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Lenneke Maan

s0954500

Supernatural Fiction – Research Paper

Evert Jan van Leeuwen

30 – 5 – 2014

Crossing Borders and Looking Beyond – Genre and the Supernatural

in Roald Dahl's “The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar”

Roald Dahl has typically been acclaimed as an author who wrote

successfully for an audience of all ages, and as one whose stories

are often fantastic – “fairy tale[s] in disguise” (Petzold 186).

“The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar,” then, is exemplary of Dahl's

oeuvre; it contains a large supernatural element at the centre of

its plot, and seems to be intended neither solely for adults nor

absolutely for children. Problems that arise from attempting to

define the story's genre become obvious in as simple an exercise

as looking Roald Dahl up on Wikipedia; whereas Dahl's English-

language Wikipedia page lists the volume in which it first

appeared, The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Six More, under 'adult

fiction,' its Dutch-language counterpart categorises it under

'children's books.' Yet readers on Goodreads.com appear not to

recognise this problem – they almost unanimously agree that “Henry

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Sugar” is a children's tale. (A user named Michael Fogelman

recalls childhood memories of reading it, baRbRa muses “I wanted

to be Henry Sugar” and many other users mention it as being less

well known but certainly on a par with works like James and the Giant

Peach and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.) In an attempt to account for

this discrepancy, this essay will argue that though “The Wonderful

Story of Henry Sugar” (like Dahls oeuvre) cannot easily be

classified as either intended for children or for adults, it is

the form and function of the supernatural in the story which

ultimately explains why many readers feel it is a children's tale.

In its endeavour to do so, it will follow John Frow's theory

of genre and closely examine “what is it that's going on here […

and] what kind of thing is this?” (Genre, 100); it will look at a

number of characteristics which have been found key in dividing

Dahl's work into the category of either adult's or children's

fiction. Firstly, it will present a brief overview of the history

of Roald Dahl's career, to provide a perspective in which to

consider “Henry Sugar.” Secondly, it will shortly examine the

story's paratext, its protagonist and the story's treatment of

adults, and reflect on the ways in which they add to the story's

defying of classification. Then, following Laura Viñas Valle, it

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will look closely at the narrative voice in “The Wonderful Story

of Henry Sugar,” and again highlight how that fails to

satisfyingly categorise the tale. Finally, it will highlight the

role the supernatural plays in the narrative, and employ Tzvetan

Todorov's concepts of the uncanny and the marvellous to argue how

the story's supernatural element does provide an explanation for

why readers would consider it a work for children. It will not

investigate the use of humour in the text, for two important

reasons; the first, being that humour in Dahl has already been

widely examined (see for example West 1990, Galef 1995, and Cross

2012); the second, being that nothing in “Henry Sugar” is really

funny.

Roald Dahl started his career as a writer of adult fiction,

mainly in the form of the short story. These would be published

first in magazines, and later in collected works such as Over to You

(1946) and Switch Bitch (1974). A volume like The Best of Roald Dahl (1990),

which (despite its title) collects nearly all short stories he has

ever written, underlines the success of these tales – apparently,

almost every short story he has ever penned down is worthy of

being added to a 'best of'-volume. Full-length books such as James

and the Giant Peach (1961) and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (1964)

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established Dahl as an author for children. His children's books,

like his short stories, have been highly successful – so

successful, that many of these books (including but not limited to

the aforementioned two) have been made into feature films. Dahl

wrote adult and children's fiction side by side – his publishing

records do not show a clear date or year which divides his work

between one genre and the other. (Besides writing fiction, Dahl

has written a number of autobiographical stories, film and

television scripts, and one play. These, however, will not be

taken into consideration as they are beyond the scope of this

essay.) Also, a number of Dahl's short stories and just about all

of his children's fictions contain elements of the supernatural.

The protagonist of a short story may find a baby seeming to be

slowly turning into a bee (“Royal Jelly”) or believe himself to

have been eaten by a woman (“Georgy Porgy”), and the protagonist

of a children's book may encounter any number of giants (The BFG),

giant insects (James and the Giant Peach) or find herself possessing the

powers of telekinesis (Matilda).

