My name is Cecilia Ruiz and I am a Mexican author and illustrator living in Brooklyn. Apart from desperately trying to make more books, I teach design and illustration at Queens College and the School of Visual Arts. I’m fascinated by visual storytelling and its evocative power. One of my idols, the French filmmaker Robert Bresson, says that art lies in suggestion. Bresson believed that things should be shown from one single angle that evokes all the other angles without showing them.All the books in this list do that—they show us death but they make us think about the mysterious and poetic ways in which life operates.
The Book of Extraordinary Deaths introduces readers to the bizarre demises of thinkers, writers, monarchs, artists, and notable nobodies throughout history. Beginning in the seventh century BC with the unusual death of Draco and journeying chronologically to the present day, Ruiz’s playfully sinister gift book illustrates and describes the infamous deaths of these unfortunate souls. From stories of the hot-air balloon duel that claimed a Frenchman’s life to the fatal wardrobe malfunction of famed dancer Isadora Duncan, The Book of Extraordinary Deaths is a uniquely clever and gorgeously rendered meditation on life’s ironies and mysteries. With Ruiz’s witty descriptions and rich, captivating illustrations, her characters come to life on the page even as they shuffle off this mortal coil.
Edward Gorey is one of my biggest influences as an author/illustrator and perhaps the biggest source of inspiration behind my book.
The Gashlycrumb Tinies was my very first encounter with Edward Gorey and with the adult picture book genre. I can confidently say that I wouldn’t be writing and illustrating picture books if I hadn’t encountered this tiny book, in a gallery in Mexico City around 2006.
The Gashlycrumb Tinies is an alphabet book that tells the stories of 26 children and how each tragically dies.“ A is for Amy who fell down the stairs, B is for Basil assaulted by bears, C is for Clara who wasted away…”
What blew me away is how, with a few words and the simplest of illustrations, so many dissonant qualities and contradictions could exist on the same page—lightness and darkness; music and silence; tragedy and humor; life and death.
A new, small-format edition of one of Edward Gorey’s “dark masterpieces of surreal morality” (Vanity Fair): a witty, disquieting journey through the alphabet.
As someone who aspires to bring big existential questions into the picture book genre, I find this book incredibly moving and inspiring. Duck meets Death (a skull-headed character). They play together, they sleep together, they ask each other questions, they learn to trust each other.
Without any kind of preachiness in the text and with quiet sophistication in the illustrations, Wolf Erlbruch teaches us that Death is not a grim reaper-like figure that sporadically knocks on our door to take us from this world. Instead, he shows Death as a constant presence, a fundamental part of life that we should learn to accept, even befriend, for its embrace will anchor us in the present moment and make us savor life.
From award-winning author and illustrator, Wolf Erlbruch, comes one of the world’s best children’s books about grief and loss.
In a curiously heart-warming and elegantly illustrated story, a duck strikes up an unlikely friendship with Death. Duck and Death play together and discuss big questions. Death, dressed in a dressing gown and slippers, is sympathetic and kind and will be duck’s companion until the end.
“I’m cold,” she said one evening. “Will you warm me a little?” Snowflakes drifted down. Something had happened. Death looked at the duck. She’d stopped breathing. She lay quite still.
This is a book I would have loved to write and illustrate. “The bird was dead when the children found it.” says its opening line.
There are many children’s books that deal with grief and loss but The Dead Bird is one of a kind. The kids in the story didn’t know the bird when it was alive. They only meet the bird after it has died and yet, they have a funeral for it. They sing for a bird that once flew and no longer will. They cry for a life that was, but no longer is.
With child-like simplicity and directness, Robinson’s illustrations capture the human need for ritual and closure in the presence of death.
A New York Times Best Illustrated Book of 2016! This heartwarming classic picture book by beloved children's book author Margaret Wise Brown is beautifully reillustrated for a contemporary audience by the critically acclaimed, award-winning illustrator Christian Robinson. One day, the children find a bird lying on its side with its eyes closed and no heartbeat. They are very sorry, so they decide to say good-bye. In the park, they dig a hole for the bird and cover it with warm sweet-ferns and flowers. Finally, they sing sweet songs to send the little bird on its way.
The photographs compiled in this book were all captured by Enrique Metinides, my favorite Mexican photographer.
Enrique worked as a crime photographer for over 50 years, capturing murders, crashes, and all kinds of catastrophes for Mexico’s infamous tabloids. This photo book is a great testament of Mexico’s palpable surrealism, where death is just one more component of the chaotic landscape.
Even though Metinides worked for the sensationalist press, none of the images in this book could be called that. His photos emanate an enormous respect for the victims and for tragedy itself.
The beauty of his shots do not romanticize the “real-life horror” that we are looking at. Rather, they remind us that sometimes, when in the presence of the devastating forces of life, there’s nothing else to do but be a humble spectator.
This is another book that attracted me because of the innumerable contradictions it made me feel.
Horror and fascination; awe and disgust. This dissonance inhabits the art. An exquisitely rendered necrotic leg; the gorgeous color palette of a virulent face. Organized by disease, The Sick Rose is an elegant collection from the golden age of medical illustration.
Without the need for words, this book is a beautifully disturbing reminder of our mortality and the unresting human desire to try to understand our bodies, cure diseases and extend life.
Bizarre and captivating images, including close-up details and revealing cross-sections, make all too clear the fascinations of both doctors and artists of the time
The Sick Rose is a visual tour through the golden age of medical illustration. The nineteenth century experienced an explosion of epidemics such as cholera and diphtheria, driven by industrialization, urbanization and poor hygiene. In this pre-color-photography era, accurate images were relied upon to teach students and aid diagnosis. The best examples, featured here, are remarkable pieces of art that attempted to elucidate the mysteries of the body, and the successive onset of each affliction. Bizarre…
What happens when a novelist with a “razor-sharp wit” (Newsday), a “singular sensibility” (Huff Post), and a lifetime of fear about getting sick finds a lump where no lump should be? Months of medical mishaps, coded language, and Doctors who don't get it.
With wisdom, self-effacing wit, and the story-telling artistry of an acclaimed novelist, Elizabeth Benedict recollects her cancer diagnosis after discovering multiplying lumps in her armpit. In compact, explosive chapters, interspersed with moments of self-mocking levity, she chronicles her illness from muddled diagnosis to “natural remedies,” to debilitating treatments, as she gathers sustenance from family, an assortment of urbane friends, and a fearless “cancer guru.”
Rewriting Illness is suffused with suspense, secrets, and the unexpected solace of silence.
By turns somber and funny but above all provocative, Elizabeth Benedict's Rewriting Illness: A View of My Own is a most unconventional memoir. With wisdom, self-effacing wit, and the story-telling skills of a seasoned novelist, she brings to life her cancer diagnosis and committed hypochondria. As she discovers multiplying lumps in her armpit, she describes her initial terror, interspersed with moments of self-mocking levity as she indulges in "natural remedies," among them chanting Tibetan mantras, drinking shots of wheat grass, and finding medicinal properties in chocolate babka. She tracks the progression of her illness from muddled diagnosis to debilitating treatment…
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