Are There English Editions Of Artbook Nana Available?

Hunting for the 'NANA' artbook online can feel like a little treasure hunt, and I love sharing the routes that usually work for me. First place I check is big international marketplaces — Amazon and eBay — because they often have both new and used copies from sellers around the world. On eBay you can sometimes score unexpected bargains, but I always read seller feedback carefully and ask for close-up photos of the dust jacket and spine to check for creases or foxing. If you want Japanese-market copies or older printings, I lean toward specialized stores: Mandarake and Suruga-ya are my go-tos for secondhand manga merchandise, and CDJapan has occasional listings for artbooks too. For items sold only in Japan, proxy services like Buyee, FromJapan, ZenPlus, or ZenMarket are lifesavers — they let you bid on Yahoo! Japan Auctions or buy from Japanese shops that don't ship internationally. Expect to add service fees and international shipping, but it’s usually worth it for rare editions. A few practical tips from my own experience: search by ISBN if you can find it (helps avoid picking the wrong edition), look up the Japanese keywords like ナナ plus 画集 or イラストレーション, and choose tracked shipping. If price is high, set alerts on eBay and Mandarake or follow sellers on Twitter/Instagram — I once snagged a nearly mint copy because I followed a seller and saw a new listing early. Happy hunting — there's nothing like holding that book and flipping through the art slowly.

Flipping through the 'Nana' artbook is like diving into a leather jacket and a battered tour van — gritty, glamorous, and full of emotion. The pages usually start with glossy, full-color illustrations: stunning double-page spreads of the two Nanas in iconic poses, live-concert energy shots, and mood pieces that feel like album covers. After that you get a treasure trove of character sheets — front, profile, and outfit turnarounds — where you can stare at details that barely make it into the manga: zipper pulls, earring shapes, how a fringe falls over the eyes. There are fashion plates too, because clothes basically are a character in 'Nana' — casual combos, stage outfits, and those vintage coats that define the series’ aesthetic. Beyond the polished pieces, I love the rough sketches and construction lines. You get design evolution: early concept art, alternate hairstyles, rejected outfits, and margin notes that feel like whispers from the artist. Inserted interviews or short commentaries (sometimes translated or transcribed) give context: inspirations for a look, thoughts on a scene, or small anecdotes about drawing a particular concert. There are also chapter cover galleries, poster images, and occasionally storyboard frames or stage layouts that hint at how a scene was planned. For fans who care about tactile things, some editions include postcards, fold-out posters, or a smaller booklet of lyrics and band imagery — perfect for pinning on a corkboard. Flipping the last page always leaves me humming imaginary tunes and wanting to revisit those panels again.

Pulling 'Nana' off my shelf and flipping through the pages always gives me that warm, nostalgic buzz — and one thing that's crystal clear in every artbook is who really owns the visuals. Ai Yazawa is the primary artist behind the 'Nana' illustration collections: the color spreads, character turnarounds, fashion sketches, and those gorgeously moody black-and-white pieces are her fingerprints everywhere. When collectors ask who drew the art, the honest, simple reply is that most of it is Yazawa's work, often staged and curated by the book's editorial team to show off her style and the series' aesthetic. That said, official artbooks and anniversary collections sometimes broaden the scope. You'll find contributions beyond Yazawa in the form of magazine promotional art, spot illustrations created by the serialization staff, and occasional tribute or guest pieces commissioned for special editions. The anime adaptation’s promotional artwork and the book’s layout designers/colorists also leave visible marks — small but important, especially in scanlation-free, print-quality color pages. I always check the colophon: it lists designers, colorists, and any guest contributors, and that’s where the lesser-known creatives get their credit. Flipping slowly through those end pages makes me appreciate how much teamwork went into presenting Yazawa’s vision, and I still get a thrill seeing pencils become those iconic, punk-glam portraits.

I still get a little thrill hunting for physical artbooks, and the story with the 'Nana' artbook is one of those classic collector rabbit holes. The short version is: the original Japanese artbook(s) went out of regular print some years ago and aren’t sitting on bookstore shelves anymore. That doesn’t mean they vanished forever — publishers sometimes do limited reprints, anniversary editions, or bundled releases that bring artwork back into circulation — but those runs tend to be small and sell fast. I bought my copy secondhand and honestly paid more than I wanted because demand stays high. If you want an official copy, your best bets are to watch Japanese retailer pages, follow specialty shops like Mandarake and Toranoana, and keep alerts on websites like Amazon Japan or CDJapan. Occasionally a new print or a deluxe reissue will pop up (especially around anniversaries or when the creator’s other work gets attention), but you can’t count on a steady supply. If you’re okay with alternatives, scans and digital galleries do exist online, and some of Ai Yazawa’s other compilations include exclusive sketches that are worth picking up too. Personally, I love the tactile feeling of paging through a real artbook, so when I see one in decent condition I usually snag it — even if it means dipping into the resale market. It’s a pricey hobby sometimes, but totally worth the joy of seeing her linework up close.

