The Wild Things

This book was interesting; I can't really say that I loved it or would even recommend it, but it was interesting. I picked it up because I enjoyed the only other book of Dave Eggers' that I have read, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius. I admit to having never read Maurice Sendak, and to not having seen the movie version of Where the Wild Things Are.

I didn't really like the main character, Max, who has a very vivid imagination and who doesn't seem capable of thinking before he acts (granted, he is about 8 years old, but would an 8-year-old REALLY dump 7 buckets of water all over his sister's room without even thinking about it before - or during?). When he winds up on the island of the wild things he finds a bunch of big hairy animals who have a similar problem of acting before thinking, along with other problems like fear of "the void." And none of the animals were that likeable either - they all seemed to be one-note adult problems.

I understand that the story is about Max dealing with his parents' divorce and his sister's entry into adolescence; I would have to be an idiot NOT to. There is nothing subtle about Eggers' writing, and that's what kept me from liking this book. If he had not bopped me over the head with who/what everything represented, I would have enjoyed the book a lot more.