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Many of these stores are now so famous from film and television adaptations that they need no introduction. Roald Dahl is well known as a master of the macabre and the unexpected in the tradition of Saki, and this volume does not disappoint. He began his literary career by writing about his own experiences in the RAF during World War II but soon developed this talent in a series of short-story collections. He is perhaps even more celebrated as an author of children's books, but the best of his short stories represent a claim for him to be numbered among the most remarkable story writers of the 20th century. The present volume includes for the first time all the stories in chronological order as established by Dahl's biographer, Jeremy Treglown, in consultation with the Dahl estate.… (more)
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I was disappointed for the first 150 pages or so. The early stories were a disappointing chain of World War II fighter pilot stories that read
Dahl is mostly famous for his children's books and many people don't realize he was a superb and prolific short story writer as well. There are a few simply stunning pieces in here, and a few mediocre ones. A must-read for any Dahl fan.
People often become a tad unsettled when they find themselves in the presence of a psychiatrist or psychologist at a dinner or cocktail party. This, because they fear what they say – but more particularly, what they don’t say (i.e., their non-verbal communication) – may be under scrutiny and on-the-spot analysis. I would suggest, however, that those same people should be absolutely terrified to find themselves in the presence of Roald Dahl. The man simply had an unerring sense (not to mention powers of description) of his species – which made him (if we may assume that what many of his characters thought, said or did was not mere observation, but also personal conviction) an authentic misanthrope.
In the story “William and Mary,” a neurosurgeon by the name of ‘Landy’ says to William (whose brain Dr. Landy proposes to scoop out of William’s skull immediately upon his death, then re-connect to the equivalent of a mechanical heart in order to keep it alive – possibly also conscious – for an ill-defined period of posterity) when William suggests that his reconstituted memory might find him desirous of a return to his former life: “What, to this mess! Out of your comfortable basin and back into this madhouse!” Is it too much to assume that this was in fact Roald Dahl thinking out loud?
In “Parson’s Pleasure,” Dahl shows us just how manipulative the species (or at least his characters) can be: “He could become grave and charming for the aged, obsequious for the rich, sober for the godly, masterful for the weak, mischievous for the widow, arch and saucy for the spinster” (p. 489). In point of fact, Dahl’s characters become each of these things in the course of this collection of stories.
While “Georgie Porgie” and “Bitch” both demonstrate Dahl’s talent as a writer of surrealistic plot-lines, I don’t know that they one-up T. C. Boyle’s “Modern Love.” At the same time, I have to admit that both “Mrs. Bixby and the Colonel’s Coat” and “The Bookseller” rival some of the best of O. Henry’s short stories – and O. Henry, at least in my book, remains the consummate writer of short stories.
Joyce Carol Oates suggests on a couple or three occasions in her review that Roald Dahl is a bit of a misogynist. If we look at this quote from Gordon (one of the characters in his story “The Champion of the World”), I’d be tempted to concede the point: “I believe that all poachers react in roughly the same way as this on sighting game. They are like women who sight large emeralds in a jeweller’s window, the only difference being that the women are less dignified in the methods they employ later on to acquire the loot. Poacher’s arse is nothing to the punishment that a female is willing to endure” (p. 592). That point conceded, I’d suggest that Dahl writes more in the vein of a general misanthrope and cynic than in that of a misogynist.
It’s always risky to suggest that one particular story in an entire collection is indicative of a given writer’s best efforts; the odds are simply too great against there being “the greatest story ever told” by a given author (“The Gift of the Magi” by O. Henry being the only exception I can think of). That said, I’ll suggest two of Dahl’s that I think are most illustrative of his peculiar gift as a raconteur and cynic: “Pig” (pp. 614 – 634) and “The Last Act” (pp. 691 – 720). If you read no others, try these – which are, I believe, the ‘best of the best.’
RRB
06/17/14
Brooklyn, NY