Price$75.00
Media TypeBook
CategoryStage, History, Manipulation
Date AddedMar 16, 2003
Stanley Collins-Conjurer, Collector and Iconoclast
Dawes, Edwin A.
Kaufman and Company
(Based on 1 review)
A great character of British magic during the first half of the 20th century, Stanley Collins was unique in that his tremendous conjuring skills were allied to high intelligence, musical talent and rapier-like wit.
Moreover, in his own elegant style, Collins made important and long-lasting contributions to the literature of conjuring and provided interesting, amusing and frequently hostile views concerning figures and instirutions of the magical establishment. He personally knew many of the "greats" of this period, and his views of them make fascinationg reading.
In particular, Stanley Collins' conjuring with cards is acknowledged to have been well ahead of his time by some of today's expert cardicians. His "The Collins Aces" routine is still being performed by today's top cardmen.
Each volume also contains two never-before-published books by Collins: Wizardry on a Winter Evening (17 pages) and his final opus Gems of Personal Prestidigation (78 pages) which contains his ultimate version of "The Collins Aces." Also included with each copy is a CD-Rom with a 1922 Pathe Pictorial film of Collins performing flourishes.
Hardbound with dust jacket, 352 pages.
Reviews
(Top ▲)
Stanley Collins (1878-1966) may be familiar to readers of Bobo's Modern Coin Magic or through his many contributions to magic magazines in the first half of the twentieth century. Collins was a highly successful society conjurer, the inventor of a number of novel effects and methods, and the author of several well-regarded books for magicians. His greatest claim to fame, however, was as a collector of rare and antique magic books, having amassed in his lifetime a truly impressive hoard -- a fabulous panorama of published conjuring in several languages, spanning several centuries. The fact that Collins granted almost no one access to this collection would later cause some to doubt that it had ever existed. While evidence suggests that the collection did indeed exist, there is something poetically appropriate about the notion of an illusory library on the subject of illusion, something straight out of the fiction of Borges.
Collins was an intellectual and a born contrarian, a sort of magical equivalent to George Bernard Shaw. He delighted in taking opposing viewpoints to the prevailing opinions of the day, and in deliberately provoking people by expressing his disdain in a most caustic and facetious way -- regardless of whether such remarks would cause him to gain an enemy for life. Possessing a rapier wit, Collins could be quite funny. The book relates an anecdote about a local vicar dubiously inquiring, just prior to Collins's performance at a church function, whether the show contained anything "objectionable." Stanley's retort: "No, and not even for you would I include such." But Collins could also be quite cruel, as when Owen Clark asked Collins what he thought of his version of the Miser's Dream, a handling which relied upon a folding coin concealed in a thumb tip. "Owen," replied Stanley, "I congratulate you most heartily on being able to do the trick at all. However you manage to handle a coin with your poor thumb handicapped with that great poultice on it is a mystery to me." Clark never forgave him for this remark.
Like a true bibliophile, Stanley Collins seems to have preferred written communication to any other form, and we are fortunate in that many of Collins's letters, addressed to correspondents all over the world, have survived. Stanley Collins: Conjurer, Collector, and Iconoclast makes frequent use of excerpts from these letters and from other written sources. Which leads me to a problem I had with this book:
Let me say here that biography is among the most difficult tasks for a writer to attempt. Constructing a narrative flow, the arc of a story, from bits and pieces of a person's life is a delicate and elusive art. But it can be done. Dava Sobel's Galileo's Daughter, for example, is an enchanting book, a biography told through letters. Sobel manages to create a poignant portrait of both the great discoverer Galileo and his daughter -- an impressive feat because the reader is presented with only one side of their correspondence. (The nuns in the convent to which Galileo's daughter belonged burned her father's letters after he was convicted of heresy.) The problem with Stanley Collins: Conjurer, Collector, and Iconoclast is that, although we are given many glimpses into the activities and opinions of Stanley Collins through playbills and letters and such, these facts are never really woven into a narrative that gives a satisfying sense of the story of a life. The book tends to focus on minutiae -- names and dates and places. We learn who was present at the first annual dinner of the Magicians' Club, and what toasts were said. We know exactly what songs were sung during the 1911 summer season at the seaside resort of Deal. We are presented with a long list of Collins's complaints about his health and living situation, drawn from his correspondence, and a list of his marketed magic effects, culled from magic catalogs. The cumulative effect of all these details is that of a collection: fragments of information organized into thematic categories; a heap of puzzle pieces sorted but unassembled into a picture of a flesh-and-blood human being.
Which is not to say that the pieces of the puzzle are without interest. In fact, they are often quite fascinating. I expect many magicians will be especially amused -- perhaps even appalled -- by the two chapters, again excerpted from letters, in which Collins candidly shares his opinions of his contemporary conjurers and authors of magical literature. Need I say that very few emerge unscathed? Readers will also note that Collins, contrarian that he was, sometimes contradicts himself by condemning what he formerly praised. In 1948 Stanley opines: "[Kaplan's The Fine Art of Magic] is quite refreshing after all the Buckley idiocies. I like it very much." And in 1963: "I suppose I should appreciate Kaplan's book but it just reeks of ingrowing amateurdom and such is not to my jaded taste." This is one of Collins's more timid criticisms.
