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Showing posts with label Things. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Things. Show all posts

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

'Wild Things' author Maurice Sendak dies

In the world of children's picture books, where cute and cuddly know few limits, Maurice Sendak was neither.

Maurice Sendak at home in Ridgefield, Conn., in 2005 with his dog, Herman. By Todd Plitt, USA TODAY

Maurice Sendak at home in Ridgefield, Conn., in 2005 with his dog, Herman.

By Todd Plitt, USA TODAY

Maurice Sendak at home in Ridgefield, Conn., in 2005 with his dog, Herman.

Sendak, the author and illustrator best known for his 1963 classic, Where the Wild Things Are, died Tuesday at 83 in Danbury, Conn., after complications from a stroke.

He leaves behind no survivors, just millions of readers from several generations who were amused, scared and inspired by his work.

"He was the pre-eminent children's book artist of the last half-century," says Leonard Marcus, author of Show Me a Story! Why Picture Books Matter. "He can be said to have been the first picture book artist to draw insight and inspiration from the work of Freud."

In his books, from In The Night Kitchen (1970), which shocked some by its youthful nudity, to Bumble-Ardy (2011), about an orphaned pig whose parents were eaten, "he showed, more candidly than any picture book artist had previously done that young children are a tangle of vulnerability and resilience," Marcus says. "And his books continue to show children that their resilient side can win out."

Lisa Von Drasek, director of the Center for Children's Literature at Bank Street College of Education in New York, says: "Sendak smashed the perception of childhood as a time of pleasantness, a time of unicorns and rainbows, sweetness and light. He appalled the 'gatekeepers' of the time who said he was too scary."

But, she says, "his joyful sketches reflect everyday childhood."

Sendak called Max, the mischievous boy who imagines a land of monsters in Wild Things, "a rotten kid."

Which is part of the appeal. Author Dave Eggers, who worked with Sendak on the 2009 film adaptation of Wild Things, recalls his mother reading the book to him when he was a toddler: "I was really scared by it. I was used to tidier narratives with a clear message of who's good and who's bad. But Sendak's monsters weren't simple or cute."

At 7, Eggers started "writing and illustrating my own stories, and they involved a boy who befriended monsters who were misunderstood. I was always into monsters, but nobody did them better than Sendak."

Parents and other readers reacted on Facebook and Twitter:

Uhura Russ: "R.I.P. Maurice Sendak!!! A joy to read your books during my childhood and a joy to see you on the Colbert Report in my adulthood!"

Diana Abu Jaber: "My toddler went as Wild Thing for Halloween. She perfected her roar. To our dismay."

Chuy Gonzalez: "I was a little boy 35 years ago. … I was scared and drawn to Where the Wild Things Are at the same time. It's probably the only book I remember fondly from my youth."

Tom Romano: "Where the Wild Things Are helped get me through an abusive childhood. I escaped repeatedly to Sendak's magical land where I could be King."

The son of Jewish immigrants, Sendak said his earliest influences were the Holocaust and the 1923 kipnapping of Charles Lindbergh's infant son. "Here was a rich, gentile child, and he couldn't make it," Sendak said. "How was I, a poor Jewish child, going to manage?"

His first job in 1948 was as a 20-year-old window dresser at FAO Schwarz, the famous Manhattan toy store, which also sold books. He said he spent a lot of time reading while hiding in the back room.

But the manager recognized Sendak's artistic talents and introduced him to an "angel," Ursula Nordstrom, a children's book editor who worked with author Ruth Krauss. That is how Krauss spotted Sendak's artwork on Nordstrom's desk and how, in 1952, Sendak came to illustrate Krauss' A Hole Is to Dig.

It was Sendak's big career break and the start of a lifelong friendship with Krauss and her husband, illustrator Crockett Johnson (Harold and the Purple Crayon).

"They knocked all the conventional stuff out of my head," Sendak said. "They were the divine parents I wanted to have."

They also helped him with Where the Wild Things Are. "It was like Max was our love child," he said.

In person, he was gruff. At a 2005 interview at his home in Ridgefield, Conn., he introduced his German shepherd, Herman.

Named for Melville, one of Sendak's literary influences?

"Of course," Sendak shot back. "What did you think, Goering?"

He publicly acknowledged being gay only after the death in 2007 of his longtime partner, psychoanalyst Eugene Glynn.

He said he never wanted to be a parent: "I never wanted the obligations. I don't think I'd be good at it. I'd be in the studio too much, or I'd want to be in the studio … and how could you live with that kind of failure?"

For more information about reprints & permissions, visit our FAQ's. To report corrections and clarifications, contact Standards Editor Brent Jones. For publication consideration in the newspaper, send comments to letters@usatoday.com. Include name, phone number, city and state for verification. To view our corrections, go to corrections.usatoday.com.

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Monday, March 19, 2012

Jackie Hooper's 'Things' gathers words unspoken

Are there things you wish you could have said to someone (or even a dearly departed pet) but didn't have the chance?

Jackie Hooper's 'The Things You Would Have Said' is a collection of letters to people (or pets) who are not longer part of the writers' lives.

Jackie Hooper's 'The Things You Would Have Said' is a collection of letters to people (or pets) who are not longer part of the writers' lives.

Jackie Hooper's 'The Things You Would Have Said' is a collection of letters to people (or pets) who are not longer part of the writers' lives.