Wow, flipping through the different editions of 'NANA' artbooks is like watching the series wear different outfits—each one shows off a different side of the same work. My deep-dive collector brain always starts with the tangible differences: format, paper, and extras. Some printings are thick, glossy coffee-table beasts that reproduce color pages with saturated hues and deep blacks; others are slimmer, matte-paper versions that still feel nice but lose a bit of punch in reds and dark tones. You’ll spot hardcovers with dust jackets in special or anniversary runs, while standard printings tend toward softcovers. Binding quality matters too — first pressings sometimes use sturdier glue and stitching. If an edition came with postcards, posters, slipcases, or an obi strip, that dramatically affects collector value and display appeal. Content-wise, editions vary wildly. The biggest gaps are whether they collect full-color magazine pages vs. trimmed, reflowed layouts, and whether they include sketches, roughs, character notes, or commentary from the creator. Anniversary or deluxe editions often add previously unpublished sketches, short essays, or interviews that give context to certain designs and scenes. Overseas releases, when available, can differ in translation notes or have fewer extras; they might even crop or rearrange images to fit a smaller trim size. For someone building a shelf, I recommend prioritizing print quality and whether you care about extras—personally, the deluxe print with the better color reproduction and the extra sketch section is my go-to for displaying, even if it costs more. It just captures the vibe of the series better for me.

I get a little thrill every time I see a signed copy of 'Nana' pop up — they're such emotionally charged pieces for fans. In my experience, whether a signed artbook is authentic comes down to two things: provenance and the physical details. Provenance means receipts, photos of the signing, emails from the seller, or any link tying the book to a convention, bookshop event, or the publisher. If a seller can show a clear photo of the artist signing the exact book or a ticket stub/press release from an event where signings happened, that’s a big plus. Physically, look closely at the ink and the signature itself. Hand-signed ink tends to sit differently on paper than a printed facsimile — you might see slight variations in pressure, tiny ink pooling, or even indentations from a pen. Personalization (a name or a short message) often increases credibility because mass-produced reproductions rarely include custom inscriptions. Be wary of signatures that look identical across multiple listings; that’s a red flag suggesting a printed stamp or reproduced signature. Also check for any stamped seals or publisher stickers — sometimes publishers include a numbered COA for limited signed editions. I’ll admit I’ve been burned once by a seller who used very convincing photos but couldn’t produce proof later, so I now prefer sellers with a solid history, clear return policies, and verifiable receipts. If a deal seems too good to be true for a rare signed 'Nana' artbook, it probably is — but with careful checking you can find genuine pieces that feel like treasure on my shelf.

Flipping through the pages of the 'NANA' artbook still gives me chills — and yes, it definitely includes character sketches and notes. The book usually opens with full-color illustrations and then moves into sections of line art, roughs, and turnarounds for the main cast. What I love most are the progression pages where a character’s hairstyle, outfit variations, and facial expressions are laid out side-by-side; you can literally see design choices being refined. Those pages often have small handwritten notes about colors, fabrics, or mood — little gems that feel like the creator whispering behind-the-scenes secrets to you. In my copy there are also margin scribbles and alternate poses that never made it into the final manga panels. Sometimes those notes are practical (like a reminder about proportions or a specific eye shape), and sometimes they’re narrative, hinting at a backstory or personality tweak that explains a line of dialogue later on. If you're hunting for development detail, check for the model sheets — they’ll show expressions, height comparisons, and costume breakdowns. Also keep an eye out for short commentary sections where the artist talks about inspirations, music, or fashion references that shaped the characters. That context can change how you read certain scenes. One caveat: different editions vary in translation and scan quality. The Japanese editions often retain more handwritten notes and small annotations, while some foreign prints simplify or omit them. Still, even a pared-down edition gives you a real window into character design and the creative process, and I always find myself poring over those sketches for hours — they're that addictive.

If you're hunting for a first-edition artbook of 'Nana', expect a little treasure hunt more than a fixed price tag. From what I've seen, a plain first Japanese edition in good condition usually falls somewhere around ¥3,000–¥15,000 (roughly $25–$110), but that range stretches depending on things collectors care about. A pristine copy with the obi, dust jacket intact, no markings, and crisp unfoxed pages can easily push into the ¥15,000–¥30,000 range ($110–$220). If it’s signed by the creator or comes with a rare insert or variant cover, prices can spike further and jump into the several-hundred-dollar territory. The trick is verifying it's genuinely a first printing: check the colophon/奥付 for '初版' or the printing line that shows '1' (many Japanese books list the printing numbers). Look for the original ISBN and publisher details, and compare them to trusted listings. I always scan completed sales on Mandarake, Surugaya, Yahoo! Auctions Japan (through a proxy like Buyee), and eBay to get a sense of recent sold prices rather than asking prices. Shipping, import fees, and return policies will affect the final cost, so factor those in when converting yen to dollars. Condition is king for artbooks; a tiny scuff can drop value on a collector market. If you’re bargaining, point out flaws like price stickers on the cover or dog-eared pages. For me, owning a clean first of 'Nana' is as much about the artwork and nostalgia as it is about the resale number — worth hunting for, even if it takes patience.