I spent spring break visiting the world of Roald Dahl. Over the course of the week, I read 12 of his novels and both of his autobiographies. I count these 14 books as part of my 100 because I never read them before this year, and I consider Dahl’s writings to be real literature that is valuable reading no matter one’s age.
I started with “James and the Giant Peach” and continued with “George’s Marvelous Medicine,” “The Giraffe and the Pelly and Me,” “The Twits,” “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,” “Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator,” “Esio Trot,” “The Magic Finger,” “Fantastic Mr. Fox,” “Danny, the Champion of the World,” “ The BFG,” and ended the week with “Matilda.” I also read “Boy: Tales of Childhood,” about Dahl’s childhood and “Going Solo” about Dahl’s travels in Africa and service in the Royal Air Force during World War II.
Dahl was quoted as saying, “I am totally convinced that most grown-ups have completely forgotten what it is like to be a child between the ages of five and ten. … I can remember exactly what it was like. I am certain I can.”
Reading through his stories, I felt like I was being reacquainted with my childhood.
Charlie gets a tour of the most amazing chocolate factory in the world. Matilda gets telekinetic powers from a lack of mental stimulation. James lives in a peach with human-sized insects. Every story opens to a fascinating place I could see my younger self imagining.
There is an innocent gruesomeness. James’s parents are killed by a rhinoceros, and his aunts are crushed by the peach. In “The Magic Finger,” ducks hunt people. “Fantastic Mr. Fox” is entirely from the point of view of hunted animals. But to the child’s mind, these are natural. I remember games I’d play with friends where we fought bad guys who largely resembled those from Dahl’s novels. There is no nuance because nuance is not necessary.
Dahl’s desire to excite is incredible. There is a Big Friendly Giant who eats snozzcumbers and drinks frobscottle and farts whizzbangers and blows dreams into peoples’ minds.
Charlie Bucket, his parents and grandparents and Willy Wonka fly through space in a glass elevator to save United States astronauts from Vermicious Knids.
Dahl tried to keep it interesting in his autobiographies by sticking to specific episodes in his life. Despite this I did not enjoy them as much as his fiction. Dahl is a children’s fantasy writer, and reality doesn’t suit him as well. “Boy” was closer in style to his novels because it was about childhood. While I found “Going Solo” to be interesting, it did not feel like a Dahl book at all.
Reading these books reminds me of how important imagination is. College can be a pretty rigid place. There are tests and essays and quizzes.
“Danny, the Champion of the World” ends with the line, “When you grow up and have children of your own do please remember something important. A stodgy parent is no fun at all. What a child wants and deserves is a parent who is Sparky.”
If you need a break from reality and want an easy and exciting read that will open and exercise your own imagination, I highly recommend reading Roald Dahl’s novels.
