and he’s actually an alien from planet Tharb; there’s a lengthy review of it here, on Glorious Trash.
I haven’t found much on this book, which was published in 1969; as the decade marched on, the temptresses became more realistic and more undressed. One reviewer said, “Funny — and meant to be — but not worth of [sic] anyone’s time.” By that time, the SF trope of a sex doll/android/robot had already been done to death. It disappeared for a while, only to resurface in Michael Myers’ first Austin Powers movie where viewers guffawed as if it was all fresh and new.
“Disgusted with the way that the male of the species had messed up the world, a group of women comprised of doctors, lawyers, scientists, and many others decided to create an organization dedicated to helping put things right. They created the Society of International Security to be their private clandestine operations agency.”
The immensely popular TV show The Man from U.N.C.L.E inspired this series, of which the cover art lies halfway between the frothy pink maidens of the early 1960s and the more dour, explicit ones later in the decades. Though the Miss’s perils are spelled out in white chalk script (as if the cover was a blackboard) she looks only annoyed at the several lengths of telephone wire wrapping her. But make no doubt, this was marketed toward BDSM lovers… who also wanted a touch of humor.
Like The Man from Planet X, only three of these were ever published. You can read this 1966 book in its entirety here.
Other naughty spin-offs –nieces?– of The Man from U.N.C.L.E were The Lady from L.U.S.T. and The Girl from H.A.R.D.
“It was the most difficult assignment of killer agent 0008’s career. For he must succumb to the ravishing demands of the most evil woman of all time — the diabolical sex goddess — Captain Demo, whose insatiable band of female slaves formed a prison of flesh aboard the — NAUTIPUSS!”
This series was blatant about who is was ripping off — Agent 0008 vs. 007 — and also a lot more humorous. Sexually explicit, but not to be taken seriously. It ran for 20 books, most them with parodic Fleming-like titles like this one, which ties into the Voyage to the Bottom of Sea TV series of the time as well as Jules Verne. The cover is as colorful and playful as the ones earlier in the decade were but more explicit in the costuming department and the sexual kinks they’re selling: Captain Demo looks poised to take in a dildo from the redhead in back of her. But it’s only a (transparent) map. Such subtlety!
Another delight is the groovy lettering of the title, which again echos that of Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea as well as rock band logos (The Monkees, The Byrds, The Beatles’ Rubber Soul album) and concert poster design. Kudos to the art director. This feature is shared by all the covers of this series, and they’re all equally playful and crass. One day I’ll do a series on them.
Goodreads said this of the author:
| Clyde Allison was a pseudonym for William Knoles. Most famous for the 0008 series, Knoles has often been regarded as one of the few great sleaze writers. He mostly published with William Hamling’s various houses, writing a book almost every month between 1960 and 1968. Knoles was a reader for Scott Meredith Literary Agency when Meredith began supplying Hamling with manuscripts. Beginning with The Lustful Ones (NB1525) in 1960, Knoles became one of Hamling’s most prolific and creative authors. He felt hemmed in by the sleaze genre, but his hopes of writing more literary fiction were consistently quashed by the need for a quick paycheck. As far as hack writing goes, in the early days of sleaze writers were paid extremely well, but Knoles still spent it faster than he could bring it in. Bipolar and by some accounts an alcoholic, Knoles committed suicide in 1970. |
If it was true he wrote a book a month, by 1968 he had at least 100 title under his belt.
I’m going to close with this book published some time in the early 1970s. Surely Stan and Jan Berenstain, creators of the wholesome children’s book series The Berenstain Bears, didn’t have a hand in this smut? Wish on.
The leering faces of the men remind me uncomfortably of the attitudes back then; in the lower right corner, for example, the boss looks ready to slip a hand up that blue-booted lady’s skirt. These books were meant as satire at the time, but even so, they’re offensive. Read more about the “adult” cartoons of the Berenstains here.
