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50 años de Lawrence of Arabia

Este año se cumplen 50 años de una de las películas más canónicas en la historia del cine. La épica dirigida por el británico David Lean...

Nov 27, 2015

I’d rather jump off a sixth floor: the case of Sexto Piso, independent publisher

I’d rather jump off a sixth floor: the case of Sexto Piso, independent publisher

It’s no secret Mexico has a problem with its reading habits: UNESCO has recently (2012) shown the average Mexican reads less than three books per year, one of the lowest numbers in developing nations. These poor results have persisted for decades, despite official initiatives to promote this activity in all sectors of society. So how exactly do you plan to open a publishing house under these conditions?

The case of Sexto Piso is a rarity: around 2003, a group of Political Science students in the country’s largest public university –National Autonomous University of Mexico, with its campus in the south of Mexico City– decided to translate and publish their mentor and friend Roberto Calasso, an Italian author and publisher with plenty of experience in his country and other European countries. Calasso not only offered his expertise in matters such as rights acquisitions, but gave them exclusive rights to some of his titles.

Sexto Piso’s founders didn’t have marketing studies or strict business plans when they set up the company. Despite its logo, which shows a man jumping off a sixth floor (a “sexto piso”), becoming publishers wasn’t exactly a leap of faith: they cultivated a selection of mostly foreign and obscure authors and topics, hired more than competent translators and printed high quality editions, catering to the knowledge and interest of a very specific sector: the highly educated middle class of the capital.

Surprisingly, Sexto Piso’s main obstacle wasn’t a low number of readers, disinterest in their obscure or rescued classics, or difficulties in buying rights: they had to fight very hard to get a space in bookstores that were very reluctant to exhibit other titles than their proved formulas. The publishers worked hard for their spaces and began a fast rhythm of editing carefully selected and diverse materials, from Political Science to Philosophy and Science Fiction. Some of their first publications were Morris Berman’s The Twilight of American Culture (“El crepúsculo de la cultura americana”), novels by the somewhat obscure Stanislav Lem and Milorad Pavic, and titles of classic writers that hadn’t been translated to Spanish, such as David Hume, Etienne de La Boétie or George Orwell.


What all these heterogeneous books had in common was their singularity and their dedicated design, the discreet but recognizable covers with their funny falling man logo, a clean typography and acid-free paper that was a luxury in those years, but has become a standard in many local artisanal publishing practices. Within a year, Sexto Piso won the 2004 International Young Publisher of the Year Award, opened an office in Spain (the main market for Spanish language literature) and has become a shift in the paradigm of how and what to publish in one of the most difficult markets for literature, such as Mexico.


The editorial house, now with more than 300 titles divided in six collections ("classics", "narrative", "essay", "actualities", "illustrated" and "kids"),  bases its success in the taste of its board members, exercised almost as a curation of a work of art in itself: a solid, perfect catalog that’s been possible against the odds. More than 10 years since its foundation and without having become massive, Sexto Piso has grown steadily in Mexico despite the low levels of readership that all surveys show, and in a permanently stagnant economy.   

Another component of their growth is the opening of a section dedicated to illustrated books and graphic novels, a collection called “Sexto Piso ilustrado” (“Sexto Piso illustrated”). One of the first titles and on-going projects is the 2006  adaptation of Marcel Proust’s In Search Of Lost Time volume I, by French comics artist Stéphane Heuet, and translated to Spanish by Conrado Tostado. Heuet’s adaptation of the French classic took many years to complete and proved how a visual adaptation to the form of comics is far from a substitution of the written text, but a rich and demanding narrative with its own merits.

The illustrated collection of the editorial house is not only following the guidelines of some of the finest art and comics publishing houses, such as Fantagraphics or Drawn and Quarterly, but competing with them in the growing market of Spanish-speaking readers in the United States, acquiring rights and signing authors such as Peter Kuper, whose “Diario de Oaxaca” was an astonishing drawn and written diary that offered a personal and intimate insight into one of Mexico’s most brutal political confrontations of recent years, the civil protest led by teachers in the state of Oaxaca, and the repression that followed in 2006.

