‘Who were you crying for?’: Empathy, fantasy and the framing of the perpetrator in Nina Bunjevac’s Bezimena

Serbian-Canadian cartoonist Nina Bunjevac’s third book, Bezimena (2019), embeds child sexual abuse and murder in an improbable geography where myth and fairy tale work together to create an otherworldly atmosphere, by turns mesmerizing and horrifying. Bunjevac’s previous work (Heartless [2012] and Fatherland [2014]) testifies to her continued commitment to exploring issues that are relevant to the feminist project, such as domestic violence, abortion, sexual assault and discrimination against female immigrant workers. In this article, we are particularly interested in exploring the manner in which Bezimena frames the figure of the perpetrator, as the context of the final question of the book – ‘who were you crying for?’ – repositions the entire ethical premise of the narrative by suggesting that responsibility for perpetration may lie both within and without the body and consciousness of the perpetrator himself. In conversation with scholars who attempt to expand the narrow category of ‘perpetrator’, such as Michael Rothberg or Scott Strauss, we explore how graphic narratives can contribute to a more nuanced understanding of perpetration, particularly in the case of sexual assault, and analyse Bezimena’s innovative approach to the representation of perpetration, as the book’s depiction of perpetrators and accomplices is mixed with elements of fantasy and mythology.

Interview with Argha Manna

Argha Manna is a cancer-researcher-turned cartoonist. He worked as a research fellow at Bose Institute, India. After leaving academic research, he joined a media-house and started operating as an independent comics artist. He loves to tell stories from the history of science, social history and lab-based science through visual narratives. His blog, Drawing History of Science (https://drawinghistoryofscience.wordpress.com), has been featured by Nature India. Argha has been collaborating with various scientific institutes and science communicator groups from India and abroad. His collaborators are from National Centre for Biological Science (NCBS, Bangalore), Centre for Cellular and Molecular Biology (CCMB, Hyderabad), Jadavpur University (Kolkata), Heidelberg Center for Transcultural Studies (University of Heidelberg, Germany) and a few others. Last year, he received STEMPeers Fellowship for creating comics on the history of vaccination and other aspects of medical histories, published in Club SciWri, a digital publication wing of STEMPeers Group. Currently, Argha is collaborating in a project, ‘Famine Tales from India and Britain’ as a graphic artist. This is a UK-based project, funded by the Arts and Humanities Research Council, led by Dr Ayesha Mukherjee, University of Exeter. In this interview, Partha Bhattacharjee and Priyanka Tripathi speak with Indian ‘alternative’ cartoonist Argha Manna to trace his journey from a cancer researcher to a cartoonist. Manna is a storyteller of history of science, in visuals. Recently, his works reflect social problems under the light of historical and scientific theories. Bhattacharjee and Tripathi trace Manna’s shift from a science-storyteller in a visual medium to a medical-cartoonist who is working on issues related to a global pandemic, its impact on life and literature vis-à-vis social intervention. They also focus on Manna’s latest comics on COVID-19.

‘She’s practically normal!’: Disability, gender and image in Doom Patrol

The portrayal of disability in superhero comics has often been problematic. Frequently, disabled characters in superhero comics, when not merely marginal, are portrayed as pitiable or villainous, or, if they are disabled heroes like Daredevil or Professor Xavier of the X-Men, as examples of the super-crip, that is, given powers as compensation for their disability. An arguable exception to this tendency is Drake and Premiani’s Doom Patrol of the 1960s, especially the character of Rita Farr a.k.a Elasti-Girl. Examining this character through gender and disability theories we can see a sophisticated portrayal of marginalization as it pertains to image, spectacle and social norms. Though Rita has sometimes been left out of later iterations of the Doom Patrol on the grounds of seeming too ‘normal’, the character can be read as an exploration of how disability operates as a category of power, in a medium that has often used that category too simply. Reading the character via such concepts as Davis’s dismodernism and Wendell’s feminist disability, seeing her both as a member of this team of outcasts and as one who is frequently lured into a life in the mainstream, we can see how in Drake and Premiani’s series the categories of disability and gender interact with each other, and reflect and respond to societal expectations of power.

Jojo, Jimmy and Marie Chairne: What scribbled comics can (not) tell us

With two scribbled comics in hand, this article considers material uses and reading practices in Belgian comics culture. As doodles and marks left on battered copies, scribbles foreground complex questions for the comics historian, offering clues to understanding childhood reading practices that otherwise remain elusive.

Interview with Beano writer Andy Fanton

An interview with Andy Fanton, a current writer for the Beano UK children’s humour comic. Andy got his break writing and drawing for the sadly now-defunct Dandy weekly, and currently writes legacy characters such as Minnie the Minx and The Bash Street Kids. The interview covers Andy’s and DC Thomson’s working practices and methods, considers the role and relevance of Beano in the transmedia age, and defends Beano from accusations that the comic has lost its edge and is no longer as cheeky or rebellious as it once was.

Forging intragenerational and common memories: Revisiting Paracuellos’s graphic violence in times of confinement

In our times of confinement, cultural production has become as important as it is precarious. Reading habits were revamped during the most stringent moments of the early lockdown. Some would consume new products, some would revisit their favourite classics. In this article, I analyse Carlos Giménez’s pioneering graphic work, a(n) (auto)biographical series of comics surrounding children’s experiences in Francoist orphanages, or ‘Homes’ (Hogares de Auxilio). I argue that Paracuellos operates as an isotopic and confining device at formal, thematic, intragenerational and affecting levels. It displays an aesthetic of confinement and brings together a set of core themes that generate a continuum of isotopic semantics, catalysing the work’s capacity to affect and be affected. Graphic violence is as its core and serves as the main constant, be that presently exercised or absently loomed, in a context of pathos, loss and scarcity. This article further explores how the comics series pulls back the veil on the folds of early Francoism as well as the later transition to democracy, a period of ‘lockdown’ for cultural memory in general, and for the experienced confinement in the Francoist ‘Homes’ in particular. The piece suggests that in retrieving this collection of common memories of recurrent episodes of violence experienced individually, Giménez’s work ultimately nuances the monolithic concept of collective memory within cultural production.