Ok, so lately, I seem to be a bit fixated on Dave Eggers. It's just a phase. I'll get over it.
I didn't read
Where the Wild Things Are when I was young. In fact, I didn't read any of the books that many of my peers probably read when they were children. No Dr. Seuss. No
Winnie-the-Pooh. No
Chronicles of Narnia...You get the picture. Sure, my mom read us stories - most especially quite scary stories from a
United Nations story book that she had - but I never actually had the opportunity to pick up a book and read it on my own. In English. Mainly because in my prime childhood reading years, I was busy emigrating and immigrating.
Reading
Where the Wild Things Are as an adult is probably very different. I can relate to the child on a deeper level. And as a new mom, I can feel the sting on both sides of the pendulum. I love the Maurice Sendak original. But I'm also very much loving the Dave Eggers version,
The Wild Things. I'm sure there are many insightful write-ups and critiques about both books. So there isn't really much I can say that hasn't been said. But the movie affected me quite unexpectedly. It's interesting to me that the Wild Things, a bunch of huge muppets, were able to portray the painful dysfunction of a family, the dynamics, the pulls and pushes, far more brilliantly and profoundly than any movie I've seen with actual people. Can it be? I don't even like muppets.
Is it all over-hyped? Who cares. If it inspires you even in the slightest, it can only be good.
"He rode one-handed, then no-handed, then with his head slung back, squinting at the emerging stars. He whistled quietly to himself, then louder, then hummed, then sang out loud. It was a quiet night and he wanted to slash it open with his own voice." - Dave Eggers
I'm pretty curious about this book. It's probably no surprise to my two readers, that I really (really), like Jonathan Safran Foer's writing. And so, and as such, I'm a bit nervous about attempting this non-fiction piece. I really don't want to give up eating meat.
