This post is the second in a series of three.

Yesterday I reviewed this year’s Eisner nominees for Teens. Today I review the nominees for Early Readers (see my post of May 22 for an overview of all young readers’ categories). As usual, I’ve tried to describe each book fairly, though at the bottom I do signal my favorites. FYI, clicking on a book's title will take you to a publisher's page about that book.

​​​Bog Myrtle, by Sid Sharp (Annick Press)​
Picture-book and graphic-novel aesthetics mingle in this morbidly clever Gorey-esque fable about two sisters who live in “a hideous, drafty old house,” the spiders they live with, the looming forest outside, and a monstrous “old woman” who guards it. Ultimately, this becomes an impish satire of unchecked capitalism (versus sustainability). It’s in the same wheelhouse as William Steig’s original Shrek! or Eleanor Davis’ Stinky, sly, sharp books that cheerfully embrace the unlovely and weird. It feels too long (150 pages), too arch, and too verbose to be for “early readers,” but it’s a lovely, formally ingenious book, regardless of category.

​Club Microbe, by Elise Gravel, translated by Montana Kane (Drawn & Quarterly)
This spirited picture-book primer on microorganisms (bacteria, viruses, etc.) has a pleasingly random quality, as if inspired by Gravel’s enthusiasm rather than any pedagogical grand plan. Gravel’s odd examples and transitions, and the way she simultaneously undercuts and indulges in anthropomorphism (giving microbes eyes, for example), make for a book as daffy as it is didactic. The dangers posed by germs are duly noted, yet so is the whole biosphere’s dependence on microbes. The book presupposes an adult chaperone, as it delights in scientific names and glosses concepts such as antibodies and vaccination. Gravel’s wacky cartooning is a strong plus.

Hilda and Twig Hide from the Rain, by Luke Pearson (Flying Eye)
A new Hilda book? Sign me up! This one, though, is different: while still in BD album format, the story is briefer (mostly the events of a single afternoon), the pages less dense, the cartooning looser and even freer. Also, this is a prequel unencumbered by continuity, and really belongs to Hilda’s deerfox friend, Twig. Pearson seems to have rediscovered his characters with this short, sweet episode, which is witty, smart, rambunctious, but also warm and soulful. Call it a “new phase” Hilda book, perhaps an entryway for younger readers. I hope there will be more, because this is terrific.

Night Stories: Folktales from Latin America, by Liniers (TOON Books/Astra Books)
​Argentine comics genius Liniers, always delightful, does another TOON book, this one similar in format to Jaime Hernandez’s The Dragon Slayer (likewise a folktale sampler). Typical of TOON Graphics, it frames charming comics with didactic front and back matter. This one’s rather textbook-like introduction did not prepare me for the funny, spooky comics inside: three brief tales rooted in Argentinean, Brazilian, and Mexican folklore, framed as bedtime stories that two kids tell each other. Liniers’ ink and watercolor cartooning feels scruffy and alive, and he has a knack for droll, offhand details. I wish the stories and book were longer.

Poetry Comics, by Grant Snider (Chronicle Books)
I came to this skeptically, jaded by previous brushes with “poetry comics,” but Snider delivers what he promises: poems that are comics, comics that are poems. Over four cycles (Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter) and about seventy poems, he builds satisfying pages and sequences, varied in layout, graphic rhythm, prosody, metaphor, and mood. The poems (one or two pages each) balance the playful and pensive. Along the way, the child reader implicitly becomes a child poet. The overarching themes are familiar (love of nature, growing up, self-doubt, searching for words) but the delivery is artful. Snider’s simple, sketchy drawings work perfectly.

Final notes: a good category. I started with Bog Myrtle, which I dug, but then Poetry Comics impressed me greatly, appealing to my love of form and of books that encourage art-making among young readers. Ironically, I didn't come to Hilda and Twig, sentimental favorites of mine, until last, and although I was on guard against my own fannish bias there, I think I've finally come to the conclusion that, yes, Hilda and Twig is the one I'll vote for. It's just so good!

I'll be back tomorrow with a final post, about the nominees in the Kids category.

Bea Wolf is brought to you by the same team that did the illustrated book Augie and the Green Knight some years back: Zach Weinersmith and Boulet. It's a graphically sumptuous retelling of Beowulf as a battle between rowdy, joyous kids and tedious, joy-sapping adults. Its proper soundtrack would be the number, "I Won't Grow Up," from the 1954 musical Peter Pan. That is, Bea Wolf assumes a world where kiddom is matter of keeping adulthood at bay.

So, Bea Wolf is an elaborate, prolonged joke. Really, it's a bit of a soufflé, the sort of thing that needs to stay light and airy if it's going to work at all. Heaviness, ponderousness, would be deadly. The thing is, spoofing Beowulf usually does involve some heavy lifting. The language is technical and hard to ape; the world evoked is remote and strange. This is esoteric stuff by current children's book standards. Happily, Bea Wolf finds smart 21st-century analogs for the poem's beasts and heroes, and stays light enough to elicit chuckles from start to finish. I even laughed aloud at several points, early and late, which is unusual for me when reading a long comic. 

Part of what makes this work — for me, it may be the biggest part — is that Weinersmith is very good at parodying the "voice" of Beowulf: the rugged prosody, loping parataxis, alliterative phrasing, and vivid kennings of the old Old English. I mean, he does this hilariously well, from the start:

The book has a firm voice, full of flavor, that stays the course despite the odd moment of deflation or comic anachronism (e.g., "Dawn rose, like a jerk"). Sometimes the verse rises to truly affecting poetry, like Bea's great last line on this page:

Another thing that makes all this work — and I confess, this is what drew me to the book in the first place — is the cartooning of Boulet (Gilles Roussel). Boulet draws up a storm, makes the risible setting believable (enough), and transforms cliched, doll-like children into ferocious heroes. His digital renderings (drawn on iPad via Procreate) mimic the look of pencil and charcoal and brush, with, at times, a texturing so dense as to recall scratchboard — yet somehow he manages to maintain the necessary lightness and energy. Every spread is different, and many are quite elaborate. Layouts are dynamic, grids are avoided, and frame lines are using sparingly, so that each page-turn brings up another compositional treat. Man, he's good.

In all, Bea Wolf is a charming book that may appeal most to lit nerd adults and the children who share their pleasures. Reading it feels a bit like playing an adult-centered but kid-styled game (Unstable Unicorns, maybe?). I dug it, and, er, I Iive in that kind of household. So, yay!