Childrens lit burnout
Okay, Maurice Sendak is a classic and I love his books, in a general sense. Unfortunately my nephew loves Sendak with the kind of intensity, focus and immediacy that comes naturally to a child of sixteen months. I must've read Where the Wild Things Are five or six times to him while his parents were moving into their new apartment (and Dear Nephew helped enthusiastically between bouts of reading and playing with trains and Duplo bricks, by dragging brushes across the floor, riding the vacuum cleaner, and trying to plug all electrical household appliances he found into free sockets). I know the damn story by heart now, and so does he, without letting it spoil his enjoyment. If you ask him, "What did Max say?" he responds with a happy shout of "STILL!" and laughs and laughs.