By 1967 Allen Lane was harbouring deep misgivings about the direction Tony Godwin was taking Penguin with regard to the marketing and distribution of fiction. Lane felt that the covers being designed by Alan Aldridge et al. were becoming too commercial and increasingly tasteless. To Lane such covers were undignified and not in keeping with Penguin's reputation. Worse still, the use of images he regarded as titillating or even offensive was an insult to the books' authors, some of whom were now making their own feelings known, with more than one threatening to move to another publisher.

Matters were made worse by Godwin's desire to sell Penguin books in non-traditional outlets such as supermarkets. Lane disliked the idea and as booksellers joined authors to protest at the way Penguin was heading so the rift between the two men deepened. To Lane, Aldridge's 'vulgar covers' and Godwin's 'gimmicky selling' were a threat to over thirty years of Penguin tradition and brand identity. If left unchecked it would only be a matter of time before the books were being packaged and sold just like any other consumer product. The crisis came to a head in late April and early May, with a boardroom bust-up that resulted in Godwin's departure and Lane's barbed comment that 'a book is not a tin of beans'.

The Penguin sf titles published in 1967 perhaps give some idea of what all the fuss was about, for whereas previous sf covers had targeted adults, Aldridge wanted his to 'reach the kids' and for that something different would be needed.

Aldridge's new designs retained the black, white and mauve livery that had first been used on the 1966 reprint of Harry Harrison's Deathworld but shortened the banner to SCIENCE FICTION and relocated it beneath the logo, along with the price. With the price and banner out of the way, the title and author's name were shifted to the top right corner.

But tinkering with typography was merely housekeeping, to clear away the clutter in preparation for the main event. For unlike Deathworld and the other sf covers of 1966, the artwork was no longer confined to a white-bordered window. Instead it took centre stage, with Aldridge as impresario and master of ceremonies. Roll up, he said. It's showtime!

Penguin sf had never seen anything like it. Aldridge clothed his cast of characters in dicky bows and polkerdots or kipper ties and pantaloons, mixing vaudeville with freak show in a crazy raving medley of surrealism and psychedelia that pinched from Pop Art and flirted with Art Deco. His phantasmagoria of floating images took sf to the brink and the titles of the books said as much. Strung out in shrieking white capitals, they splintered the blackness like a banshee's wail.

Cartoonish and cadaverous, gilded and grotesque, Aldridge's artwork was trippy and fun. It tuned in to the spirit of the times and to some his covers were the drug of choice (this was 1967 and flower power was in full bloom) but they did not please everyone. Aldridge aroused adoration but also abhorrence and some of his covers in the main fiction list provoked a particularly hostile reaction. It was enough to ensure there would be no encore. With Godwin gone, Aldridge's position at Penguin became increasingly untenable and by early 1968 he, too, had left the building.