a sad rumpus

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As the famous cover suggests, there's a monstrous sadness in our hearts today.

Maurice Sendak, writer and illustrator of children's books, passed away yesterday. He was 83 years old. Born in Brooklyn, New York in 1928, his perennial classic  Where the Wild Things Are won the 1964 Caldecott Medal as the "Most Distinguished Picture Book of the Year," but it goes way beyond that honor. The tale has firmly established itself as a great American classic.

It was one of the first children’s books to deal with a child’s dark emotions. Max (King of the Wild Things) is sent to his room without his supper for behaving wildly—he chased the dog with a fork while in a wolf suit. (Max was in the suit, not the dog.)

In his room is where the mischievousness really started. 


“And now,” cried Max, "Let the wild rumpus start!" But for the first time, we have to put on our wolf suits and do the wild rumpus without Maurice. 

His work will live on. 

In the fall, if I encounter a hickory horned devil 

in the woods of East Tennessee, 

I always think of Sendak. I don't know why.

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