THE WILDEST THING

After the Wild arrives, Eleanor transforms into the wild thing she knew was hidden inside.

Adult readers who see the phrase “wild things” will likely think back to Maurice Sendak’s Where the Wild Things Are (1963). Indeed, this lush work pays tribute to that celebrated tale. Besides emotionally resonant elements such as Eleanor’s wolf stuffie or a bed set amid a verdant forest, both books offer profound meditations on what it means to embrace the “wild inside.” One night, pale-skinned, dark-haired Eleanor dreams of the “things with fur and fin,” and when she awakens, foliage and forest creatures are streaming through her window. Mimicking the animals gives her the courage to be who she’s always longed to be, to draw her “own kind of tracks,” to howl and be “noisy” and “free.” Martin’s language rises like a crescendo, starting out with timid statements that become increasingly bold as Eleanor joyously rewilds. After a leap and tumble toward a chandelier—or perhaps the moon?—the tired, satiated child heads to bed, where a parental-like figure offers reassuring words of love. The wild slips away, but Eleanor has changed. She’s smudged, leaf-covered, and newly “bloomed.” Luscious full-bleed spreads are graceful and expansive. Natural tones, especially springy greens, seem rife with possibility, while the visiting animals are charmingly bestial. Every aspect, like a bunny barrette hinting at Eleanor’s untamed potential, feels nuanced and purposeful.

A dreamy homage that’s its own budding classic.