Reposted from my archives, an excerpt from Life Lessons in Literature.
In college, I date a man who has a beautiful son. I give the toddler a bath before bedtime, and then read to him as he falls asleep. There are a few pages in the middle of Where the Wild Things Are that have no words, just illustrations of wild things cavorting about with their terrible claws and terrible teeth. James is half asleep when we get to this part, but he lifts his head a few inches and points at the monster jumping and growling beneath the moon. He taps the drawing and whispers, “He try to get the moon.”
Do you have a favorite Maurice Sendak memory?