Sexto Piso’s method of work wasn’t new; Spain’s Anagrama and Siruela, or  Argentina’s Amorrortu, among others, have been following an approach of singular titles with attention to design and a particular audience in mind for many years, and with great results. But it’s Sexto Piso’s merit to have defied the very real obstacles of the Mexican editorial industry and perhaps even the commonplace of "a disinterested audience that doesn't read", who, in response, maintains alive and in prosperity one of the country’s most important independent cultural projects.

As part of the third edition of "Celebrating Mexico", a program that shows two-minute short films of various successful Mexican personalities from diverse areas (arts, science, entertainment, gastronomy, sports…), Latin American Discovery Channel and its various networks are presenting, from September 2015 to September 2016, a video-clip of Eduardo Rabasa and Felipe Rosete, two of the founding editors, talking of their company's place is Mexico's editorial landscape and the role of editing and writing, as they show what a common day is like in the workshop press and in their offices. They can be watched during the commercial breaks of the networks regular schedule.

Local TV show Central Once recorded a program centered on the company's main collections, as well as an interview with Eduardo Rabasa. Their great collection of covers and high quality pressings can be seen next to shots of graphic novelists working on their desks. It's on Youtube, in Spanish.  






Nov 26, 2015

Mexican Independent Comics: how do they survive?

Up until the 1970s, Mexico had the most successful comics industry in the world, if you measure success by the number of printed issues and the frequency of it. In the 1930s, one of the best known comics of the country, Pepín, had a million issues printed weekly, even more than what the wildly popular Manga genre prints today.
In the past century, comics were the cheapest and most effective mode of entertainment among Mexicans; they were read not individually but collectively, sometimes by whole families or groups of friends that could easily read and share the contents with illiterate people who had no access to text-only books, but could easily interpret the stories that the images told.
The introduction of the TV and, in a lesser degree, the internet, caused the medium of comics to lose a great number of its audience. Mexico replaced its beloved stories of popular characters and common situations for the electronic artifact, and the comics industry went downhill ever since.
Downhill means that by the 1980s, most of the publishing houses had closed, and the national titles had been substituted by stories of American superheroes, that have never ceased to be published. Comics artists and writers struggled a lot to find work or had to leave the sector of comics. A few of them found in populist narratives the formula to maintain a somewhat large audience, but industrial comics narratives had effectively lost the hearts of Mexicans.
In the margins, comics artists, publishers and readers had a few projects that reflected interests and practices very different from those of the dying industry. This was the decade where comics were exhibited at museums for the first time, acquiring a degree of legitimation and recognition that unfortunately didn’t translate into a renewal of the industry. But an independent community was established. The following decade (1990s) saw the foundation of El taller del perro, and new technologies such as the internet, facilitated networking and publishing.
But the digital has meant no substitution for the printed. In recent years there’s been a renewal of the 80s culture of fanzines, where independent comics fit right in. They range from cheaply photocopied issues to more artisanal printing and binding, and the internet’s social networks have proved to be a free and fast way to promote them.

One of the most interesting festivals of independent comics in Mexico, and a an accomplishment of equal and collaborative economy, is Zin Amigos (zinamigos.tumblr.com): a wordplay that links “zine” with the Spanish word “sin”, which means without. So it has two meanings: Zine friends (amigos) and Without friends. This is a collective of drawers and writers interested in self-publishing and selling to the readers without intermediaries, so they can keep the totality of the earnings and distribute them fairly among the makers of the zines, a trend that’s proved successful in the sector of independent book publishing.

Zin Amigos’ printing is also extended to t-shirts, posters and other kinds of merchandise. And of course the internet, mainly Tumblr, works as a platform to show their work and connect with their readers. The best part of it is that the readers are not passive: some of them become “ziners” too, but mostly their presence is manifested in the stories themselves, where they’re sometimes represented.

While the Mexican comics industry is not completely gone, it’s clear that the most interesting comics, the ones that say something about actual people and their ways of life, practices and dreams, are to be found in the networks established far from the industry.  

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