David Galef notes that “the question “What is a children's

book?” has long been regarded as intriguing if possibly

unanswerable, almost to the point of teleology,” and cites

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Townsend as he continues that maybe “a children's book is “a book

which appears of the children's list of a publisher”” (29). This

teleological approach, however, will come to no avail when applied

to “The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar” – the ambiguous nature of

the genre of “Henry Sugar” is illustrated strikingly even by the

paratext surrounding it. The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Six More has

been published in an edition illustrated by Quintin Blake, who

famously provided illustrations for the majority of Dahl's

children's books, but also (for example) by Peacock Books – the

'young adult' division of Penguin – and again by Penguin's adult

branch. Finally, “ The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar” itself has

been included in the 'best of'-volume mentioned in the

introduction – which, besides this story, contains only short

stories Dahl seems to have written with an overtly adult audience

in mind.

The story's protagonist, likewise, appears to defy

classification. Where the heroes of Dahl's children's books are

children themselves and his adult stories feature convincing

adults, Henry Sugar initially seems stuck somewhere in between.

The very start of the text describes him as follows: “Henry Sugar

was forty-one years old and unmarried. He was also wealthy.” (Dahl

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451) Then, the text notes the excessive amount of time and money

he puts into maintaining his outward lustre, and continues by

stressing that “Henry had never done a day's work in is life.”

(Dahl 451) Moreover, the text states that, like many of Dahl's

child-heroes, Henry Sugar is an orphan. Finally, the text

emphasises that he spends his time playing games with his friends

for money, and is not above cheating them. So though Henry Sugar

is outwardly adult, he is also very child-like in that he does not

work but in stead plays games all day; the phrase “overgrown man-

child” (for which I am indebted to David Duchovny's Californication)

comes to mind. Upon first making his acquaintance with the reader,

Henry Sugar himself seems emblematic of the text; he is an

ambiguous character, neither child nor adult, neither very manly

nor very womanly.

A final 'easy' characteristic by which one might recognise a

Dahl text as intended for children is by looking at the way the

story represents its malign adults; Mark I. West argues that these

are often portrayed as humorously grotesque. Dahl himself has gone

one record stating that

I generally write for children between the ages of seven

and nine. At these ages, children are only

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semicivilized. They are in the process of becoming civilized, and

the people who are doing the civilizing are the adults

around them […] Because of this, children are inclined, at

least subconsciously, to regard grown ups as the enemy. I

see this as natural, and I often work it into my children's books.

That's why the grown-ups in my books are sometimes

silly or grotesque. (Qtd in West 116)

Henry Sugar, however, is privileged in that his wealth has largely

allowed him to remain semi-civilised (recall that he cheats on his

friends so that he may make money from them). So even if he may

be interpreted as an “overgrown man-child”, that does not present

conclusive evidence towards this being a children's book – there

are no 'enemy' adults featured in the story, and therefore they

cannot be examined for grotesqueness in order to help categorise

it.

In her essay “The Narrative Voice in Roald Dahl's Children's

and Adult Books,” Laura Viñas Valle notes several characteristic

qualities of a Dahl narrator which can be helpful in

distinguishing Dahl's children's from his adult stories. Examining

the narrative voice in “Henry Sugar” is problematic, as it employs

a Chinese box structure “to the extreme” (304). For this essay, a

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choice has been made to examine the 'top' narrator only – as that

is ultimately the one telling the audience the story of Henry

Sugar.

Viñas Valle emphasises that a main characteristic of the

narrative voice in children's books is that it is “visible” (294);

it is “intrusive, all-knowing and overtly in control of the

narrative” (293). She also notes intrusive narrators in Dahl's

adult fiction, but states that these are “first-person narrators

an protagonists [who] seek most of all understanding from the

reader” (303). The narrators in children's fiction, conversely,

are almost always omniscient. She establishes that the omniscient

narrative voice in Dahl's children's fiction will attempt to

“establish a bonding and a complicity using deictic formulas and a

casual familiar tone to draw the reader's sympathies: 'you and I',

'you will start', 'as you step out', 'you will see'.” (296)

Finally, she elaborates that “Once the complicity with the reader

is established, the narrator entrusts the implied reader with

privileged information [… takes] the readers' views and reaction

[…] into consideration […] gives pieces of advice to the reader […

clarifies] issues for them […] uses brackets to make particular

observations [… and] possesses superior knowledge and expects the

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reader not to know […] the meaning of specific words.” (297-301)

If one bears these observations in mind, it is surprising that

Viñas Valle should classify “The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar”

as a narrative for adults. The narrator is shown to be an

omniscient and overtly intrusive one from the start of the story.

