Review: Daniel Yates, ARCANUM, foreword by Martin Duffy, illustrated by David S. Heresies, Anathema Publishing 2019, hardcover “Ethereal” edition (limited to 200 copies)

by Frater Acher

Daniel Yates’s Arcanum is a coffee table book in the best sense of the word. And it is much more, but we will get to that later. For now, let’s settle down, smell that coffee, light a cigarette and dare to reach into the open mouth of this book.

See, a good coffee table book is actually quite hard to create. Most photographers and publishers are prone to fail its aspiration; instead they end up adding to the endless scrapyard of large format hardcover books. Vast is the cemetery of the books that have nothing to say of their own, and hold no fate but to silently decay as forgotten adornments of once stylish interior design. These are not good coffee table books; these are books that shouldn’t exist. On the other hand, a good coffee table book is nothing less than an assassin. For it knows how to sit in patience. And yet it knows even better how to assault us when we least expect it…

The idea of a cup of good coffee in the middle of the day really is the idea of curating a moment of stillness for ourselves. It is the idea of taking a break from our usual drama, of pulling out a chair in the backstage of life, and of having a quiet moment away from where we can be seen, or where we need to be anything to anyone. In these most unassuming of all moments we simply like to sit, and to sip that coffee, and to smoke that cigarette - ready to shout at any dog, kid or loud street car that dares to break the spell of these precious seconds. And yet these are the moments when a good coffee table book strikes. For it is in the silent periphery of our own lives that we become open. We are vulnerable in these moments, precisely because we do not expect anything from anyone, neither from us nor from the world around us. And it is with such unambitious openness that we lean forward, grasp that book from the low wooden table, and begin to leave through its pages. With a mind as still as it ever will be on this day or the next.

Daniel Yates articulates this moment wonderfully in his foreword to the book. The moment in which we, entirely and unintentionally, have cut ourselves loose from everything that normally holds us together, ready to be bitten by the snake that is this book.

We are anchored by that which has come before, allowed only to drift a little in any direction before we begin to pull against the norm, until we start to strain the rope that binds us. But what if it was to snap? (p. 7)

Arcanum is a book almost entirely made up of images, of stunning macro-lens photographs taken by the highly talented Daniel Yates. Arcanum is also an assassin, as it perfectly understands the sequence of experiences it needs to take us on: From allowing us entrance, to slowing us down, to stilling our gaze, to drawing us in, to showing us a glimpse of the threshold its images can be, to finally pointing into the darkness beyond by means of its illuminating titles and chapters.

In the introduction, Yates calls this book a grimoire, and I would choose to disagree with that. I would have preferred it if Yates had held on steadfastly to the rest of his wonderful introduction to this work, which entirely speaks for itself: his photographs do not need to be artificially attached to the current magical mainstream of the Grimoire Renaissance. One could argue that the book is the precise opposite of a grimoire: not containing the grammar, but the living spirit of one man’s magical encounters. I much prefer to look at it as a great coffee- table book: A book that knows exactly how to mix its poison into our coffee. If you only take one sip from its pages, you’ll feel nothing due to the gentle effect of slowing you down, of steadying your breath, of giving you a break. But sip again, and you’ll feel its poison come to life: now you’ll see there is life in these images, there are pathways and depths, that you did not at all intend to travel while taking your few minutes of rest from this day. For in their close-up uncanniness and peacock-colour swirls the images do invite you on a journey, much longer than a cigarette lasts. Drink again from its poison pages and you’ll find yourself in your ritual chamber, the images cut out from their covers, attached to your walls, illuminated by twilight, and yourself slowly walking in the circle of your self-curated magical exhibition, tumbling down the rabbit hole of another mage’s uncanny ability to see the world through the eyes of Yesod.

Indeed, if you wanted to work with this book practically, it is ready for collection anytime. Just cut out the pathway of your choice, find a silent place, put it in front of you, steady your breath, do not blink, and jump in. Many times have I worked with magical images in this fashion. It is a great way for the beginner to explore their visionary capabilities. Of course your phantasies will mix with glimpses of magical realities. But who cares — this is your impromptu coffee-break training camp, the place where you do not need to expect anything of yourself or the world. Using a magical image as a black mirror is a wonderful way to learn how quickly you can fall away from this world…

The second voice blending into this iconic herbarium of magical image-plants, is the one of master illustrator David S. Herrerías. At least since the 2019 publication The Book of Q’AB-ITZ his work and breath-taking skill no longer need any introduction. In Arcanum we find seventeen of his images in the chapter titled “Masks of Misrule”; they each accompany a photograph of Yates titled as various “masks” of planets, ghosts and gates. The unfolding tension and dynamic dialogue between Herrerías’ graphical design and Yates’ work with colours, shades and textures to me present the most vivid and striking section of the book. Allowing our gaze to take in quietly how a hollow bone turns into a plant-root, entwined by thorn-branches, while facing the emerging spirit mask of the Void on the opposing page... Staring at this quiet magic, I realise my coffee has long gone cold, and I’ve fully succumbed to the magical assault of this amazing assassin.

Having drunken from the inside of this book, let’s also take a look at its outer appearance. Anathema Publishing have done a gorgeous job designing Arcanum in pure white and silver. The book seems especially luxurious if one considers the aggressive price point of only 61 USD / 63 EUR for the limited “Ethereal” hardcover edition of merely 200 copies. As expected, however, such a price point comes with some compromises. We find these in the cover design being positioned slightly off centre, some of the pages of our own copy being creased from the binding process, and the thickness of the glossy pages being thinner than expect- ed. Nevertheless it is a stunning book to hold in your hands. And as the saying goes, even real coffee-table books should not be judged by their covers...

In particular though I am grateful to Anathema Publishing for not going overboard in weighing down the book with additional design quirks. Arcanum definitely converted me to become a regular customer of their future releases. Previously, I have to admit, I had been hesitant with some of their titles; mostly, I presume, because I might not belong to their main target audience. In their seeming intent to be the magical equivalent of the hardcore Straight Edge subculture, at least for my taste, they sometimes slid into juvenile mannerisms, such as baroque illustrations of snarling gold embossed dragon-serpents, hooded skulls, and all things that possibly would scare your parents. Don’t get me wrong – I love a good skull! But in most cases its stylistic effect is increased by the Saturnian quality of taking everything else away, not by adorning it richly. A skill that is actually wonderfully expressed in Yates’ photographic visions as well as Herrerías’ stunning images.

After all, reading about real magic is neither fantasy nor science-fiction. It is also not for the young and foolish, and yet it has its ways of either breaking them or turning them into the old and wise. Often it does both, in necessary sequence. To me at least, our engagement with magic – both in practice and in publishing – should echo the sobriety of this topic. Most of us wouldn’t rock up to a family burial in our favourite Man-O-War long sleeve. We would wear something that pushes our own appearance into the background, and allows a blank canvas for the appearance of the dead.

With Arcanum Anathema Publishing have accomplished precisely that: a release that comes across so smooth and silken it will make an unassuming treasure wherever you choose to place it in your house. So I humbly suggest you get your own copy – and yet that you do not push it into the tight ranks of your crowded magical library. Instead, let it lie openly. Let it lie patiently, touched by nightlight and touched by daylight. For one day you will find yourself (or a friend?) sitting right next to it. A cup of coffee in your lap, a cigarette in your hand, really thinking of nothing, when you follow the momentary impulse to pick it up and to open the mouth of this small marvel.