Reflections 22nd March

Where The Wild Things Are......

I think the real genius of children’s authors is their ability to take the complex and reduce it to its essence, not because children need simplicity - they can work it out for themselves - but because we do.

And given where we find ourselves this morning, anybody who can provide clarity is worth their weight in gold, and it took me to Maurice Sendak and his famous “Where the Wild Things Are”.

If you have children or grandchildren, or even if you were once a child yourself, you will probably be familiar with it:

The night Max wore his wolf suit, he made mischief of one kind and another and was sent to bed without his supper. Lying in the dark, his room began to change. A forest grew. A boat appeared, and he sailed away, in and out of weeks and almost over a year, to the place where the Wild Things are. They roared and gnashed and rolled their terrible eyes. Max stared them down without blinking, and they made him their king. He led the wild rumpus: howling, dancing, a moonlit riot that…