“The night Max wore his Wolf suit…” And so begins the epic story of a boy who defies his mother and uses his imagination to deal with his rage and anxiety, ultimately becoming King of the Wild Things–a miscreant band of giant monsters.
Max, the protagonist of “Where the Wild Things Are” appeals to us in the same way rebelious figures like Huckleberry Finn and Holden Caulfield do. He is young boy who acts naughty, as young boys are sometimes apt to do. Granted, like any naughty child, he is given consequences, but Max embraces his time out as a chance to deal with his anger and fears. He uses his fanciful imagination to travel to the land of Wild Things. He shows no fear to these hideous beasts, and “tames them with the magic trick of staring into all their yellow eyes without blinking once”. One can hardly imagine a more empowering image for a child who is afraid of nightmares than to see another child boldly standing before a group of dumbfounded monsters, his hands held high and his face straight with courage. My childhood was riddled with terrifying nightmares. Max’s adventure made me feel like I could eventually conquer my own fears.
In “Wild Things”, Max gets to party with the monsters for his unflaggable bravery as they christen him King of All Things. He is author of their fun and games, as he leads them in dancing under the moon, swinging from trees, and celebrating him in a parade–what an imagination! But as wonderful as his imaginings are, Max soon feels lonely and wants “to be where someone love(s) him best of all.” So he gives up his new life as King, and returns home. And what does he find?
Forgiveness. Despite his naughty (hammering nails in the wall, chasing the dog with a fork), his mother has lovingly given him his supper.
Few children’s stories are as dense with meaning, addressing multiple childhood concerns with viable solutions understandable to even their target audience: naughtiness, temper tantrums, nightmares, anger, fear, imagination, forgiveness and love.
A book like “Where the Wild Things Are” taught me as a child that books are complex and incredible things worthy of more than a passing glance. There is much to be discovered in the pages of any book, even a short children’s story with very few words.
—David F.
The Art Brothers 
What sort of terrifying nightmares did you have as a kid? I guess I never knew this. I had one or two nightmares that I remember recurring a handful of times, but I don’t think they were anything out of the ordinary. Just the random kid nightmare.
One thing I do often recall, however, is the chaos and semi-instability of my earlier years, particularly in Pasadena where we were rather poor. The house was always a wreck; we were watched by a series of bad babysitters (who, in retrospect, probably shouldn’t have been watching us); I would occasionally get beat up by kids from the “bad” streets a few blocks over; I was always having my stuff, scant as it was, stolen right from out of our yard or from under my nose (like one of my proudest childhood belongings–a brand new fitted L.A. Dodgers cap–stolen at the local boys club while I was in the swimming pool), etc etc.
I have a theory that my slight adult tendency toward super-neatness and control-freakiness–particularly when it comes to my personal space–resulted from a reaction to the chaos of my childhood. I get really agitated–in an irrational way–whenever the house gets in any kind of mess. I also get really upset whenever I lose something. The only hitch in my theory is that, even though we grew up in the same household, I think you have a different sort of tolerance to such chaos…