He is given a clear voice in as early as Henry's introduction, as

he concludes by stating “And now that you've got a rough idea of

the sort of person Henry Sugar was, I can begin my story.” (452)

Also, he clarifies issues for the reader – for example right after

Henry has finished reading John Cartwright's text;

“This,” Henry Sugar went on, talking aloud to himself,

“is a terrific piece of information. It could change my

life.” The piece of information Henry was referring to was that Imhrat

Khan had trained himself to read the value of a playing card from the

reverse side. And Henry the gambler, the rather dishonest gambler, had

realized at once that if only he could train himself to do the

same thing, he could make a fortune. (477, all

italics but the last 'he' are my emphasis)

Moreover, he makes bracketed observations, for example to

emphasise Henry's diligence in consulting his “exercise book”;

But wait! The yogi had also said something else. He had

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said (and here Henry consulted the little blue exercise book for the

hundredth time), he had said that on rare occasions a special

person comes along who is able to develop the power in only

one or two years. (480, my emphasis)

Importantly, as Henry tries his luck in a casino for the first

time after gaining his skill of clairvoyance, Dahl uses the

formulaic “you and I” noted by Viñas Valle to explain the game of

blackjack to the reader; “You and I know it by one of three other

names: pontoon, twenty-one or vingt-et-un.” (485, my emphasis)

Finally, the narrator entrusts the reader with privileged

information right after Henry has won his first large amount of

money by cheating a casino. The narrator pauses the story to

stress that “had this been a made-up story in stead of a true one,

it would have been necessary to invent some sort of surprising and

exciting end for it.” (489) The narrator then (reminiscing Dahl's

seven “qualities you should possess or should try to acquire if

you wish to be fiction writer” (148) set down in the

autobiographical “Lucky Brake”) summarises seven possible things

that “a competent writer of fiction would have done to wrap up

this story.” (489) He/she concludes by stressing that any of the

options mentioned “wouldn't be such a a bad ending for a work of

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fiction, but this story is not fiction. It is true. […] and

because it is a true story, it must have a true ending. […] Here

is what actually happened.” (490) Additionally, at the very end of

the story, the narrator announces a 'privileged' explanation by

elaborating “But how do I, who am neither Max Engelman nor John

Winston, happen to know all this? And how did I come to write the

story in the first place? I will tell you.” (501)

However, to vindicate Viñas Valle's classification one might

take into consideration that she also emphasises that “It should

be noted that the implied reader the narrator is addressing in

these books is overtly marked as a child” (300). She argues for

example that “In Charlie […] the narrator presupposes that the

implied child reader, being a 'child', naturally loves chocolate and

sweets” and that “in Danny, the end of the story is followed by a

postscript that reads: 'A MESSAGE to Children Who Have Read This

Book.'” (300) Though in “Henry Sugar” the audience is largely

“taken by the hand of the narrator acting as a guide” (301), the

addressee for the narrative voice appears to be an ageless,

sexless reader. As much of a guiding, clarifying, at times

slightly patronising narrator as he/she might be, nowhere is a

love of anything but perhaps a strange story presupposed. Also,

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the reader is addressed directly by the word 'you' alone. The only

instance in which an assumption about the reader is made is in the

aforementioned moment in which the narrator explains the game of

blackjack; in naming “pontoon, twenty-one or vingt-et-un” a small

amount of knowledge of card games is presumed. That, however,

might be possessed by anyone between the ages of nine and ninety-

nine.

Turning, then, to the supernatural in the story might prove to

be a more fruitful exercise in attempting to explain why many

readers perceive “Henry Sugar” as a children's story. This essay

will first examine the form of the supernatural in Dahl's oeuvre

and “The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar”, and then it will note

its function in both.

