first became aware of George Landow when I read his influential books on Pre-Raphaelitism, William Holman Hunt and Typological Symbolism (1979) and Victorian Types, Victorian Shadows (1980). They were both on my university reading list, and as a dutiful undergraduate I remember being impressed not only by the knowledge enshrined in their pages, but also by their lucid writing.
Thereafter, as I started to write about the Pre-Raphaelites and Victorian art, George’s work continued to feature in my life as a scholar. However, it wasn’t until much later, in 2009, that I got in touch with him directly. I had been browsing the Victorian Web for some time, but it didn’t occur to me that I should publish something on the site, and, on the off-chance, I sent George an email about an article on Selous, a Victorian illustrator: would he be interested, I inquired? His response was both courteous and enthusiastic, and the essay duly appeared. I soon began to submit work on a regular basis and after a couple of years he asked if I’d like to become an editor for ‘Book Illustration and Design,’ politely asking, ‘would you like that?’ Like it I certainly did, and over the next few years we became regular correspondents, with a flow of work between us along with easy conversations about family, interests, politics, issues, personal troubles and anything else we felt like. He always had time, and never once ignored an email.
We were friends, and I valued his friendship. Though I was always in awe of his knowledge and achievements, he always made me feel my contributions were significant, and I enjoyed our banter as much as our professional conversations; on my sixtieth birthday – he was then in his late seventies – he wished me well as an ‘old guy,’ and on my commenting on a particularly weird expression of some religious zealotry in the United Kingdom he remarked that America had ‘plenty of nutjobs too.’ This was typical of his dry and very amusing humour. Though a great thinker, he was down to earth, practical, full of commonsense, and always good company, despite being on the other side of the Pond.
I met George and his wife Ruth in person on one occasion only. We met and had lunch at a London pub, one of his favourite venues, which of course he paid for, and he’d bought me a gift, one of the elaborate gift books I’d written about and he knew I’d like to add to my collection. I don’t otherwise remember a great deal about our conversation on that day. Though we’d communicated for years electronically, I was awestruck and become once again the nineteen-year-old student who had read his books forty years earlier. But it was a happy encounter, and as soon as we parted he and Ruth set off at top speed and disappeared almost before I could say goodbye. That was typical of his vitality.
Of course, George wouldn’t approve of any sentimental sign-off to my reflections given here. But I’ll just say that I’ll always feel privileged for the opportunities he gave me, and will always remember him, with great warmth and affection, as a remarkable person. He was a unique individual, and his passing is for me, as for so many others, a great loss.
Created 1 August 2023