Roald Dahl

As I kid, I liked books that were a) scary, b) funny, or, best of all, c) a combination of the two. No wonder, then, that Roald Dahl was my favourite writer for years and years. I loved the two books about Charlie (and the Chocolate Factory, and The Great Glass Elevator) and James (and the Giant Peach), but I was obsessive about The Twits. It was short enough to read several times every time I withdrew it from the library, and I withdrew it from the library enough times that I distinctly remember my mom asking what was wrong with me, that I had to keep reading that same book. I probably couldn’t explain it to her. Even now, I’m not sure what I found so compelling about a story that had not a single human character to root for.

One thing I know I liked about the Roald Dahl books was the choice of illustrations. I’ve become fussy about the illustrations included in books, and usually can only like the versions I was first exposed to. So, when it comes to Alice in Wonderland, I only like the Tenniel woodcuts, and when it comes to Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, I’ve only ever liked the Joseph Schindelman drawings. I’m not sure if the Schindelmans are the originals—several websites (and several booksellers on ABE books) indicate that he illustrated the 1964 edition, so it seems likely. I also know, however, that the imperialist / racist overtones of the Oompa-Loompas were revised at one point—the “pygmies” were turned into tiny hippies—and Schindelman was definitely drawing cheerful little hippies in the books I read. My research skills regarding the details (rather than existence) of first editions is pretty bad, so I haven’t a clue how to confirm whether Schindelman revised his illustrations at a later date, or if the American edition took a different approach from the beginning, and only the British editions needed to be revised, etc. At any rate, I can only accept the bearded, long-haired Oompa-Loompas as the real deal, and that attitude is one reason why I never much liked the seventies movie version of the book. Everyone agrees that those Oompa-Loompas were freaky, but they repulsed me on multiple levels. Plus, I’ve never been a fan of musicals. Mom once asked me whether I liked the movie version of Annie after they showed it to us in the first grade (our school was putting on the musical that year) and I remember telling her that I thought it was okay, except for the singing. She pointed out that the singing was kind of the point of the movie, and I found that hard to believe. That Broadway-style belting made me feel embarrassed on behalf of the singers.

So, only Schindelman will do. Not even Quentin Blake’s drawings are good enough, and I loved his work in The Twits and The Witches. No one knows how to draw a filthy beard like Quentin Blake. My current copy of The Great Glass Elevator kind of sucks because of its dated illustrations—pure seventies stuff, with Grandpa Joe sporting a lame neckerchief, and Charlie as an apple-checked, well-fed young lad, despite the fact that he was nearly starving up until the morning he entered the factory.

In addition to illustrations, Dahl always incorporated a lot of descriptions of food and of bizarre places. One of my favourite parts of the first Charlie involved the brief descriptions of passing scenes as they were shooting around the factory in the elevator. I felt a little disappointed that the characters never got to actually visit some of those scenes, but if the book has fully met my expectations in that regard, it would have been about 500 pages longer. Leaving the reader wanting more was probably a better strategy.