In The Fantastic: A Structural Approach to a Literary Genre, Tzvetan Todorov

recognises three main 'modes' in which the supernatural might

appear: the fantastic, the uncanny and the marvellous. The

fantastic, he argues, covers “a hesitation common to reader and

character, who must decide whether or not what they perceive

derives from “reality” as it exists in the common opinion.” He

then explains that the fantastic 'lives on the edge'; it “leads a

life full of dangers, and may evaporate at any moment.” (40)

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Todorov distinguishes between two “tendencies”; “that of the

supernatural explained (the “uncanny”) […] and that of the

supernatural accepted (the “marvellous”)” (40-41). He also

contends that “it would be wrong to claim that the fantastic can

exist only in a part of the work, for here are certain texts which

sustain their ambiguity right to the very end” (43). He names The

Turn of the Screw as an example, and suggests a gradation.

Those adult Dahl stories that feature the supernatural, then,

are never fully of the “marvellous” category. They may be labelled

by what Todorov mentions as the “fantastic-marvellous” (ambiguous

to the end, but with hints towards the marvellous), the

“fantastic-uncanny” (again ambiguous to the end, but leaning

towards the uncanny) or completely “uncanny”. “Royal Jelly,”

for example, is one of the fantastic-marvellous category. It

relates of a man who had until recently been infertile, but at the

start of the story he and his wife have been blessed with a baby.

The baby, however, is weakly, and for most of the tale, the man

and woman argue over how to best make him stronger. The man

believes that the eponymous royal jelly from his queen bee will do

the trick – the woman, however, disagrees. Throughout, the tale

hints towards the royal jelly slowly transforming mammals into

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bees. At the end of the story the man (who is revealed to have

been taking copious amounts of royal jelly for a year) is

described as having a neck “covered all the way around with those

shortish silky hairs, yellowly black.” (235) and the baby,

likewise, to be “lying naked on the table , fat and white and

comatose, like some gigantic grub.” (236) The story remains

ambiguous at its end – the man could have increased hair growth

for some other reason, and the baby is only like a grub – but it

hints towards these people actually attaining (supernatural) bee-

like qualities.

“Edward the Conqueror” may be seen as an example of the

fantastic-uncanny type. It relates of a woman who has rescued a

cat she believes to be the reincarnation of Liszt. She comes to

this belief by noting that the cat reacts peculiarly to her

playing the piano – when she plays Liszt, the cat “stared into

space with a […] look that seemed to say “What's this? Don't tell

me. I know it so well, but for the moment I don't seem to be able

to place it.”” (96) Also, the cat has warts on his face in the

same places Liszt had them. The woman's husband, however, notes

that the odd behaviour the cat portrayed may just be a form of

classic conditioning – the cat could have been taught this as a

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sort of fun trick. Also, the books the woman consults on

reincarnation refute that this could be Liszt reincarnated. Before

matters can be resolved, however, the man throws the cat out of

the house and the story ends. Again, it ends ambiguously, but this

time hinting towards the fantastic-uncanny; the cat may have been

a reincarnation of Liszt, but the story contains strong clues

towards the contrary.

“Georgy Porgy” is an example of a story with a fully uncanny

ending. (It is also a wonderful example of paratextuality and

intertextuality – its title refers to a nursery rhyme, of which

the story gives an interesting interpretation – but unfortunately,

it is beyond the scope of this essay to go into this.) The tale

relates of a vicar called George, who from the beginning of the

story is signalled to be less than completely sane;

Without wishing to blow my own trumpet, I think I can

claim to being in most respects a moderately well-

matured and rounded individual. I have travelled a good

deal. I am adequately read. I speak Greek and Latin. I dabble

in science. I can tolerate a mildly liberal attitude in

the politics of others. I have compiled a volume of notes

upon the madrigal in the fifteenth century. I have witnessed the

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death of a large number of persons in their beds; and in

addition, I have influenced, at least I hope I have, the

lives of quite a few others by the spoken word delivered from the

pulpit. (238) (The remainder of the tale makes clear that

George is not being sarcastic here)

At the end of the story, then, when George believes himself to

have been swallowed by a woman and now to be residing in her

oesophagus, it is made unambiguously clear that the soft walls he

recognises as the 'walls' on the inside of a body are the walls of

a padded cell. The “other people about […] all wear white coats”–

and when he loses his temper with them, they tell him “Now then.

Take it easy. Take it easy, vicar, there's a good boy. Take it

easy.” (257) The people George describes are obviously doctors.

