I read Where the Wild Things Are so many times when I was a kid that I can still recite the entire thing by heart. The notion that one could be angry, naughty, a little bit weird, imperfect, and still be worthy and loved was one that was compellingly attractive to me, and is still. What impulse there is in me to make mischief despite strong disincentives to step out of line is owed in part to Mr. Sendak and his monsters.
[Note: If there are less flattering things to be said about Sendak, they have been excluded because I am unaware of them, not as the result of any deliberate intent to whitewash his life. Please feel welcome to comment on the entirety of his work and life in this thread.]
Shakesville is run as a safe space. First-time commenters: Please read Shakesville's Commenting Policy and Feminism 101 Section before commenting. We also do lots of in-thread moderation, so we ask that everyone read the entirety of any thread before commenting, to ensure compliance with any in-thread moderation. Thank you.
blog comments powered by Disqus