The Poetical Works of Thomas Hood 1871 (Table Bay Fore-edge Painting).

Published by E. Moxon, Son & Company, London 1871

Illustrated by: Gustave Doré

Complete; decorative title page; frontis; title page; xxxi; 400 pages.

Full leather binding; all edge gilding; edges worn; top and bottom of the spine chipped. Some minor tears to the pages; glue stain on the verso of the frontis (occupies half the page).

A collection of the poetical works of Thomas Hood (1799-1845), who was a regular contributor for major publications during his lifetime such as 'The London Magazine'. This work was edited, with a critical memoir, by William Michael Rossetti (1829-1919), who was himself a writer, and also a founder member of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. Illustrated throughout by Gustave Doré, including a frontispiece and an engraved title page. Undated, dated through copies held at the Victoria and Albert Museum libraries.

Hood’s Poetry and The Table Mountain fore-edge Painting
By James Findlay

Last year (2025), I bought an elegant Victorian poetry book for over R20,000. It is well loved, scuffed at the edges and a little dented on the corners. The Octavo size book fits comfortably in my hands. That’s an important fact, for to reveal its secret, a book that’s too big would just be too cumbersome. Why? This book of verse is a little special, it bridges two categories you see. This treasure is more suited to the art category rather than literature and destined to sell to a collector who loves Cape and Victorian art rather than poetry.

Hidden within the gilded fore-edge of this unassuming, leather-bound volume lies a secret that only reveals itself to the patient observer. When the book is closed, the pages appear as a solid block of shimmering gold, but with a gentle, rhythmic fan of both thumbs, the edges shift to uncover a hidden masterpiece: a fore-edge painting. As the paper slides, the metallic gold sheen vanishes to reveal the rugged, iconic silhouette of Table Mountain, Lion’s Head and Signal Hill. In the foreground is a twin-masted schooner battling choppy waters. The vibrant blues of the Atlantic Ocean contrast with the ominous white foam. Many ships met their demise in these treacherous waters. For a moment the book comes alive in a flash of delicate watercolours, transforming an otherwise mundane artefact into a magical glimpse of the Cape. ‘Now that was unexpected’ I remember saying when the previous owner revealed this gem to me.

Think of a fore-edge painting as a "disappearing" piece of art. It is a centuries-old technique where an artist paints an image on the very tips of a book's pages, but with a clever twist of the text block.

After a brief search on the internet, I couldn’t find a single fore-edge painting featuring Table Mountain on the open market. To me this is an indication of rarity. As a result, I was undeniably excited. My offer of R20,000 was accepted. I’d mark it at R45,000 I strategized.

Why was it done? Historically, fore-edge paintings were the ultimate "hidden in plain sight" flex for wealthy book collectors. It started around the 17th century as a way to identify books or simply to add a layer of secret beauty to a library. Some books even have double fore-edge paintings, where fanning the pages one way shows one scene (like a landscape of Table Mountain), and fanning them the other way reveals an entirely different image.

I excitedly got the book delivered to my book shop in the Cape Town Club. Christmas had come early and I swooned. However, there was a nagging issue that I wasn’t able to reconcile. Why would an artist paint a Cape scene on a poetry book? Surely a Cape scene should be found on the edge of a Victorian Cape related book?

For months this book sat on a ‘to do’ pile in the storeroom. It’s a full leather binding; dark forest green, gilt lettering on the spine, fine tooling to the edges. The extravagance doesn’t end there, the 3 edges are also gilded with 24 carat gold leaf. Generally, when so much luxury has been applied to a book, it’s an indicator of high value.

Nonetheless, there are exceptions, while Hood was the flavour of the poetry world in the twilight of the Victorian era, nobody reads him today. As a result, one can pick these beautifully bound books up at the charity shop for a little over R250. They sell as shelf fillers, furniture for the backdrop of a blogger or to add a touch of stacked sophistication in the background for a zoom call participant.

I had a nagging question that kept surfacing when I reached for the book to enter it to stock. ‘So why would an artist paint a Cape scene on a poetry book? Surely a Cape scene should be found on the edge of a Victorian Cape related book?

I just couldn’t reconcile that anomaly. I happened to raise the topic with a visiting international bookseller. In his lengthy career he has sold several fore-edge paintings.
Without a moment's hesitation, he raised his finger. ‘Ah ha, it sounds like one of Keith Fletcher’s’! he declared oracle like.
‘Go on please.’ I encouraged the oracle with the silver broom moustache. ‘Fletcher was an ex-policeman, who I presume fell on hard times or maybe wanted to supplement his state pension. Anyway, Fletcher's modus operandi was to trawl the bookshops in Cecil Court, London. There he would meticulously single out fine bindings that were cheap. Just like today, the unsellable poetry books and so on. He created many fore-edge paintings in the 1950’s.’
I surmised that the idea was that Fletcher was being deceitful, a forger of sorts. He’d pass his paintings off as Victorian, contemporary to the time of publication.
‘Who’d want a modern 1950’s painting of sailing ships?’ The oracle stated.
I got it, Fletcher passed these off as original Grand Tour works of art. 150 years ago when this book was published, all aspiring students of continental art and literature went on a grand tour of the major cultural sites in Europe.

Glum, I searched for reconciliation. It all made sense now. I’d bought a dud.
‘Now worthless?’ I prompt.
‘That depends, what did you pay?’
I felt like a fool, but this was not the time to pander to my ego. Advice like this is dear. ‘I paid about R20,000 for the book I cringed.
The oracle winced.
This, I thought, is going to go down in history as one of my biggest blunders.
‘No, it's not quite that bad. To some collectors, these forgeries are now quite collectable. There's now a tangible provenance to the book, a mystery, a forger and a beautiful fore-edge painting'.

R30,000