Liars and Saints

  Chris Van Allsburg is always in a dialogue with Maurice Sendak. The greatness of "Where the Wild Things Are" grows out of its mystery: Did Max travel or did he not? If he didn't, why did his mom overlook him when she brought food to his room? And why is the moon different in the final image of Max's window? These (I think) are questions that inspire Van Allsburg. In "The Polar Express," the little boy continues to hear the ringing of his bell after all others can no longer hear. Is this because of a special knowledge that the boy has (or is it just that the boy is slightly deranged)? ....In the final moments of "Jumanji," Peter and Judy notice two friends with the dangerous game board. Should they speak up--or is their memory somehow "false"? What might happen if they stay silent? My favorite of the ambiguous Van Allsburg endings is in his first book, "The Garden of Abdul Gasazi." For a long while, young Alan has felt convince...

  Tomie dePaola was repeatedly drawn to outcasts--Oliver Button, Old Befana, the boy with the Indian Paintbrush. Add to this list the little oddball in "The Art Lesson," the younger brother in "Nana Upstairs," lonely Patrick in Ireland. "The Clown of God" concerns a juggler, Giovanni, whose talent sends him on an odyssey. Because he can perform, he can feed himself. Eventually, losing strength, he drops a ball; the villagers, enraged, throw rocks at him. He concludes that he is past his "sell by" date. Having taken shelter in a monastery, Giovanni studies a sculpture of a morose Jesus. Giovanni is moved to juggle one last time--and, in response, the sculpture smiles. The End. Like "Old Befana," this story is slightly mysterious. It's a weird choice for a picture book. I especially like the detail of the villagers' cruelty--many writers would choose to *omit* this from a kid-friendly tale. Additionally, Giovanni dies immediately ...

  My fascination with villains dates back to the reign of Howard Ashman.  Orin, Gaston, Jafar, Ursula: These characters are larger than life, and they raise the stakes. If I'm going to rent a movie with my daughter, I have to ensure that there is a dynamic villain, or I will risk two hours with a film-not-worthwhile. (Thank you to Olivia Colman for her recent contributions to "Paddington in Peru.") It makes sense to me that Maurice Sendak would be drawn to "Hansel and Gretel." Sendak liked villains. "Where the Wild Things Are" begins with a monstrous decision; the mother cannot be bothered to empathize with her energetic son, so she sends him to bed without food. Later, the boy is forced to endure the company of his many unhappy aunts and uncles; their faces have morphed, and they are now wild beasts. (Their "greeting" to little Max is ambiguous at the least: "I will eat you up.") Sendak left sketches for "Hansel and Gretel....

 Maurice Sendak's posthumous book is about a little boy, Mino, who puts on a magic show. He summons rabbits from his hat. Eventually, the chaos becomes problematic, and Mino sends the rabbits back to the Netherworld--and that's the end of the story. One of Sendak's gifts is his belief in a fantasy land; reality bleeds into a dream. The nameless speaker in "Chicken Soup" becomes a bauble on a Christmas tree--and, at other times, he sips hot soup while sitting on the ocean floor. Max in "Wild Things" can simply remove the roof of his house to gain access to a mystical ocean. Mino makes rabbits from thin air. "Ten Little Rabbits" looks easy; there is so little text. But it takes time to make an illusion of effortlessness. I especially like the child-sized tuxedo that Sendak has invented--for Mino.

 For Pride Month, I'm putting a spotlight on Maurice Sendak. Sometimes, Sendak seemed weighted down by his own sense of importance; his bitchy colleague, James Marshall, called him "Morose Sendak." But I think Sendak's early works, "Pierre" and "Chicken Soup with Rice," are really fun. In "Chicken Soup," a deranged child speaks of his fondness for broth. He sips it while gliding on ice-skates. He sips it underwater, with a turtle. He sips it from a robin's nest (a kind of bread bowl, up in the trees). I have a feeling that Sendak's strange rhymes inspired Sandra Boynton. "In February, it will be my snowman's anniversary....with cake for him and soup for me!" (And think of Boynton: "Look at all the hippos, with a belly button each! Do you wonder where we are? ....It's Belly Button Beach!") Two thumbs up.

 My son is beginning to talk! It's a treat. He has something like his own language, which is half-English and half-Martian. ZEEEEE! means "Susie." HEEEEHHHHHHH is "head." And BABA seems to be "bottle." The greatest thrill is "Hi" and "OK." Josh has mastered these words, but he doesn't know when to use them, so he spends a big part of any day just shouting HIII! at the Venetian blinds. "HIII! Ohhhh-KAAAAY!!!" I'm reading many adult novels out loud--because Josh doesn't really pay attention, and I'm just hoping some osmosis is occurring. But you can bet we'll purchase "A House," by Kevin Henkes, upon its release, in one week. I'm including some small works of art that Henkes has been studying--here, with the text. Can't wait for Tuesday.

Another thing I loved in Sieruta's "Wild Things": the discussion of "roads not taken." Sometimes critics focus just on the things that get published, but it's interesting to consider what gets discarded. When a Sendak book with nudity came out, certain librarians would take white-out and paint a diaper onto the nude child in question. And editors didn't want a reference to a "hot" supper at the end of "Where the Wild Things...." Editors wanted the supper to be "warm," because "hot" might suggest that the mother was endangering her child. (Crazy!) A vindictive illustrator--annoyed that Kirkus had panned one of her books--drew a special tombstone in a later book: "Here Lies Virginia Kirkus, Nasty Soul." (When this was "caught," the tombstone suddenly became blank, and it remains blank to this day.) Fascinating--to me--and, in case I haven't been clear, I really recommend Sieruta'...

Maurice Sendak's birthday is this week! He is dead, but it's still his birthday. A famous opening: The night Max wore his wolf suit and made mischief of one kind and another his mother called him WILD THING! and Max said I'LL EAT YOU UP! so he was sent to bed without eating anything.... Smart because it gets right inside Max's head. It doesn't judge Max. Sometimes, you're having a small fit of creativity, and you don't consider all the consequences. And then you say something impulsive. Who hasn't been there? Form matches content. The rambling syntax matches the rhythms in Max's mind. Also, the refusal to explain *why* the wolf suit comes out and *why* the mischief ensues--that refusal of explanation seems to capture something about childhood, if you ask me. If you're a wound-up child, you're not considering cause and effect. Action is simply *happening* .... All that--captured in a sentence! A sentence in a kid's book. I'm ...