This book starts out with an apology from the author for subbing a playwrite for a proper academic author, but I didn’t take them too seriously since I figured that anyone with a passion for Maurice Sendak’s work would write a decent book. Unfortunately, that was not the case at all, and I found myself so frustrated with the random tangents that the author went off on that I stopped reading entirely and just focused on the artwork. Even more unfortunate is that the artwork portrayed in this book doesn’t really do Sendak justice, or even present much of a range… It’s really too bad, since this book was supposed to act as a companion volume for Selma Lanes’ book (which chronicles Sendak’s early career), but falls far short of her concise and informative prose and the well-presented page design.