Dahl, Roald 1916–
Dahl, an Englishman born in Wales, is a short story writer, novelist, playwright, screenwriter, and the author of several controversial and widely-read children's books, "cautionary tales for bad children" (of which Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is the best known). Dahl's special talent as a short story writer is the integration of the pedestrian and the grotesque in tales that have been likened to Charles Addams's cartoons. (See also CLC, Vols. 1, 6, and Contemporary Authors, Vols. 1-4, rev. ed.)
Dahl writes in the tradition of the light fantastic—its other masters include Saki, Lord Dunsany, John Collier, Robert M. Coates—and these stories [in Tales of the Unexpected], selected from previous collections, are all marked by a kind of dark humor, sometimes merely wry, other times macabre, occasionally grisly.
"New in Paperback: 'Tales of the Unexpected'," in Book World—The Washington Post (© 1979, The Washington Post), September 23, 1979, p. 13.
Hardly straining itself in the originality line, [My Uncle Oswald] shows Oswald involved with the discovery of a pill so potent that any man who takes it is unable to prevent himself from ravishing a woman on the spot. The one new idea is to incorporate the aphrodisiac into a scheme to steal the sperm of the famous, this celebrity-seed then being sold, at a high price, to women keen to bear the child of an outstanding man….
As may be imagined, this is not a situation that allows for much variety. Even the narrator fears it may be 'pretty boring for the reader'—as the novel's sex-receptacle trips her giggling way from Freud's 'doodly' to Shaw's 'snozzberry'. Leaden jokes about writers with thin pencils further weigh things down. And the twist at the end, routine in Dahl's writings, manages to be both unsurprising and unbelievable.
Peter Kemp, "'My Uncle Oswald'" (© British Broadcasting Corp. 1979; reprinted by permission of Peter Kemp), in The Listener, Vol. 102, No. 2636, November 8, 1979, p. 642.
If only Uncle Oswald had had a twist—or, better still, a knot—in his member, we might have been spared many of Roald Dahl's descriptions of its size, colour, pulse and agility. As matters are, it is for ever standing up to be counted. It is brave of Mr Dahl to have written a novel with a totally dislikeable hero, but I suspect that this was not his intention; Uncle Oswald's only admirer may be his creator, as if God had started off with Father Rolfe. I don't believe that many women will read far into the novel, since Mr Dahl divides all their sex into four kinds—elderly sex-starved battle axes, athletic nymphomaniacs, dumb beauties, or janes who are so plain as to be physically repulsive. 'Thicknecked', 'long-snouted', 'seldom washed', 'crocodiles'—that's just the girls of Girton in 1919.
So OK—Swift. It's not OK. It's not Swift.
David Cook, "Spirit of Wimbledon: 'My Uncle Oswald'," in New Statesman (© 1979 The Statesman & Nation Publishing Co. Ltd.), Vol. 98, No. 2540, November 23, 1979,...
(The entire section is 1,000 words.)