That's the idea behind Jackie Hooper's new book, The Things You Would Have Said: The Chance to Say What You Always Wanted Them to Know (Hudson Street Press, $21.95).

In March 2009, Hooper was vacationing in Hawaii when she heard that actress Natasha Richardson had died from a head injury she sustained while skiing. Haunted by the tragedy, Hooper decided to ask strangers to write letters about things they had left unsaid. The letters are hilarious, heartbreaking and uplifting. Some examples:

•Ruth, 76, writes to thank her nanny Mitzi for "restoring my faith in humanity." After Kristallnacht, Mitzi took Ruth, who is Jewish, to a Viennese amusement park on her 7th birthday before Ruth's family escaped to the USA.

•Dave, 51, writes to his mother, who dropped him off at the babysitter 46 years ago and never returned. He notes that "for some reason, I just don't trust the ladies."

•"Your stepdaughter," age 18, tells her stepmother that "you have really been the evil stepmother, like in the fairy tales."

•Julia, 9, writes to Lou Lou, "I hope you are having a good life in Kitty Heaven."

For more information about reprints & permissions, visit our FAQ's. To report corrections and clarifications, contact Standards Editor Brent Jones. For publication consideration in the newspaper, send comments to letters@usatoday.com. Include name, phone number, city and state for verification. To view our corrections, go to corrections.usatoday.com.

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Friday, September 30, 2011

Review-a-Day for Mon, Aug 29: Universe of Things: Short Fiction

by Gwyneth Jones A review by Matthew Cheney

The Universe of Things collects fifteen short stories published between 1985 and 2009, and one of the most remarkable qualities of the collection is the consistency of Gwyneth Jones's style over that time. With only a few exceptions, the stories, regardless of their point of view, are narrated in an objective, almost affectless tone, the sort of tone that attracts such adjectives as cold, hard, clear, emotionless.

The stories are not emotionless, though; readers' connections to them will depend very much on how well they respond to Jones's style, but the characters often face emotionally wrought situations. In "Grandmother's Footsteps", a woman perceives the house she is renovating to be haunted and a threat to herself and her family. It is a tale of ghosts and madness and maybe something in between, a cousin to Charlotte Perkins Gilman's "The Yellow Wallpaper" and James Tiptree, Jr.'s "Your Faces O My Sisters! Your Faces Filled of Light" -- but different from those masterpieces because the narrator's perception of the madness-haunting is restrained, almost reasonable, more like a scientist weighing observations than a person in the midst of deeply disturbing phenomena.

Which may, of course, be part of the point: Life is shell shocking. One of the stories that is most stylistically different from the others in the book, "The Thief, the Princess, and the Cartesian Circle," presents a woman who is a bit more thoroughly mad than the narrator of "Grandmother's Footsteps," and who escapes (or does she?) the realities of her life by imagining herself to be a princess. Jones deftly shifts between the diction of a fairy tale and a tale of contemporary realism, and when the tones shadow each other, what had previously been amusing in the story becomes unsettling:

Jennifer would walk away from this meeting alone and Ralph suspected what his life would be like, after today. He couldn't think of it. He wasn't brave enough. He wanted to stay forever in this steamy café, with this crazy woman; neither of them anywhere else to go.

The magician's staff described a circle in the air. Where it had passed, a white line stayed. The circle enclosed nothing.

Many of the tales in The Universe of Things depict family relationships, the sometimes-fraught power negotiations of husbands and wives, or the complexities of parenthood. "La Cenerentola" explores the landscape of motherhood and desire, hopes and dreams, in a near-future world of cloning and gene therapy where two women and their daughter encounter a widow with perfect twins and one other, less perfect, daughter (La Cenerentola is an opera by Rossini; the title translates as Cinderella). The story is nearly ruined by an over-explicit final paragraph, but until that point it is a model of how evocative Jones's restrained style can be.

"Blue Clay Blues" is among the most vivid and complete stories in the collection, and it, too, fuses the commonalities of parenthood to more extraordinary experiences. The setting is a future world ravaged by plague, where rich elites have holed up in self-contained environments and left the less fortunate masses to suffer. A reporter has gone out to investigate a source of almost magic energy known as "blue clay," and he's had to bring his young daughter with him, because it's his day to look after her. "Blue Clay Blues" is admirable for the fullness of its vision; Jones is aware of the ways technological change overlaps with social change, and even in a story under thirty pages long, she is able to suggest particularities of place and trends of race, class, and gender, giving the tale a stronger sense of verisimilitude than is available in many much longer works.

Quite a few of the stories in The Universe of Things are set in the worlds of some of Jones's novels, and readers' pleasure with most of these tales will likely be determined by their knowledge of the novels, mainly the Aleutian Trilogy (White Queen, North Wind, Phoenix Cafe), as some of the stories' depths are inaccessible without knowing how they fit into the larger context. The title story, though an Aleutian story, is one that stands well on its own, because at heart it is about a simple encounter between a mechanic and an alien's automobile. The implications are anything but simple, though, for Jones offers readers much to think about craft and value and self-respect, about alienness and empathy.

The narrator of The Universe of Things tells us that the mechanic "had been touched by the world of the other, and he simply had to bring away something: some kind of proof." Jones's best stories are that kind of proof for readers -- we glimpse a world of otherness, and when our eyes turn back to look at the ordinary, the invisibly everyday, it no longer looks the same. Click here to subscribe

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