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I have always loved the book Where The Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak. I consider it to be his finest work. The story is short, but it holds the reader’s attention to the end. Who doesn’t want to find out what happens to Max, The King of The Wild Things?

I was surprised that such a short picture book has been turned into a movie. However based on the previews, the character creations look delightful. I can’t wait to see the movie.

Yesterday, I was at our local bookstore and saw the parody, Where The Mild Things Are by fictitious author Maurice Send-Up. What a great idea. I quickly made my way to the end display to purchase what I thought must be a funny book. When it comes to buying books, I have to read the first chapter at least. If a book holds my attention through the first chapter, there will be a place for it in my home library.

Since this was a picture book, I finished it before I knew what happened. I couldn’t put it down, but not because it was that good. Rather, I couldn’t put it down because it was that bad. I couldn’t believe how horrible it was. How do books like these get published is beyond comprehension?

It was boring and bland. It didn’t even get a smile out of me. I get the joke, but must it be so lackluster. Humor can be found even in the most of mundane things, just ask Erma Bombeck. Grant it, you do have to dig deeper as a humorist.

Within the geek queen, there is a jaded bibliophile. Maybe Where The Mild Things Are isn’t about quality, but about making a quick seventeen dollars per book. You know riding the coat-tail of the resurged popularity of the original book and upcoming movie for fifteen minutes, while the riding is good.

After I shook off my literary disgust, I gave Maurice Send-Up the send off. I put the book back and walked away leaving my seventeen dollars safely in my bank account. I just wish I could get back the two minutes I spent reading Where The Mild Things Are by Maurice Send-Up.