“Dear Mr. Sendak,” read one, from an 8-year-old boy. “How much does it cost to get to where the wild things are? If it is not expensive, my sister and I would like to spend the summer there.”
- From this morning’s New York Times Book section: Maurice Sendak, Author of Splendid Nightmares, Dies at 83
Just finished reading about Mr. Sendak’s half century-long career as an illustrator and writer while nursing a cup of lukewarm coffee. Being reminded that death takes indiscriminately always leaves me feeling bleak. Today’s gloomy grey weather seems appropriate.
P.S. I love this anecdote, too…
“Once a little boy sent me a charming card with a little drawing on it. I loved it. I answer all my children’s letters — sometimes very hastily — but this one I lingered over. I sent him a card and I drew a picture of a Wild Thing on it. I wrote, “Dear Jim: I loved your card.” Then I got a letter back from his mother and she said, “Jim loved your card so much he ate it.” That to me was one of the highest compliments I’ve ever received. He didn’t care that it was an original Maurice Sendak drawing or anything. He saw it, he loved it, he ate it.” - Maurice Sendak
image via.
