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I was fascinated by this book when I first read it about six years ago. At that time, I didn’t know who Sendak was, nor did I know how important this book was. I just thought it was very special and I couldn’t forget it after reading it once.
Later, I stumbled upon it again in an English bookstore in Hong Kong and was overjoyed to buy it. I then painstakingly translated it into Chinese, simply for my own amusement and to read to my daughter and, incidentally, my mother. My daughter, of course, loved it, but I couldn’t help but feel she didn’t enjoy it as much as I did. Unexpectedly, my mother also loved it, saying the story reminded her of a proverb from her hometown, unwritten, which roughly means: A child who has been spanked and scolded by their mother still needs the mother to comfort him. I doubt Sendak would have objected to this interpretation.
In recent years, I’ve come across quite a few books discussing picture books, and nearly every one of them discusses Sendak and his book, sometimes at length. This surprised me somewhat, as I doubted it would be universally beloved. It’s easy to find fault with it: the colors are dark; the beasts are a bit scary; Max is mischievous and doesn’t admit his fault until the end; and the unseen mother threatens her child with “no food” but ultimately forgives him without principle—all of this might seem understandable from another perspective, but it’s hardly endearing.
To this day, I can’t say I know much about Sendak. I’ve only heard of most of his works, and the only books I’ve carefully studied are his “trilogy” and the Grimm adaptation of “Dear Little Lily.” However, I never tire of reading his trilogy. Besides the first book, “Where the Wild Things Are” (1963), the other two are “March of the Night” (1970) and “In That Faraway Place” (1982). They also tell stories about children’s dreams, drawn from Sendak’s childhood memories. The third book, in particular, is said to be based on his own experience of a rainy day when he was two years old. The illustrated stories are surprisingly in the style of 19th-century Grimm fairy tales. Although I haven’t “grasped” the book after reading it many times, I couldn’t resist buying it and translating it for my own amusement.
Sometimes I wonder, curiously, why am I so fascinated by such obscure works by this painter, a person I don’t know much about? Why would I even collect and study “children’s books” without caring whether my children like them? It’s a difficult question to answer.
When it comes to works for children, the primary consideration is whether or not children will enjoy them. Whether or not adults enjoy them comes second. Forcing an adult to claim they enjoy a work is like “degrading” themselves to the level of a child, a somewhat hypocritical sentiment. This stems from most adults’ image of childhood. Childhood is often portrayed as innocent, beautiful, and romantic, with children awaiting adulthood in a state of pristine purity and carefreeness. Consequently, the vast majority of works written for children are cheerful and romantic, interspersed with adult admonitions and lessons amidst the lively, childlike play.
But Sendak was an exception.
Sendak entered the world of children’s book illustration at the age of 22 (1950). Although initially an amateur, his editor at Harper’s, Ms. Ursula, recognized his potential and brought him together with several renowned artists. His illustrations during this period were lighthearted, humorous, hilarious, and childlike, earning them the admiration of readers and critics. Between 1954 and 1963, his picture books won five Caldecott Medals. But he clearly wasn’t content with this. As early as 1955, he reportedly began conceiving what he privately called a “real picture book,” deliberately titled “Where the Wild Horses Run” to maintain secrecy. The renowned editor, with her high hopes for the book, patiently and eagerly worked on its creation. It finally arrived in 1963. While the beast in the book initially frightened some somewhat “nervous” adults, it was enthusiastically embraced by children. Ms. Ursula was also very proud to have edited this work. In a letter to Sendak, she praised it as a “great masterpiece” and said affectionately: “It makes me feel that I love those creative people and I love publishing such books for those creative children.” (See blog post: “[Reading Notes] Letter from the Editor of Where the Wild Things Are to the Painter”)
Interestingly, while children readily accept this book, adults find it quite difficult to interpret it effectively. Admittedly, we’re too old for it, and we’ve had to resort to methods of reconstructing childhood dreams. These methods, primarily, involve symbolic interpretation and Freudian psychoanalysis.
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The first picture in the text of “Where the Wild Things Are”
For example, on the first folio of the book, the text says “That night Max put on his wolf coat and ran wild at home.” In the picture, from left to right we see: a clothes hanger — a daily necessity of the mother; a hanging teddy bear — often implies brothers at home, who are being bullied by Max; a printed red bed sheet draped over a cloth belt, with a small round stool inside, set up like a tent — that is the mother’s belongings, suggesting that in the mother’s room, the child is making a small room by himself; Max’s wolf coat, which looks like wolf skin but also like children’s clothing — implies the child’s wildness, but not lacking in childishness, thereby weakening the sexual associations brought about by wild wolves; the boy steps on the book — a typical “trampling” on civilization; the huge hammer hammers nails into the wall, and cracks have appeared in the wall — the room usually metaphorically represents the mother, and here it implies a strong attack on the mother; combined with the previous, what adults see as “destructive” behavior (to the room and walls) is seen as “creation” (setting up a tent) by Max. In the entire format, the ratio of text, blank space and picture frame is still in a relatively balanced state compared to later pages, and is still in a realistic and controllable scene.
Adult readers can gain a wealth of information from this single page with the proper analytical methods. Is this considered “over-interpretation”? For Sendak, it certainly wasn’t. He was a deeply thoughtful and rigorous writer, and after eight years of meticulous planning, he intended to convey far more than this. But he also understood that such methods were unnecessary for children, as they still possess a deep intuition and creativity.
This is precisely what fascinates me most. When faced with such works, when I allow them to evoke my childhood memories, I can feel an indescribable inner touch; but when I use adult experience and methods to conduct a detailed and meticulous analysis of them, I also find that they are unfathomable and wonderful.
Putting aside the complex technical analysis of this work (which can be found everywhere if you pay attention), the most touching thing for me is Max’s seemingly manic mental state. It made me see my childhood self very clearly, and this self even continues to this day.
Isn’t that almost feral restlessness present in everyone? Doesn’t the power needed for both destruction and creation reside precisely there? Creation and destruction are never far apart. Yet, under Puritan education, childhood is often a process of taming wildness. While destructive potential is completely eradicated, it also signifies the successful suppression of creativity. This is the repressed, depressing side of childhood, often obscured.
But Max in Sendak’s writing is constantly fighting and struggling. In his anger, he turns to dreams, laughs with his hands covering his mouth, dances with joy, and drives his own boat to the wild land, where he takes control of the situation and achieves self-realization in fantasy. At the same time, he compromises with his beloved mother who loves him deeply, until he returns in the embrace of maternal love.
This is a great spiritual adventure, wild and natural. It carries no moral lessons, only love and natural growth. Perhaps only in this way can we strive to maintain our natural and noble humanity while growing.
In this sense, I think “Where the Wild Things Are” is a masterpiece full of romanticism and idealism.
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Argentine Primera División, January 5, 2009, Beijing
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More fun:
[Reading Notes] Letter from the Editor of Where the Wild Things Are to the Painter
[Video] A foreign assistant teaches you how to tell stories with picture books—“Where the Wild Things Are”
