BEFORE WE SLEEP

This Italian import asks readers to consider: What if one friend needs to hibernate and the other doesn’t?

The forest is turning “rich amber, burned orange, and chestnut brown.” Little Red, a burnt-orange fox with a sharp snout, revels in the camouflage, excited to go unseen by Hazel the dormouse. Before readers can grasp the wisp of a predator-prey implication, the page turn curves lightly in the opposite direction: Hazel and Little Red are best friends, blissfully frolicking together in the autumn leaves. The hiding is for hide-and-seek. This joy is fleeting, though, because “the smell of winter mean[s] one thing: loneliness.” The fox is the vulnerable one; Hazel’s about to hibernate. Hazel’s burrow—a two-storied teapot featuring a duvet-covered bed, an oven, and tea towel—will hold Hazel all winter long, leaving Little Red alone and forlorn. Proietti’s gently textured fox fur, grasses, plants, and skies are softly melancholy. Close-ups (Hazel dozing off while holding Little Red’s ear) alternate with landscapes: half-bare trees whose trunks are starkly discrete, symbolizing winter’s isolation; the sun hanging low in a pale, yellow-gray sky as the two friends sit motionless. Eventually, Hazel and Little Red fall asleep together outside the teapot. Whether this solves the problem or merely postpones it, their affection is a solid comfort.

Visual beauty plus the beauty of closeness in sad times. Cuddle close for this one.