Masquerade

There are books, and then there are cultural events disguised as books. Masquerade by Kit Williams, published in 1982 by Jonathan Cape, is one of the latter: a gloriously eccentric collision of art book, treasure hunt, fever dream and national obsession that somehow persuaded an entire generation of sensible adults to spend weekends digging holes in the countryside looking for a golden hare. Britain was different then. For the uninitiated, Masquerade was not merely read. It was decoded, analysed, worshipped, argued over and, in some cases, probably blamed for mild nervous breakdowns. Hidden within Kit Williams? astonishingly detailed paintings and cryptic text was a real buried treasure: an 18-carat gold jewelled hare concealed somewhere in England. Readers became amateur cryptographers overnight. Entire social circles vanished into obsessive debates about sun positions, shadows, astrology, apples, rabbits, geometry and whether that slightly suspicious-looking leaf on page fourteen ?meant something? Naturally, it all became completely unhinged. The early 1980s were perhaps the last moment in history when a beautifully illustrated puzzle book could trigger a nationwide intellectual treasure panic before the internet arrived to spoil everything in under forty minutes. People drove around the countryside with OS maps and thermos flasks. Newspapers ran theories. Conspiracy flourished magnificently. Somewhere, probably in Surrey, a man with elbow patches became convinced the fate of civilisation depended upon a badger hidden in a watercolour. And through it all stood Kit Williams: artist, mystifier, woodland alchemist and apparent enemy of straightforward leisure activities. The artwork alone is extraordinary ? dense, luminous, strange and deeply English in the best possible sense. Every page looks as though it was painted by a wizard forced to illustrate a gardening catalogue under extreme emotional pressure. Even without the puzzle, the book remains hypnotic: part fairy tale, part surrealist painting exhibition, part nervous breakdown in hardback form. This 1982 Jonathan Cape edition captures the phenomenon at its purest, back when Masquerade was still generating obsession rather than nostalgia. Condition is good, which is impressive considering many copies from the period were handled not like books but like sacred encrypted artefacts. Owners scribbled notes inside them, held pages up to mirrors, traced illustrations, and stared at tiny details until family members became concerned. Some copies probably accompanied midnight expeditions involving shovels and increasingly strained marriages. Physically, the book has tremendous shelf presence. It belongs to that golden age of oversized illustrated hardbacks produced before modern publishing decided everything should resemble a motivational podcast. You can practically smell the early-1980s ambition radiating from it. Jonathan Cape clearly understood they weren?t merely publishing a children?s book; they were releasing a beautifully bound national distraction. Today, Masquerade survives as something rather rare: a genuine cult object that fully deserves its reputation. Collectors adore it. Puzzle enthusiasts revere it. Nostalgic Gen X readers remember it with the haunted expression of people who once spent six months believing treasure might be buried behind a village pub in Bedfordshire. A marvellous copy for collectors of illustrated books, puzzle culture, eccentric British publishing, or anyone who appreciates artefacts from that vanished pre-digital era when mysteries remained mysterious for longer than a TikTok refresh cycle. Crappy Old Books: unearthing strange relics from Britain?s collective subconscious since absolutely ages ago.