Wild Things Are Forever Happening

This book

When Maurice Sendak died on May 8, 2012, I posted about his death that very day. He was a giant, wild or otherwise, in the pantheon of children's literature. I read him to my children; I read him to Ramona. His lasting strength was that, when it came to children's picture books, he understood that even young children are far more aware of the world and the realities of life, both good and bad, than adults acknowledge.

A year ago, Warren and I took a day off and went to see "Wild Things Are Happening: The Art of Maurice Sendak," which was just about to close at the Columbus Museum of Art. CoMA had worked with the Sendak Foundation to create and curate that exhibit. There are not enough words in the dictionary (to borrow a phrase from an old friend, who would start an expression of gratitude or praise with that) to express the depth of that show and the impact it had on me. (This link will give you an overview of the show, which will be opening in the fall in Denver.) 

So even before this weekend, I already had a deep appreciation of Sendak and his creativity and artistry.

This weekend, my appreciation rose even higher when I began reading Caldecott & Co., Notes on Books & Pictures, a collection of his writings (about writers and illustrators who influenced him, among other things) and speeches (on winning the Caldecott for Where the Wild Things Are, among other things) that span from the early 1960s to the mid-1980s. 

A couple of observations. 

One, Sendak was a gifted writer: fluid, observant, poignant, critical, funny. He had no problem analyzing his own works, including some that did not meet his own expectations, and explain how he approached this or that piece. He wrote essays about important illustrators from the past, including Randolph Caldecott, and what he admired and learned from studying their works.

Sendak had no problem taking himself to task for failing to speak his convictions about children's literature. In a 1965 essay about being on a panel discussing children's literature, an audience member took issue with Peter Rabbit, finding it unrealistic for children. Sendak wrote: "Alas, I could not find the words to defend Peter to the gentleman in the audience...My only impulse was to smash him in the nose. That would be defending the honor of Beatrix Potter. Being aware, however, even from the platform, that his height and breadth were greater than my own, I quietly sulked instead."

My second observation is that Sendak was a man who absolutely loved books. LOVED books. This is Sendak at his finest: "As a child I felt that books were holy objects, to be caressed, rapturously sniffed, and devotedly provided for. I gave my life to them—I still do. I continue to do what I did as a child: dream of books, make books, and collect books."

Be still, my heart. That is how I feel about books. 

I have been reading this book in absolute quiet, deep in that world of just myself and the printed page. At times I am so moved that tears well up and roll down my cheeks. I have two pieces to go, which I will finish this evening, and then hold the book close to me before putting it in the return stack for the library.

There is more Sendak to come my way, in the form of a fairly recent biography and a book put together about the exhibit. I have them earmarked "For Later" on my library page and only the fact that I have a WHOLE bunch of books waiting to be picked up kept me from reserving them today. I read quickly, but not that quickly!

I only have one Sendak picture book left in the house, as the others migrated west some years ago. The remaining book is In the Night Kitchen. I will likely read it tonight, having read his explanations of the sources of that book. 

Maurice Sendak was an amazing artist in the fullest sense of the word. My life (and, I think I can safely say, the lives of my children and grandchildren) has been immeasurably enriched by having him, and all his Wild Things, here in my heart.