While clearing out last year's clippings, notes and emails, I came across a review of the novel Pijpelijntjes by Dutch author Jacob Israël de Haan. The story about the daily lives of two young gay men in the Amsterdam neighbourhood of De Pijp (hence the title Pijpelijntjes, lines or sketches of the neighbourhood) caused a scandal in 1904.
The review by Joost Ingen-Housz appeared in the weekly magazine De Groene Amsterdammer in a series of reviews of books set in Amsterdam, celebrating the city's 750th anniversary last year. The cover of a recent edition of the book was printed alongside it, and when I looked closely at the small picture, I recognised the heads of Ricketts and Shannon.
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| De Groene Amsterdammer, 14 august 2025 |
The double portrait is the renowned painting by Jacques-Émile Blanche, which is housed in the Tate in London.
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| Jacques-Émile Blanche, double portrait of Charles Ricketts and Charles Shannon (1904) [The Tate, London] |
Ricketts and Shannon sat for Blanche in Shannon's studio at Lansdowne House in July 1904. It is this portrait that was cut and reproduced rather darkly on the cover of Pijpelijntjes.
There is not much logic behind the use of this image. The subjects never met the Dutch author. The painting happens to date from the same year that De Haan published his novel, but the two protagonists' lodgings in De Pijp are worlds apart from the circumstances in which Ricketts and Shannon were living at the time: their spacious flat with two private studios was described as a palace full of art treasures. Although they were a couple as collectors and artists, by the time they were portrayed, Shannon was increasingly manifesting himself as a lover of women.
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| Cover of Jacob Israël de Haan, Pijpelijntjes (Diderot, 2023) |
In the book, the Rotterdam-based publisher Diderot has not included any explanation for this choice. In fact, the names of the painter and the sitters are missing, as is any acknowledgement of the text used, which has simply been taken from digitised versions of the novel.
Personally, I have a deep aversion to these kinds of easy-to-make books, with their uncaring design (meaning: no designer was involved), under the guise of 'saving masterpieces' (which De Haan's novel undoubtedly is), even though these novels don't need saving now that they are available digitally without restriction, at least where I live, and for as long as it lasts.



