My favorite part of the book is tucked away in the back, after the index. Kaufman and Company has secured permission to print for the first time an unpublished manuscript by Stanley Collins, Wizardry for Winter Evenings, a book Collins intended for sale to the lay public. While none of the effects explained in the manuscript is particularly earth-shattering, the tone and structure of the piece is absolutely charming. It gives one a sense of what a delight it must have been to see Collins perform magic in a casual setting. (The book also includes a nifty CD-ROM of Collins performing a few brief card flourishes for an early "cinematograph.")
Whatever the book's flaws, Stanley Collins: Conjurer, Collector, and Iconoclast gathers a great deal of information from disparate and inaccessible sources, and presents it to us in one lavishly illustrated package. It encourages us to reconsider what we think we know about magic history, and reminds us of an independent thinker and eccentric personality whose words, work and worldview continue to fascinate and provoke.
David Parr
Collins was an intellectual and a born contrarian, a sort of magical equivalent to George Bernard Shaw. He delighted in taking opposing viewpoints to the prevailing opinions of the day, and in deliberately provoking people by expressing his disdain in a most caustic and facetious way -- regardless of whether such remarks would cause him to gain an enemy for life. Possessing a rapier wit, Collins could be quite funny. The book relates an anecdote about a local vicar dubiously inquiring, just prior to Collins's performance at a church function, whether the show contained anything "objectionable." Stanley's retort: "No, and not even for you would I include such." But Collins could also be quite cruel, as when Owen Clark asked Collins what he thought of his version of the Miser's Dream, a handling which relied upon a folding coin concealed in a thumb tip. "Owen," replied Stanley, "I congratulate you most heartily on being able to do the trick at all. However you manage to handle a coin with your poor thumb handicapped with that great poultice on it is a mystery to me." Clark never forgave him for this remark.
Like a true bibliophile, Stanley Collins seems to have preferred written communication to any other form, and we are fortunate in that many of Collins's letters, addressed to correspondents all over the world, have survived. Stanley Collins: Conjurer, Collector, and Iconoclast makes frequent use of excerpts from these letters and from other written sources. Which leads me to a problem I had with this book:
Let me say here that biography is among the most difficult tasks for a writer to attempt. Constructing a narrative flow, the arc of a story, from bits and pieces of a person's life is a delicate and elusive art. But it can be done. Dava Sobel's Galileo's Daughter, for example, is an enchanting book, a biography told through letters. Sobel manages to create a poignant portrait of both the great discoverer Galileo and his daughter -- an impressive feat because the reader is presented with only one side of their correspondence. (The nuns in the convent to which Galileo's daughter belonged burned her father's letters after he was convicted of heresy.) The problem with Stanley Collins: Conjurer, Collector, and Iconoclast is that, although we are given many glimpses into the activities and opinions of Stanley Collins through playbills and letters and such, these facts are never really woven into a narrative that gives a satisfying sense of the story of a life. The book tends to focus on minutiae -- names and dates and places. We learn who was present at the first annual dinner of the Magicians' Club, and what toasts were said. We know exactly what songs were sung during the 1911 summer season at the seaside resort of Deal. We are presented with a long list of Collins's complaints about his health and living situation, drawn from his correspondence, and a list of his marketed magic effects, culled from magic catalogs. The cumulative effect of all these details is that of a collection: fragments of information organized into thematic categories; a heap of puzzle pieces sorted but unassembled into a picture of a flesh-and-blood human being.
Which is not to say that the pieces of the puzzle are without interest. In fact, they are often quite fascinating. I expect many magicians will be especially amused -- perhaps even appalled -- by the two chapters, again excerpted from letters, in which Collins candidly shares his opinions of his contemporary conjurers and authors of magical literature. Need I say that very few emerge unscathed? Readers will also note that Collins, contrarian that he was, sometimes contradicts himself by condemning what he formerly praised. In 1948 Stanley opines: "[Kaplan's The Fine Art of Magic] is quite refreshing after all the Buckley idiocies. I like it very much." And in 1963: "I suppose I should appreciate Kaplan's book but it just reeks of ingrowing amateurdom and such is not to my jaded taste." This is one of Collins's more timid criticisms.
My favorite part of the book is tucked away in the back, after the index. Kaufman and Company has secured permission to print for the first time an unpublished manuscript by Stanley Collins, Wizardry for Winter Evenings, a book Collins intended for sale to the lay public. While none of the effects explained in the manuscript is particularly earth-shattering, the tone and structure of the piece is absolutely charming. It gives one a sense of what a delight it must have been to see Collins perform magic in a casual setting. (The book also includes a nifty CD-ROM of Collins performing a few brief card flourishes for an early "cinematograph.")
Whatever the book's flaws, Stanley Collins: Conjurer, Collector, and Iconoclast gathers a great deal of information from disparate and inaccessible sources, and presents it to us in one lavishly illustrated package. It encourages us to reconsider what we think we know about magic history, and reminds us of an independent thinker and eccentric personality whose words, work and worldview continue to fascinate and provoke.
David Parr