A long-standing narrative in audiovisual media has trained audiences to expect dramatic depictions of execution and punishment within American prisons. Films, television, and documentaries have often centered on the brutal realities of death row. Yet the comic page has seldom treated death with sustained, reflective attention. History’s ninth art rarely uses the subject as the axis of a thoughtful inquiry. About a decade ago, journalist Anne-Frédérique Widmann and cartoonist Patrick Chappatte offered glimpses into the voices of death row inmates in the New York Times, a rare exception that highlighted how much ground remained unwritten in the form.
Valentine Cuny-Le Callet’s Perpendicular al sol arrives in stores in Spanish under Salamandra Graphic and in Catalan via Editorial Finestres, with translations by Carlos Mayor and Marta Marfany respectively. The work chronicles the long letter correspondence between a young writer and Renaldo McGirth, a man on death row. It is notable not only for its emotional gravity but for its audacious ethical stance: even when the examples at hand are far from admirable, the project argues powerfully against the cruelty at the heart of capital punishment. Those who pass through these corridors have often committed acts that defy easy societal understanding, yet such actions do not erase the capacity for hope and the possibility of redemption.
This book pushes the conversation further. McGirth’s voice appears on every page, even as the author’s presence recedes behind the necessity of concealment. The project transforms hundreds of intimate letters into a vivid, visual language that tests the limits society imposes on symbolism. It shows that the condemned can still be perceived through a humane lens, even as the state stands ready to terminate a life. What might have been dismissed as censorship becomes a conduit for dialogue that challenges assumptions and invites a sharper truth beyond approved narratives.
The pairing of McGirth’s drawings with Cuny-Le Callet’s exceptional storytelling yields a striking, baroque synthesis. Images reveal a deeper truth as they carry words that censorship has trimmed away, translating inexpressible suffering into something legible on the page. The book voices the despair of those who insist on innocence no one believes, and it forges a relationship that endures through years of letters and drawings. It envisions a visit where drawings give way to real faces and hands lay down their pencils. The result reads like a life sketched in stark black and white, within a cell that refuses to illuminate. The experience arrives almost by chance, yet it becomes clear that Perpendicular al sol stands as more than a comic book. It is a personal project to reclaim a life deemed doomed, presented with honesty and intensity that resonates with readers across North America and beyond. [1]
Across its pages, the work navigates questions of justice, memory, and the limits of mercy. It does not pretend to resolve a political debate; instead it invites readers to witness a human story that often lies behind the rhetoric surrounding punishment. The visual rhythm—where drawings carry what words cannot fully express—creates a dialogue about guilt, accountability, and the possibility of transformation. By weaving correspondence, image, and narrative, the creators craft a portrait of a man who remains a subject rather than a statistic, challenging readers to reconsider how society understands accountability and humanity. [2]
Perpendicular al sol speaks to a broader audience by offering a candid, intimate look at a life shaped by confinement and judgment. It underscores that art can serve as a bridge between public policy and private experience. The work invites readers to imagine a future in which the state recognizes the moral weight of its choices and where individuals are allowed space to hope, even in the most constrained circumstances. In doing so, it positions the graphic novel as a powerful instrument for social reflection, capable of provoking empathy without surrendering critical inquiry. This is not just a story about punishment; it is a testament to resilience, a record of dialogue, and a compelling case for seeing the human behind every sentence and sentence fragment. [3]
In the end, Perpendicular al sol stands as a bold contribution to graphic storytelling. It challenges conventional narratives about crime and punishment by making the reader an active participant in a conversation that spans years and crosses borders. The collaboration between the writer and the artist demonstrates how a visual medium can preserve the complexity of a life under fear and state power, while offering a space for readers to confront uncomfortable truths. As such, the work resonates across North America, inviting a broader discussion about justice, mercy, and the enduring power of compassionate storytelling. [4]