On Maurice Sendak

When my husband and I were mulling over baby names Amelia was an early favorite.  It wasn't until Caleb pointed out that an Amelia could also be called Mili that I was sold though.

Growing up, one of my favorite books was Dear Mili (illustrated by Maurice Sendak).
We have two copies in our home.  One I bought for Amelia's baby shower and the other is a vestige from my own childhood.  An inscription on the title page of the older copy reads:

"Dear Kelly,
A fairy tale for you... for you appreciate the words that I strive to create.  Someday my fairy tale will sit upon your shelf.
Just me,
Josh"

I imagine the book was picked up at a library or garage sale, but the personal nature of the message made the book all the more intriguing.

The story in Dear Mili is dark, written by Wilhelm Grimm of the Grimm brothers.  Raised in a conservative Christian home, this kind of dark did not disturb me.  There are many gruesome, bittersweet and instructive stories in the Bible.  What really intrigued me were the illustrations.  The details - the representation of characters and nature, at once realistic and cartoon like.  The occasional imperfection in proportions.  The colors, alternatively sobering or soothing, reminding me of a nightmare or a perfect sunset, and all the while feeling somehow familiar. 

When I learned that Maurice Sendak passed away today, I immediately tried to recall how this book had survived to make it into my home as an adult.  At first I thought the book was so special to me, that I must have carried it with me to college, moving it through dorm rooms, apartments, across state lines, all the way into the house I now share with my husband.  But when I had put my daughter to sleep and the house was quiet and I'd cleared my head with half-caf coffee consumed far too late in the evening, an actual memory began to surface.  I recalled searching for the title of the book using details of the story and illustrations on-line.  Eventually, successfully searching through the bookcases in my parents house and a box of books in their garage.  I think this memory is correct, although I have been sleep deprived about a year now and it makes it much harder to tell fact from fiction.

Whether it was physically or only mentally, clearly I carried this book, from an early age, in my heart.  And that was the magic of Maurice Sendak.
Whether illustrating or writing, his art captivated young and old alike.

Two years ago I read Where the Wild Things Are to a small group of fifth graders after benchmark tests.  And after testing all day, they didn't talk or whisper or fidget.  They just listened.

Enchanted.

What a gift.