Roald Dahl: Conservative or Progressive?

This December, the West Yorkshire Playhouse stages an adaptation of Roald Dahl’s beloved novel about witchcraft and the awkward journey to adulthood, The Witches. At the risk of ruining your childhood, we look at the responses to Dahl’s canon 

Roald Dahl’s posthumous reputation as a writer is entirely different depending on who you ask.

For some, he’s the celebrated writer of their childhood, a storyteller with a gift for characterisation who transported them to new worlds and sparked their developing imagination. For others, his work is riddled with gender stereotypes and a romanticised idea of the military, as well as stories where child neglect becomes a mere plot device on the path to an artificial happy ending. 

Is Matilda really a feminist story? Why are bossy girls like Violet Beauregarde immediately cast as the villains of the piece?

We take a look at some of Dahl’s famous creations and the reader responses they’ve provoked.

Charlie from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

Some readers see Charlie as pretty much a complete incarnation of the Tory idea of a poor person. He is the embodiment of ‘noble poverty’ – unassuming, unquestioning and awe-struck by the wealth of others. He diligently lives in a cramped house and is eventually fortunate enough to benefit from the benevolence of factory owner and creative genius Willy Wonka. With the heady mix of trickle-down economics, unsafe factories and dodgy food manufacturing, it’s easy to see why some give Charlie and the Chocolate Factory a +10 mark for Toryness.

Alternatively, Charlie’s tale can be read as a satire on the very idea of a few lucky winners getting a golden ticket out of poverty. Dahl purposefully gives the story a surreal edge with edible pavements and mechanical clouds, making it unreal and exaggerated. The factory becomes a hyperreal fantasy that is separate from the lived experience of poor children of the 1960s. Charlie’s character is a form of wish-fulfilment; he tracks a path from poverty to tremendous wealth that is all too impossible outside of the world of the novel.

Miss Honey in Matilda

Critics are divided as to whether Miss Honey is a prototype for a bland ideal of wholesome femininity or a beacon of sisterly encouragement for Matilda. Miss Honey’s name can be seen as a signifier for her particular brand of sickly kindness. She appears to be incapable of any action outside the realms of acceptability, and has no qualms at the end of the novel when she rapidly moves from being a professional woman to a full-time adoptive parent to Matilda. In many ways, she fulfils the role of an angel-like figure of virtuousness to contrast with the barbarous, authoritarian character of Miss Trunchbull.

On the other hand, Miss Honey can also be viewed as an emblem of female solidarity, uplifting the deserted female protagonist and acting as a mentor for Matilda’s sharp intellect and psychokinesis. In vast swathes of children’s literature, plucky, adventurous masculinity – of the kind shown by Alex in the Alex Rider novels – is often called upon to save the day; so by placing Miss Honey’s example of female solidarity as the moral backbone of the book, Matilda can alternatively be viewed as an illustration of the power of women supporting each other against the odds. Either way, now is as good a time as ever to revisit Tim Minchin's musical version of the book.

The BFG in The BFG

The BFG has found new currency given the recent release of Steven Spielberg’s film adaptation, but it has also been read anew by those interested in eco themes in literature. The BFG is the only giant not to eat humans; instead, he snacks on snozzcumbers and drinks frobscottle. The BFG’s ‘giant vegetarianism’ becomes synonymous with his compassion. It’s only because he abstains from human munching that he becomes the anti-hero of the book, saving Sophie from the other pesky giants.

The BFG’s character has also been read as a narrative about disloyalty and betrayal. For some readers, the BFG isn’t a hero in disguise. He seems to isolate himself from the wider giant community. The BFG also dedicates his life to making human children happy and is unable to act as a unifying figure between the giants and humans, eventually calling in the arms of the state – the Queen and the Air Force – to take retribution on his own kind.

Any writer worth their salt is bound to invite a vast array of views on their work – it’s usually a good indicator that their work is multifaceted and rich in meaning. Dahl himself once wrote: ‘So please, oh please, we beg, we pray, go throw your TV set away, and in its place you can install, a lovely bookcase on the wall.’ As the literary world celebrates the centenary of his birth this year, he’d likely take comfort in the idea that his books are still voraciously read and dissected in myriad different ways.