I share your wariness of this book. You've done a great job expressing what's off about this much-loved story. It certainly clarified to me why I've intuitively kept this book off our shelf.
Nonetheless, Sendak's imagination was not always so Rousseauistic. For instance, he illustrated Frank Stockton's "The Griffin and the Minor Canon" wonderfully, and that story is soundly moral. Indeed, it's an excellent example of how something can be a Romance (in the sense of Tolkien or the Arthurian legends) and yet point us toward a moral life rather than away from it. Sendak's illustrations do the same.
Here's Sendak's illustrated version (it's probably cheaper on Abebooks or Thrift):
Thanks, I'm going to take a look at that. Hopefully I can find an inexpensive copy of The Griffin. It's interesting that that one is out of print. . . it must be good!
Hi Kristi, I finally managed to follow that link and check out what those reviewers had to say about Where the Wild Things Are. It was interesting to see the comparison between that final scene in which Max is sitting outside of his tent and Piero della Francesca's "Dream of Constantine" fresco. While I was enlightened by this comparison, what's interesting is that Max's position and posture in the picture parallel's Constantine's servant rather than Constantine. Thus, I don't see a suggestion that Max has a conversion. Rather it seems to be a play on the boredom of the servant. It's interesting, to be sure, but the way in which the story ends, with Max's boredom with the bacchanalia, doesn't seem to me to indicate a substantive "conversion." The way I read it, Max seems to be subject to the romantic melancholy that follows upon the heels of romantic escapism. But thanks for drawing my attention to those reviewers. It was interesting to see another perspective on things!
Although I am probably just biased towards Sendak's other illustrated works, particularly Little Bear, I agree with some of the other commenters that there may be some dimensions of Wild Things not explored in this review worth considering. In particular, I think there is a strong parallel to the Prodigal Son with the note of remorse toward the end and the contrast of the professed love of the monsters vs. Max returning home to who he knew loved him best of all. It is hard to say Max's household is not Christian by this incident of misbehavior and the parental discipline dished out to him.
Thanks for your comment. We do love Little Bear in our house! Sendak is certainly not a one-dimensional illustrator. He has contributed to books that I would, on the whole, not recommend, as well as other books that I would recommend (such as Little Bear). The romantic imagination is never undiluted. It is always a matter of more or less. Thus, on the whole, I would not recommend Where the Wild Things Are, although it may have some redeeming qualities. I am skeptical, though, about the idea that Max has a conversion at the end. To me the ending is too melancholic to suggest that Max has been "converted," as one reviewer put it. To me, it seems that Max simply got bored of the bacchanalia and wanted to go home. There wasn't the kind of moral growth, at least on my reading, that would indicate a real change of heart and recognition of his wrongdoing.
Appreciate the response and the distinction of degrees of romantic imagination. Perhaps Max forcefully saying no at the end to the monsters asking him to stay and choosing to return to reality, love, and family is an indication of growth? Thanks for the thought provoking critique. Enjoy reading your substack!
This was brilliantly written, though imo a complete misreading of what where the wild things are was about. The beasts represent Max’s emotions, which he is left to wrestle out alone in his room.
It could be read that way, I’ll agree. But given the cultural context of modernity in which it was written, and its similarities with so many other children’s books of this same quality of imagination, I think my reading is a fair one. Sendak possesses a romantic imagination through and through.
I didn’t understand Where the Wild Things Are, and shared your distaste for the book, until I had children myself. My son has just begun throwing tiny toddler tantrums. Reading this book to him calms him down, as it did his sister before him, who has since managed to get a hold of her temper quite beautifully. And her father is Italian, with a family that has held lifelong grudges against each other - temper is no small matter in our family line.
The entire point of the story is Max *taming* his id, the monsters of his rage against his mother, and leaving them behind to rejoin civilization (his bedroom). And what is waiting for him? A sign of love from his mother. My mother often sent me to my room with the rejoinder “you can join us when you’re ready to behave yourself.” And this is exactly what Max does. He goes on an internal journey, tames his rage, and rejoins civilization.
I do think “bridle your appetites/tame your angers” is a really critical message for children to hear. I’m surprised that you did not pick up on the rather obvious literary device, wherein the wild things and wild country he travels to are meant to represent his internal state. It’s not a book from the 1880s, it’s a book from the 60s, for Pete’s sake.
I actually had the opposite experience. It was tough for me to re-evaluate it as an adult because I had fond memories of reading it with my parents as a child!
I share your wariness of this book. You've done a great job expressing what's off about this much-loved story. It certainly clarified to me why I've intuitively kept this book off our shelf.
Nonetheless, Sendak's imagination was not always so Rousseauistic. For instance, he illustrated Frank Stockton's "The Griffin and the Minor Canon" wonderfully, and that story is soundly moral. Indeed, it's an excellent example of how something can be a Romance (in the sense of Tolkien or the Arthurian legends) and yet point us toward a moral life rather than away from it. Sendak's illustrations do the same.
