Maurice Sendak died yesterday... And it's a bit of a bummer, ya know? The man created some truly wonderful things.
Now, to be honest, I probably thought he was dead already. Well, maybe not, but I'm fairly certain I've never given the status of his pulse any thought... I guess what I'm saying is that I'm not really qualified to mourn him, but certainly to remember.
Okay. His stories are the bomb diggity. They're odd, they're perfectly illustrated, nonchalantly sentimental, plenty adventurous, occasionally musical, and (possibly best of all) full of nonsense, but free of bullshit. The amount of trust he had in children and his respect for the imagination is tangible on every page. (I love that they're written to a child, and written to an equal.) Oh, and he managed to put in blatant morals that didn't feel preachy or overstated. That's super impressive, considering that, sometimes, the moral is literally "care about stuff, or a lion will eat you." HE MANAGED TO MAKE THAT SOUND NATURAL.
Also, he said this and I like it: “Children do live in fantasy and reality; they move back and forth very easily in a way we no longer remember how to do.”
Alright, this is becoming an inarticulate, sleepy ramble...
The point: He was all up in my childhood. He taught me that it's never not time for chicken soup with rice. He taught me that I can count with more than just numbers. He taught me how important it is to care, to love (or at least helped with that).
He taught me how to be a wild thing. And I will forever be grateful.
Sleep tight, you strange, brilliant man.
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