Excerpt from ‘Where the Wild Things Are’

wherethewildthingsare

In the upcoming issue of The New Yorker, there will be featured an 8-page excerpt from Dave Eggers’ novelization of the movie Where the Wild Things Are. This is gradually turning into one of my most anticipated movies of the rest of the year. It easily has one of the best trailers of 2009 and with the combination of Spike Jonze, Dave Eggers, and the books author Maurice Sendak, it’s looking like it could be fantastic.

Eggers is the writer of two fantastic books (among many other works), You Shall Know Our Velocity and A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius. His quirky stories and excellent youthful characters will fit brilliantly in with Spike Jonze directing style. He has a great sense of humor, which shows up in his novelization of the script for the movie. It gives you a great sense of the movie that is upcoming.

The excerpt is titled “Max at Sea” and can be previewed after the jump:

Max entered the kitchen with hisarms crossed, marching purposefully, like a general inspecting his troops. He sniffed loudly, assessing the kitchen’s smells and waiting to be noticed.

His mother said nothing, so he brought a chair near the stove and stood on it. Now they were eye to eye.

“What is that? Is that food?” he asked, pointing down to something beige sitting numbly on a plate.

He got no answer.

“Mom, what is that?” he asked, now grabbing her arm.

“Pâté,” she said.

Max snickered and moved on. Pâté was a regrettable name for an unfortunate food. It seemed to Max a good idea to get up from the chair and to leap onto the counter. Which he presently did.

Standing on the counter, he towered over everything and everyone. He was eleven feet tall.

“Oh, God,” Max’s mom said.

Max squatted down to inspect a package of frozen corn. “Frozen corn? What’s wrong with real corn?” he demanded. He dropped the package loudly on the counter, where it made a wonderful clatter.

“Frozen corn is real,” Max’s mom said, barely taking notice. “Now get off the counter. And go tell your sister to get her stuff off the table.”

Max didn’t move. “CLAIRE GET YOUR STUFF OFF THE TABLE!” he yelled, more or less into his mom’s face.

“Don’t yell in my face!” she hissed. “And get off the counter.”

Instead of getting off the counter, Max howled. The acoustics where he was, so close to the ceiling, were not great.

His mom stared at him like he was crazy. Which he was, because wolves are part crazy. “You know what?” she said. “You’re too old to be on the counter, and you’re too old to be wearing that costume.”

Max crossed his arms and glared at her. “You’re too old to be so short! And your makeup’s smeared!”

View more at the New Yorker’s website.

Where the Wild Things Are will be in theatres on October 16, 2009.

[Source: JoBlo]

Max entered the kitchen with hisarms crossed, marching purposefully, like a general inspecting his troops. He sniffed loudly, assessing the kitchen’s smells and waiting to be noticed.

His mother said nothing, so he brought a chair near the stove and stood on it. Now they were eye to eye.

“What is that? Is that food?” he asked, pointing down to something beige sitting numbly on a plate.

He got no answer.

“Mom, what is that?” he asked, now grabbing her arm.

“Pâté,” she said.

Max snickered and moved on. Pâté was a regrettable name for an unfortunate food. It seemed to Max a good idea to get up from the chair and to leap onto the counter. Which he presently did.

Standing on the counter, he towered over everything and everyone. He was eleven feet tall.

“Oh, God,” Max’s mom said.

Max squatted down to inspect a package of frozen corn. “Frozen corn? What’s wrong with real corn?” he demanded. He dropped the package loudly on the counter, where it made a wonderful clatter.

“Frozen corn is real,” Max’s mom said, barely taking notice. “Now get off the counter. And go tell your sister to get her stuff off the table.”

Max didn’t move. “CLAIRE GET YOUR STUFF OFF THE TABLE!” he yelled, more or less into his mom’s face.

“Don’t yell in my face!” she hissed. “And get off the counter.”

Instead of getting off the counter, Max howled. The acoustics where he was, so close to the ceiling, were not great.

His mom stared at him like he was crazy. Which he was, because wolves are part crazy. “You know what?” she said. “You’re too old to be on the counter, and you’re too old to be wearing that costume.”

Max crossed his arms and glared at her. “You’re too old to be so short! And your makeup’s smeared!”

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