Cartoonist's collection shows there's so much more to Lindsay than the Magic Pudding

A FORMERLY private collection of works by Australian artist and author Norman Lindsay showcases the man's talents.

THE opening page of A Misfit in Souls, an unpublished novel by Norman Lindsay, bares the author's black-inked scrawl: "Dear Keith, possibly you will remain as the only reader of this cheerful and irresponsible little fantasy."

So judicious in his depictions of Australiana, Lindsay, on this count at least, will soon be proved wrong.

While there are no plans yet to publish the completed draft work, replete with pen-and-ink drawings and dedicated to his friend Keith Wingrove, for the first time the book will be made publicly available next week by the University of Technology, Sydney.

The undated work is one of 900 items acquired by the university's library last year in an auction of the Australian artist and author's work. The collection will be officially launched next week.

The library paid $320,000 for the collection, which belonged to artist and author James Kemsley and is being promoted as the most significant and extensive literary cache of Lindsay's work.

Kemsley, the artist who drew James Bancks's Ginger Meggs cartoon for 23 years, died in 2007. He spent 40 years painstakingly collecting Lindsay ephemera.

The collection includes a first-print, first edition copy of Lindsay's most famous work, The Magic Pudding (worth $6000), original line drawings and rare editions of the author's many censored novels. The university's chief librarian, Mal Booth, describes it as an invaluable national resource.

"This collection has been amassed by someone who wanted the most significant pieces of Norman Lindsay's output," Booth says of the works, which are available for viewing on request.

"It's a very, very significant collection. That someone so iconic as Kemsley thought so highly of Lindsay, I think, is testament to that."

Ann Flynn, the library's scholarly information manager, says Kemsley was a classic collector and knew well "the fine differences between certain types of literary editions". She cites the detail in the rare first edition of The Magic Pudding (1918), Lindsay's classic tale of Albert, the never-ending dessert, and his owner's constant battles against its would-be thieves.

"This work is in pristine condition," Flynn says. "It is a one-off. Kemsley was so passionate. He has taken such good care of this collection."

Kemsley was a Magic Pudding tragic; his collection boasts more than 50 copies of the text. In a 2004 interview he gave an inkling of what attracted him to Lindsay's iconic "rude food".

"The Magic Pudding's major character is the typical Australian larrikin," he said. "And Norman somehow -- whether he did it intentionally or he did it quite accidentally -- probably hit on the first Australian antihero, and it's stayed with us ever since."

Yet while Lindsay is remembered for his children's books (he wrote just two) and his work as an artist and sculptor, he remains something of a notorious figure in the pages of Australian literature. Lindsay's openness about sexuality and his evident enthusiasm for ribald tales saw several of his more than 10 novels banned in his home country.

The UTS collection features all Lindsay's bawdy output, and Booth says the diverse collection is a reflection of Kemsley's "eye for the subtle difference book nuts go mad over".

Such attention to detail is best exemplified in the three copies of Lindsay's controversial 1913 work, A Curate in Bohemia. The first edition, which lasted just weeks on Australian shelves, featured a bare-chested woman on its cover. Two subsequent editions gradually shielded the cover model's modesty before it was banned altogether. Kemsley collected all three editions.

Flynn, who with a small team has spent the past 12 months cataloguing the collection, says the author's controversial texts form an intriguing part of the collection.

Sixteen thousand copies of Redheap, Lindsay's 1930 novel, were published in London, but never made it to Australian shores. The story, about a sexually frustrated teenager, was too much for Australian censors.

Then there's The Cautious Amorist, published in 1932 and banned for 20 years. Its crime? Booth suggests there might be a hint in the blurb: "What really happens to a girl and three men on a desert island."

"Lindsay had that larrikin element to his personality, to his work," says Booth. "He had a unique Australianness. He thumbed his nose to the Victorian society he was born into. To that conservative society he was saying, 'Well up yours, I don't care what you think.' I think that's why he is so well loved in this country."

For Booth, though, the highlight of the collection is a small, unassuming copy of Roget's Thesaurus. Given to Lindsay by The Bulletin's Bert Stevens in 1917, he kept and used the text throughout his life. Stevens writes in 1917 on the opening page: "To Norman, knowing you will not need it. From Bert."

In 1935, Lindsay replies beneath: "Wrong Bert, look at the state of the book." In 1941, Lindsay writes again: "Still using it Bert." Three years later, he chimes in again: "Good to look at still, Bert."

Finally, in 1968, a year before his death, Lindsay adds his final footnote to the well-thumbed leather-bound companion: "Here Bert, I make my final inscription of this excellent book. I can hope shortly to thank the excellent Roget for it in the Elysian fields."