Here's Sendak's illustrated version (it's probably cheaper on Abebooks or Thrift):
https://www.amazon.com/Griffin-Minor-Canon-Frank-Stockton/dp/0030353203/
And here's the original story for free on Gutenberg:
https://www.gutenberg.org/files/12067/12067-h/12067-h.htm#chapter2
Thanks, I'm going to take a look at that. Hopefully I can find an inexpensive copy of The Griffin. It's interesting that that one is out of print. . . it must be good!
Brilliant, as usual, Emily. I really enjoy your observations and your clarity!
Paul, thank you. Your comment means a lot, especially being new to substack!
I encourage you to take a closer look at Where the Wild Things Are, and to read what this substack on picture books says: https://lookingatpicturebooks.substack.com/p/where-the-wild-things-are. Also be sure to see the follow-up to this post: a reader identifies the visual inspiration for a key scene (hint -- it involves a conversion): https://lookingatpicturebooks.substack.com/p/some-recent-comments-that-blew-our.
Hi Kristi, I finally managed to follow that link and check out what those reviewers had to say about Where the Wild Things Are. It was interesting to see the comparison between that final scene in which Max is sitting outside of his tent and Piero della Francesca's "Dream of Constantine" fresco. While I was enlightened by this comparison, what's interesting is that Max's position and posture in the picture parallel's Constantine's servant rather than Constantine. Thus, I don't see a suggestion that Max has a conversion. Rather it seems to be a play on the boredom of the servant. It's interesting, to be sure, but the way in which the story ends, with Max's boredom with the bacchanalia, doesn't seem to me to indicate a substantive "conversion." The way I read it, Max seems to be subject to the romantic melancholy that follows upon the heels of romantic escapism. But thanks for drawing my attention to those reviewers. It was interesting to see another perspective on things!
Although I am probably just biased towards Sendak's other illustrated works, particularly Little Bear, I agree with some of the other commenters that there may be some dimensions of Wild Things not explored in this review worth considering. In particular, I think there is a strong parallel to the Prodigal Son with the note of remorse toward the end and the contrast of the professed love of the monsters vs. Max returning home to who he knew loved him best of all. It is hard to say Max's household is not Christian by this incident of misbehavior and the parental discipline dished out to him.
Thanks for your comment. We do love Little Bear in our house! Sendak is certainly not a one-dimensional illustrator. He has contributed to books that I would, on the whole, not recommend, as well as other books that I would recommend (such as Little Bear). The romantic imagination is never undiluted. It is always a matter of more or less. Thus, on the whole, I would not recommend Where the Wild Things Are, although it may have some redeeming qualities. I am skeptical, though, about the idea that Max has a conversion at the end. To me the ending is too melancholic to suggest that Max has been "converted," as one reviewer put it. To me, it seems that Max simply got bored of the bacchanalia and wanted to go home. There wasn't the kind of moral growth, at least on my reading, that would indicate a real change of heart and recognition of his wrongdoing.
Appreciate the response and the distinction of degrees of romantic imagination. Perhaps Max forcefully saying no at the end to the monsters asking him to stay and choosing to return to reality, love, and family is an indication of growth? Thanks for the thought provoking critique. Enjoy reading your substack!
I wont' exclude the possibility! You've given me something to think about!
This was brilliantly written, though imo a complete misreading of what where the wild things are was about. The beasts represent Max’s emotions, which he is left to wrestle out alone in his room.
It could be read that way, I’ll agree. But given the cultural context of modernity in which it was written, and its similarities with so many other children’s books of this same quality of imagination, I think my reading is a fair one. Sendak possesses a romantic imagination through and through.
I didn’t understand Where the Wild Things Are, and shared your distaste for the book, until I had children myself. My son has just begun throwing tiny toddler tantrums. Reading this book to him calms him down, as it did his sister before him, who has since managed to get a hold of her temper quite beautifully. And her father is Italian, with a family that has held lifelong grudges against each other - temper is no small matter in our family line.
The entire point of the story is Max *taming* his id, the monsters of his rage against his mother, and leaving them behind to rejoin civilization (his bedroom). And what is waiting for him? A sign of love from his mother. My mother often sent me to my room with the rejoinder “you can join us when you’re ready to behave yourself.” And this is exactly what Max does. He goes on an internal journey, tames his rage, and rejoins civilization.
I do think “bridle your appetites/tame your angers” is a really critical message for children to hear. I’m surprised that you did not pick up on the rather obvious literary device, wherein the wild things and wild country he travels to are meant to represent his internal state. It’s not a book from the 1880s, it’s a book from the 60s, for Pete’s sake.
I actually had the opposite experience. It was tough for me to re-evaluate it as an adult because I had fond memories of reading it with my parents as a child!