I was seven or eight years old when my mother came home from the Ft. Pierce city library saying, "You're going to love this book!"
You will not need to wonder what book it was.
My mother's favorite part - always a poet at heart - was the line where Max sailed in and out of weeks, and for most people it was the monsters - "Let the wild rumpus begin!" - but for me it was the transformation of Max's room into a jungle: the dresser and wall paper that sprouted into lush undergrowth as Max danced, astounded at his own good luck or else his incantatory powers.
Sendak never equalled that book. He continued prolific, and his last book was published only eight months before his death, but it is for Where the Wild Things Are he will be remembered. To create a classic is no small thing.
