Publishers of Graphic Novels and Fine Comics since 1998.

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Introducing… Nina Bunjevac

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Nina Bunjevac started her art training in Yugoslavia, at the Djordje Krstic School for applied arts; in 1990 she moved to Toronto, Canada, where she continued her studies in art at the Art Centre of Central Technical School. In 1997 she graduated from OCAD in the Drawing and Painting department.

Formerly a painter and a sculptor, Nina found her calling in sequential arts, a form that seemed to naturally evolve out of the narrative component in her sculpture installation work. Pen and ink became the medium of choice. Her comic strips were published in a number of international anthologies of graphic fiction and literary magazines all over the world: her debut, Heartless, was published in 2012.

What was the inspiration for your book, Fatherland?

My family (particularly the women) and the history of the Balkans. The story of my family is a story of two opposing factions, paternal: royalist and nationalist, and maternal: Titoist, socialist.  Somehow, sandwiched in between, I have managed to find my own path. 

Fatherland by Nina Bunjevac is published by Jonathan Cape on 28 August.

Random page from a random book: The Property, Rutu Modan, p. 59

Random page from a random book: The Property, Rutu Modan, p. 59

Rutu Modan scoops an Eisner Award

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You’ve probably heard of the Eisner Awards by now and if not, suffice to say they’re about as high as you can get in the comics world. 

So you’ll understand why we’re over the moon at the news that The Property by Rutu Modan just scooped the Best New Graphic Novel award this past weekend. Hurrah!

Writing in the Observer, Rachel Cooke said, ”I know it’s only July, but I feel certain this will end up being my graphic novel of the year. Modan has it all. Her drawings are fantastically expressive, with the result that her characters are as many-layered as those you’ll find among the pages of a traditional novel. She is witty and wise, cool-headed in a world of feverish opinions. Most impressive of all, though, is her technique when it comes to matters of pace and deep emotion.”

Read more about The Property here.

Random page from a random book: Palestine, Joe Sacco, p. 13
(Everyone really should read this book.)

Random page from a random book: Palestine, Joe Sacco, p. 13

(Everyone really should read this book.)

So, it turns out that Charles Burns’ Black Hole features rather heavily in The Dawn of the Planet of the Apes. Watch the clip to see more!

Kodi Smit-McPhee’s teenage character uses his Black Hole collection as a way of bonding with the orangutan Maurice (a motion-captured Karin Konoval).

Burns said that he had given permission for the use of his book so long ago that he had forgotten about it, and did not know it would be so heavily featured.

"It was one of those things that I agreed to, and I just spaced it out," he told Philly.com.

"Occasionally, I’ll get a request from a film to use a book as a prop, sitting in a room, on a table or something."

Read more at Digital Spy.

In the forthcoming issue IV of Tiny Pencil, Cape artist Steven Harris has contributed and we thought we’d give you a sneak peak this Friday. Below are his thoughts on writing for the next issue’s theme: Death and Resurrection.

Pondering the theme of ‘Death and Resurrection’ for Tiny Pencil issue IV I found myself drawn further and further into Victorian death portraiture. To modern eyes, at first glance it seems peculiarly macabre to prop up a dead relative and take their photograph, in some cases as if they’re in the midst of a happy family gathering (the corpse’s expression often seeming to articulate a feeling I know all too well from family gatherings I’ve attended myself). More ghastly still are the photographs taken of dead infants or children, sitting in their Sunday best often beside shell-shocked siblings. With babes-in-arms it was sometimes necessary for an adult to sit under a blanket and hold the child in place, which looks for all the world as if Death were dandling them on the knee prior to leading them gently away. These pictures are shocking and have a horrible humour which is hard to deny. Yet, the more I looked at them - and came to understand the reasons behind them - the more poignant they became. During the Victorian era photographic portraits were within the means of the middle classes only as an occasional luxury. If a child died it might never have had its likeness captured and the period before burial was the only chance. It is somewhat unfair that, in trying to avoid the morbidity of taking a photograph of a dead person, bereaved families strayed into the stranger territory of making believe that the corpse were alive and well and living it up in Clapham. After all, the limitations of the art at that time rendered everyone stiff and staring. The desperation in the act is heart-rending but there is a further shock: everyone in a Victorian death portrait is dead and, ultimately, all our photographs are of ghosts.
http://tinypencil.com/issue-iv-death-resurrection/

In the forthcoming issue IV of Tiny Pencil, Cape artist Steven Harris has contributed and we thought we’d give you a sneak peak this Friday. Below are his thoughts on writing for the next issue’s theme: Death and Resurrection.

Pondering the theme of ‘Death and Resurrection’ for Tiny Pencil issue IV I found myself drawn further and further into Victorian death portraiture. To modern eyes, at first glance it seems peculiarly macabre to prop up a dead relative and take their photograph, in some cases as if they’re in the midst of a happy family gathering (the corpse’s expression often seeming to articulate a feeling I know all too well from family gatherings I’ve attended myself). More ghastly still are the photographs taken of dead infants or children, sitting in their Sunday best often beside shell-shocked siblings. With babes-in-arms it was sometimes necessary for an adult to sit under a blanket and hold the child in place, which looks for all the world as if Death were dandling them on the knee prior to leading them gently away. These pictures are shocking and have a horrible humour which is hard to deny. Yet, the more I looked at them - and came to understand the reasons behind them - the more poignant they became. During the Victorian era photographic portraits were within the means of the middle classes only as an occasional luxury. If a child died it might never have had its likeness captured and the period before burial was the only chance. It is somewhat unfair that, in trying to avoid the morbidity of taking a photograph of a dead person, bereaved families strayed into the stranger territory of making believe that the corpse were alive and well and living it up in Clapham. After all, the limitations of the art at that time rendered everyone stiff and staring. The desperation in the act is heart-rending but there is a further shock: everyone in a Victorian death portrait is dead and, ultimately, all our photographs are of ghosts.


http://tinypencil.com/issue-iv-death-resurrection/

WOW, the Paris Metro mural of Joe Sacco’s Battle of the Somme

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