Last night I saw "Where The Wild Things Are." I've been wanting to see it for months, mostly because of the soundtrack (which reminds me so very much of Sigur Ros!). I'll admit I was hesitant, slightly afraid that the silver screen could not do this book justice. But it was absolutely beautiful, because for me it was like a family portrait. Life in my house is turbulent, moreso than the average family. Carol reminded me of my younger sister, with frequent mood swings and random burstings into fits. At one point, K.W. says of Carol, "He doesn't mean to do it. He just loves everyone so much." It could have been my mum speaking about my sister. I burst into tears.
A ten-sentence children's book has morphed into a sincerely profound metaphor for the one thing we all have in common: love, and its ability to at once hurt and inspire.