The thing about Roald Dahl is that he wrote about a million books, most of which you haven’t read. And that’s OK. I mean, there are the classics, James and the Giant Peach, of course, and Charlie, and The BFG and maybe Danny. And just taking those four, this is a Hall of Fame guy, and when you add The Witches and Matilda, both quite good, and then the crime stories and other grown-up stuff, well, clearly he deserves his reputation and my admiration and all.
But that doesn’t mean that everything he wrote is wonderful. Take, for instance, The Fantastic Mr. Fox. It’s a fine book, but not a particularly good book. There are some nice things, and some clunky things, and all in all, not a book you think of associating with a Great Writer. Nothing to be ashamed of, I mean, but — not the sort of thing you read and fall in love with.
I’m still hoping to see the movie. But that’s different.
Tolerabimus quod tolerare debemus,
-Vardibidian.