George thinks that his daily visitor must have been “fooling

around with Miss Roach and got [himself] swallowed up just the

same as I did” (258), but to the reader, it is clear that they are

both in a mental hospital. The short moment of “fantastic”

ambiguity in which George is described to be swallowed and then

related to note the inside of a human body is quickly resolved by

the presence of the men in white coats. Thus, the story ends

unambiguously uncanny.

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The supernatural in Dahl's children's stories, conversely, is

always of the “marvellous” type. Nowhere in The BFG is there any

reasonable doubt about the giants' actual existence. The

telekinetic powers of the eponymous heroin of Matilda are absolutely

real – as is Willy Wonka's chocolate factory. The peach's giant

pit eventually serves not only as James' house, but also as a

tangible reminder that he did not dream his voyage up.

And it is this distinction, firstly, that may satisfyingly

explain on which ground the majority of readers feels that “The

Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar” is a children's tale; the

supernatural in the story is completely of the marvellous kind.

Though the doctor who wrote the little blue exercise book at first

doubts the Indian's powers of clairvoyance, the story quickly

makes clear that they are real; it relates of the Indian man

cycling – unharmed – through a busy street, on midday, with his

head covered completely in dough and bandaging. As Henry attempts

to test his own ability to acquire these powers of clairvoyance,

the story presents no doubt about Henry being the rare sort of

person “who is able to develop the power in only one or two

years.” (480) The story presents the reader with two close friends

and a string of well-run orphanages around the world to stand

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testimony of Henry's actions; the supernatural is accepted. (A

very cynic reader may interpret Henry's story as a sort of cover-

up for how his two friends stole a lot of money and built

orphanages using it – but then again, the story of stealing such

an amount of money would also be much worth telling, so a cover-up

seems unlikely.)

Finally, there is the function of the supernatural which is

clearly different in Dahl's adult and children's fictions. In

Dahl's adult stories, the supernatural is employed merely to add

the characteristic 'twist' to a Dahl tale – it has no agency, and

seems to function simply as an unexpected element. In his

children's books, however the supernatural does have agency. And not

only that, but it often serves as a means of helping the

protagonist come of age – of course not all bildungsromans which

employ elements of the marvellous supernatural are children's

books, but within Dahl's oeuvre, this statement holds true.

Matilda's telekinetic powers eventually help her develop the

strength to lead a happier life away from her parents; James'

adventures in the giant peach teach him courage and leave him in a

better home (both metaphorically and literally); Sophie is taught

courage by the BFG, and the world is a better place after he helps

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her expose the bad way in which mrs. Clonkers treats Sophie's

fellow orphans; and Charlie, too, 'grows up' – not only to being a

stronger individual but also to owning a factory – by means of the

supernatural occurrences in the chocolate factory.

This distinction serves as a second satisfying explanation as

to why many readers feel “The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar” is a

children's fiction; the marvellous supernatural in it, like in

Dahl's children's books, helps the protagonist to come of age. As

discussed above, at the start of the story, Henry Sugar is a

Wodehouse-esque, spoiled, “overgrown man-child” who has not done a

day's work in his life. Upon his entering a casino with his newly-

acquired powers, however, the story notes “Could it be, he

wondered, that the yoga powers he had acquired over the last three

years had altered him just a little bit?” (484) And so it has – as

he exits the casino with 6600 pounds, “It was slowly beginning to

dawn upon Henry that nothing is any fun if you can get as much of

it as you want. Especially money. Another thing. Was it not

possible that the process he had gone through in order to acquire

yoga powers had completely changed his outlook on life? Indeed it

was possible.” (490-491) Henry then sets up a scheme to use his

powers to 'rob' casino's worldwide, and to use the money to put up

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orphanages – one in each country of the globe. At the start of the

tale, Henry had been a character exemplary of what the story

itself seemed to be – an embodiment of interpenetration. McGuire

and Buchbinder argue that “The sublime […] may emerge from the

interpenetration of past and present [… and] also from those of

gender.” (302) Bearing their words in mind, then, it seems no

wonder that the sublime did emerge from him – border-crossing

entity (Henry) met border-crossing concept (the supernatural), and

together, they made a 'sublime' man out of a boy; a Robin Hood out

of a Bertie Wooster. Indeed, like it did many of Dahl's child-

heroes, the marvellous supernatural has helped Henry Sugar 'grow

up.'

