Tart Cards: London's Illicit Advertising Art

by A.D. Amorosi

Tart Cards: London’s Illicit Advertising Art

By Caroline Archer Mark Batty Publisher, 128 pp., $24.95

For the flier-art obsessive or the sexual compulsive, the urban British advertising system that is the "tart card" is a cheeky way to brighten a dull day. This graphic history of London prostitutes’ sales pitches and their kitschy collectible cards, then, is like peering through a catalog (or a yellow pages, if the numbers within are still operating) of sensationalist options -- sexual availability and adventure for the price of a pound. Britain-based designer Archer guides readers through the history of shifty, sexed-up London -- the naughty magistrates and the paid women who loved them -- landing first in the ’50s, the initial advertising age for sexual frolic. From that era, the book becomes a Taschen-esque peek into the illustrative evolution of paid fornication, S&M, gay sex, bondage, tickling, French maids and such, with drawings that feature Betty Page wigs and Velvet Underground-like shiny leather boots. Archer speaks in happy-go-lucky terms about the art of the tart and the necessity (and risk -- the booths belonged to the Post Office until 1984) of phone-box posting, the struggles with the law and the courts, cheap printer technology, the intimate immediacy between "carder" and client. But mostly, Archer is fascinated by each card’s typography -- the use of 19th-century types and images for faux schoolgirl activity, the gothic German look of dominatrix service cards, the obvious abbreviations (T.V. for trannies), the silly phraseology ("French lessons," "flog me with the birch," "caged humiliation with no parole," "if you’re feeling rather randy, always keep this number handy," "enjoy this stripmas") typeset in rounded ’70s lettering or bold black Bauhausian script. As far as sex books go, Tart Cards is the gentlest, gaudiest sort -- a decadent decoration that’s fun to look at, to laugh with and, if you’re a promoter, the best idea book you’ve glanced at since the Blue Note album cover coffee-table volume.