Featured Book: Where the Wild Things Are

Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak

Harper & Row, 1963

I probably read Maurice Sendak's Where the Wild Things Are about a thousand times as a little guy. Love it.  Sendak creates some of the most memorable images in children’s literature.  And it’s the images that drive the story. In fact, the “wild rumpus” sequence is told entirely without words in 3 full-page spreads (six total pages).  Also, early in the tale, we see a picture on the wall of Max’s room that he drew (which both illustrates his fantastic imagination and foreshadows the adventure to come).  The story is very simple, told with basic vocabulary in fewer than ten sentences. Max is sent to his room without dinner because he’s being wild.  He then has an elaborate daydream in which he sails to where the wild things are and envisions himself as the wildest wild thing of all.  He is then brought home by the smell of his dinner, which is waiting for him at his door. And it’s still warm.

Spike Jonze film adaptation of Where the Wild Things Are found mixed reviews upon its release.  I, however, enjoyed it immensely.  I’ve often heard it described as an adult meditation on childhood. And I think that’s an accurate description. Especially because one of the most wild parts of childhood is pain. It’s been over a year since I’ve seen the film, but I still remember the expression of concern and confusion on Max’s face when his teacher talks about the finite nature of the universe.  And  then there’s the heartbreaking scene in which Max is playing under his mom’s desk (maybe telling her stories?) as she works. She enjoys time with her son, but she wears the pained expression of adulthood. There’s longing and sadness in her eyes, and it makes Max hurt, too. And feel sad. And the hardest thing about all of it is that he doesn’t understand.  I got a little choked up watching that scene. And it altered my expectations of the film.  And the way I watched the rest of it. Max spends his time in the land of the wild things trying to make a child’s wild nature and understanding of the world fit into what he believes are the adult rules. But those rules just don’t make sense.  I come away from the film feeling that life, generally, makes so much more sense as a child. And maybe that’s why I still love this story (both the book and the film) so much.  Hell, maybe that’s why I love children’s literature so much.  Thank you, Mr. Sendak.

Featured Book: Sleeping Freshmen Never Lie

In Sleeping Freshmen Never Lie by David Lubar, we’re reminded that high school is exhausting. In addition to homeworking and fretting about becoming a big brother, Scott writes for the school paper, serves (briefly) on the student council, and works behind the scenes for the all-school play. Poor kid hardly has time to sleep.

Endearing, sympathetic, and clever (without being too clever), Scott narrates the ins and outs of his first year of high school—the loss of his three childhood friends (to girls, wrestlers, and Texas), the pursuit of his kindergarten chum (who’s become the cutest girl in ninth grade), the awkward dances in which all the guys stand to one side waiting for the painful ordeal to end, and his accidental friendships with a senior bully and a girl everyone calls a freak. The movement through the novel is spot on. We cover an entire school year in 280 pages, breezing through when we can, slowing when we need to focus on important moments. Scott is reflective, but not distractingly so. We understand Scott in the way that he speaks to and interacts with others, NOT by him TELLING us who he thinks he is.

Sleeping Freshmen Never Lie
by David Lubar
Speak, 2005

One of the most charming elements of the novel is the relationship Lubar establishes between Scott and his unborn kid brother. He writes him letters, telling him about school, offering him advice and reflections about his own mistakes and misfortunes. What’s great is that Scott is able to write these things to his baby brother (who may or may not actually ever see the letters) that he doesn’t feel he can say to his dad, older brother, or former best friends. Guys don’t talk about feelings. Scott, although sometimes suspicious, and even jealous, of this strange thing growing in Mom’s belly, obviously cares about him. And his scrawling to the little alien helps him understand his own world a little better.

Finally, Lubar does a fine job with the classroom scenes—especially English class. Not only does he authentically depict interactions between students in class (when the teacher’s not looking), but he presents a teacher that all book lovers dream about having. Also, Lubar cleverly works discussions about the elements of craft into his text. For example, Scott narrates the beginning of chapter twenty-six from first-, second-, and third-person during the class’s discussion of viewpoint. This sequence is a perfect example of how Scott (and Lubar) manages to be quite clever without being gimmicky or over-the-top.

Recommended for boys, ages 13-15.