As stated above, not all buildungsromans that employ the

supernatural are commonly thought to be children's literature –

Neil Gaiman's Coraline, for instance, is often deemed too scary for

children. And not all of Dahl's children's books employ the

supernatural – but, for example, Esio Trot can easily be classified

by employing one of the more 'overt' categories mentioned above.

Finally, it should be noted that this essay in no way meant to

argue that the use of the supernatural in “Henry Sugar” signifies

that Dahl intended for it to be read as a children's book – Dahl

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himself has gone on record implying that such a distinction is

useless, as he stated “It's a mistake to see me as two different

people. I'm not.” (qtd in Galef 30) “The Wonderful Story of Henry

Sugar”, like Dahls oeuvre, largely defies genre classification. In

doing so, it “unsettles generic norms” (Frow 111) and invokes “the

waning of the traditional way of knowing [… which] was part of the

shift to postmodernity in the late twentieth century.” (McGuire

and Buchbinder 303) It is perhaps fittingly ironic, then, that the

presence of a phenomenon which itself “unsettles generic norms”

and recollects “the waning of the traditional way of knowing” –

the supernatural – should prove to be a useful means of explaining

why many readers nevertheless perceive “Henry Sugar” as children's

literature. The form and function of Henry's clairvoyance have not

only helped him come of age, but also (slyly cleverly) clear up

the question of his story's genre.

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Works Cited and Consulted

Dahl, Roald. “The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar” The Best of Roald

Dahl. New York: Vintage Books, 1990. 451-502. Print.

Dahl, Roald. “Royal Jelly” The Best of Roald Dahl. New York: Vintage

Books, 1990. 212-236. Print.

Dahl, Roald. “Georgy Porgy” The Best of Roald Dahl. New York: Vintage

Books, 1990. 237-258. Print.

Dahl, Roald. “Edward the Conqueror” The Best of Roald Dahl. New York:

Vintage Books, 1990. 91-107. Print.

Dahl, Roald. “Lucky Break” The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Six More.

Middlesex: Penguin Books, 1978. 147-175. Print.

Dahl, Roald. Matilda. London: Jonathan Cape, 1988. Print.

Dahl, Roald. James and the Giant Peach. New York: A.A. Knopf, 2002.

Print.

Dahl, Roald. The BFG. New York: Scholastic, 1982. Print.

Dahl, Roald. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. London: Puffin, 2007.

Print.

“The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Six More.” Goodreads. N.p.,

n.d. Web. 15 Mar. 2014.

<http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6671.The_Wonderful_Story_of_He

nry_Sugar_and_Six_More>.

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“Roald Dahl.” Roald Dahl - WikipediaNL. N.p., n.d. Web. 15 Mar. 2014.

<http://nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roald_Dahl>.

“Roald Dahl.” Roald Dahl - WikipediaEN. N.p., n.d. Web. 15 Mar. 2014.

<http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roald_Dahl>.

Frow, John. “Genre and Interpretation” Genre. London: Routledge,

2006. 100-123. Print.

Todorov, Tzvetan. “The Uncanny and the Marvellous” The Fantastic: A

Structural Approach to a Literary Genre. Cornell: Cornell University Press,

1975. 41-56. Print.

Galef, David. “Crossing over: Authors Who Write Both Childrens'

and Adult's Fiction”Children's Literature Association Quarterly. Volume 20,

Number 1, 1995. 29-35. Web.

Vinas-Valle, Laura. “The Narrative Voice in Roald Dahl’s

Childrens' and Adult Books” Didáctica. Lengua y Literatura. Volume 20,

2008. 291-308. Web.

Cross, Julie. “Frightening and Funny: Humour in Childrens' Gothic

Fiction” The Gothic in Children's Literature: Haunting the Borders. New York:

Routledge, 2013.

Petzold, Dieter. “Wish-fulfilment and Subversion: Roald Dahl's

Dickensian Fantasy Matilda” Children's Literature in Education. Volume 23,

Number 4, 1992. 185-193. Web.

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West, Mark I. “The Grotesque and the Taboo in Roald Dahl's

Humorous Writings for Children” Children's Literature Association Quarterly.

Volume 15, Number 3, 1990. 115-116. Web.

McGuire, Ann and Buchbinder, D. “The Forensic Gothic: Knowledge,

the Supernatural and the Psychic Detective.” Canadian Review of

American Studies. Volume 40, Number 3, 2010. Web.