The Roald Ahead
Comics were my thing. Like most children, injustice drove me up the
wall, and superhero comics, despite their shades of grey, were generally about good
vs. evil … the fight against injustice. 8-year old me consumed comics by the lorry-load,
but there was something about books that bothered me. Maybe it was because I
had to read them at school – I tended (very quietly) to resent being told what
to do. But honestly, I still don’t know what it was about books – they just
overawed me.
Then I found Roald Dahl, or specifically, George’s Marvellous Medicine. I read it again and again, relishing
each magical moment and insane ingredient. Books were demystified and defogged
before my eyes. Suddenly, I could see the road ahead. Like the story’s hero, George
Kranky, I could touch “the edge of a magic world”. Without George’s Marvellous
Medicine, I don’t think I’d writing about dinosaur spies (or anything else)
today.
To stay with 8-year-old me a bit longer; I was far too studious to be
called a dreamer (curse my biddable bones) but every assembly – I mean, every
assembly – I would fantasise about floating up from the floor and flying around
the hall before zooming out of one of the windows. I’d will it, hold my breath
and wish so hard to fly that the rest of the world disappeared. Sometimes I’d
even manage to imagine myself soaring over the school before we’d have to stand
for a hymn and my flight of fancy was brought crashing back to reality. Part of
it was wanting to be noticed, since I was quiet and generally felt quite
invisible. Don’t play the harps yet – I expect half the kids in that assembly
were also feeling invisible and having daydreams of their own. That’s something
Roald Dahl tapped into brilliantly. Charlie from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is probably the most obvious “everychild”
(especially juxtaposed with the dreadful Veruca Salt, Augustus Gloop and co.) but
many of Dahl’s heroes and heroines are seemingly unremarkable, and rewarded for
being good, selfless and just. I was grateful for that. The idea that doing the
right thing is reward enough was immensely satisfying (it’s a major theme running
most of my books, especially Stitch Head)
… even though it was probably more
satisfying that the villains got their comeuppance.
Which brings me back to George Kranky. While Charlie is the boy I wanted
to want to be, George is the boy I really
wanted to be. He takes as much as he can from his mean, sinister, spiteful
granny, and decides enough is enough. There are no half measures – it’s not
called George’s Reasonably Impressive Medicine, which gives his granny a
belly-ache – this potion is off-the-scale. Revenge is a dish best serve
marvellously. I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to confront the needless
injustices of childhood with a medicine of my own. Well, I could but it’d take ages.
When I write, I try to remember 8-year old me and the satisfaction I got
from George’s Marvellous Medicine. I try to make sure justice is done – I like to
the see the evil (or at least spectacularly misguided) criminal mastermind Ergo
Ego vanquished by Spynosaur, a hero who dedicate his every waking moment to
battling tyranny (and making bad puns.) And I don’t want my hero to be
reasonably impressive – I want him to have secret skis and jump in and out of
helicopters and battle ninja snowmen and blow everything to smithereens. And I
want him be a dinosaur. Marvellous!
For more from Guy, check out his Twitter account and website and this BBC video, in which he reviews George's Marvellous Medicine!
And of course, don't miss the rest of the stops on this brilliant blog tour!
For more from Guy, check out his Twitter account and website and this BBC video, in which he reviews George's Marvellous Medicine!
And of course, don't miss the rest of the stops on this brilliant blog tour!
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