Books from the Pantry: Boy by Roald Dahl: reviewed by Kev Milsom

Boy

‘This is not an autobiography. I would never write a history of myself. On the other hand, throughout my young days at school and just afterwards, a number of things happened to me that I have never forgotten…I didn’t have to search for any of them. All I had to do was skim them off the top of my consciousness and write them down. Some are funny. Some are painful. Some are unpleasant. I suppose that is why I remembered them so vividly. All are true.’

At some point, probably within our earlier years of life, countless of us will have been captivated and enthralled by the words of Roald Dahl – a gifted writer who brought his imaginative stories to life with a succession of memorable fictional characters in books such as: ‘Charlie and the Chocolate Factory’, ‘The BFG’ & ‘James and the Giant Peach’.

A lesser-known book of the author – who would have celebrated his 100th birthday in 2016 – is a 1984 autobiography, simply entitled ‘Boy’. Within these pages lie a multitude of adventures and tales from the author’s childhood during the 1920’s and 30’s. It is also the first half of Roald’s autobiographical accounts, being followed by his amazing story during World War II in a book entitled ‘Solo’ – a thoroughly recommended read.

Boy’ begins in his father’s native Norway and gives a fascinating account of the Dahl family.  At times, even though the accounts are true, it’s difficult not to get caught up in Roald’s writing style and wonder if he is building up more fascinating characters for a new novel. Tales abound, such as how his father lost an arm aged 14, yet successfully managed to adapt without it and never saw it as a problem in life…the only mild inconvenience ever aired being the fact that he could never manage to remove the top from a boiled egg.

Clearly, school years play a pivotal role in Roald’s childhood and it is here that we gleam fascinating insights into life during the 1920’s. In particular the reader is witness to the cruel barbarity of life within the interior of educational facilities; mostly undiscovered by the parents of the poor children enduring often-terrible treatment by vicious teachers.

Not that Roald was an angel. Carried along by his words, the reader is exposed to the planning and operation of ‘The Great Mouse Plot of 1924’ – a true escapade of naughty boys doing naughty things.  With a suitably wincing expression we can also discover how adenoids were removed in the 1920’s and also how Roald nearly lost his nose when the entire Dahl family decided to drive an early, massive car along tiny country lanes, complete with just an hour’s driving lesson. (No tests required back then).

The writing style of the book is magnetic, but then it’s Roald Dahl and perhaps we might expect nothing less from a writing master. However, there is something magical occurring between the pages of ‘Boy’. Writing this in 1984, Roald was already 68 years of age and yet the writing appears fresh; spoken like a child in a child’s wondrous, enquiring voice.

Through his words we witness the horror of public schools, with often-vile headmasters and the rigmarole of ‘fagging’. Yet we also hear of pleasant, inspiring teachers. We also visit the Norwegian fjords and delight in Roald’s innocence at encountering such natural beauty, alongside his loving, caring family.

By the time we reach the final pages of the book we have walked alongside Roald through his entire childhood and watched him arrive at a responsible adulthood, just prior to the outbreak of war in 1939. The fact that this is the easiest of processes is due to the beautiful writing structure of Roald Dahl.

Always the story-teller.

 ‘The writer walks out of his workroom in a daze. He wants a drink. He needs it. It happens to be a fact that nearly every writer of fiction in the world drinks more whisky than is good for him. He does it to give himself faith hope and courage. A person is a fool to become a writer. His only compensation is absolute freedom. He has no master except his own soul and that I am sure is why he does it.’ 

 

 

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