Where the Wild Things Are author Maurice Sendak, age 83, as profiled for us by Dave Eggers.
We love this arresting, Grimm’s-colorplate of a portrait, don’t you?
Photograph by Annie Leibovitz.
I can’t think of another author that affected my life as much as Maurice Sendak. From Really Rosie to Mickey in the Night Kitchen to, of course, the dear old Wild Things, this man’s stories shaped my childhood in more important ways than anyone else’s did. My mom always loved Sendak. Maybe it was something about his simple line-drawings. Or maybe it was those great characters that were fanciful but still true. I really don’t know; I’ve never asked her about it, but now that I’m wondering, I’ll have to ask her soon.
Whatever the reasons, I loved Sendak as much as mom did. Something about the way characters inhabit your world when you’re a kid makes them like family members, and sometimes I miss those guys. Pierre and Rosie and Max and all the others.
And now, I appreciate the darkness underneath all of his stories. There was never a lot of bubbly pandering happening with Sendak. As a kid that was refreshing, and as an adult, it gives me hope that someone can talk to children about real things. Kids are freaked out about the hard stuff too, and Sendak acknowledges that.
Would it be fair to say that childhood neglect and parental disappearance are favorite Sendak themes? “That’s all I’ve ever written about. As a kid, all I thought about was death. But you can’t tell your parents that.”
Go read Eggers’ piece on this old grump. It’s right on the money.
:)
