To Where the Wild Things Are

Today marks the 50th anniversary of Maurice Sendak's beloved children's storybook Where the Wild Things Are. I've loved this book for a long time, and perhaps my love for it has only grown over the years. The monsters in "Where the Wild Things Are" serve as an embodiment of the imagination. For me, it's a visual reminder to the magical worlds I created in my own home while growing up. I made my own dinosaur costumes out of printer paper and crayons, exploring the vast wilderness of my hastily constructed blanket forts from the comfort of my own living room. He was a boy in a wolf suit, King of the Wild Things. I was a girl in a paper T-Rex suit, Queen of the Three House Cats and a Lab/Rottweiler Mix. (Coming to a child's bookshelf near you, Spring 2015)

This book has been analyzed in many different ways, and it's no secret that Sendak had dark overtones in many of his books. On a simpler level, Max is just a wild little boy with a vivid imagination. Perhaps he'll grow up to write his own books. Maybe he'll be an inventor or a storyboard artist. (Or some sort of terrifying masochist, but hey, who's to say?!) Imagination is a powerful thing, and I think Sendak himself sums it up quite nicely:

“Children do live in fantasy and reality; they move back and forth very easily in a way we no longer remember how to do.” ― Maurice Sendak


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