ARTHUR, THE ALWAYS KING

A stately rendition of the Arthurian legend, garbed in sumptuous dress.

With much use of rich golden tones and his customary fanatical attention to detail, Riddell fills every available space, from page corners to broad pictorial borders and wordless full spreads, with grave knights in extravagant full armor, slender damsels and crones in flowing silks, luxuriant castles and chambers, and frighteningly bestial giants and other monsters. Crossley-Holland’s retelling of the Matter of Britain is less impressive, though he does cover the main Christian-inflected storyline (with a few additions, such as the tale of Gawain and the Green Knight). By adding care for the Earth as a knightly task, he introduces a contemporary note. But the women are still malign witches, flighty incompetents, or temptresses—and along with having Sir Lancelot mansplain early on that “women are the same as us, but different” (“Strange creatures,” says Sir Tristram. “Their feelings are so strong,” whines Sir Geraint), the author doubles down later by mystically declaring that the Holy Grail is actually Mary, at once male and female. But if the sex all takes place behind euphemisms or closed doors, at least, there is much rousingly explicit gore in narrative and visuals, and both Arthur and the annoyingly all-knowing Merlin wind up as properly available for return comings. Some of the Round Table knights, such as Sir Lamorak, are depicted with brown skin.

Visually stunning but there are many better—because they are less rigidly traditional—versions around.