I read the Roald Dahl book when I was in my early twenties, having been brought up on a childhood diet of Enid Blytons, Richmal Compton’s Williams, Frank Richard’s Billy Bunters Anthony Buckeridge’s Jennings and Derbyshires and the usual classics.
Dahl was instantly refreshing, as I was reading ‘children’s’ books after having graduated to more mature fiction and non-fiction.
It was love at first read. While Dahl’s work for the older readers tilted towards the macabre, his books for kids, including his nonsense verse, were entertaining, thought-provoking – and always had a happy ending.
They are books that push ambition, the ability to win against all odds – and hope.
That’s what Danny Boyle does in Slumdog Millionaire – a story about ambition, about the ability to win against all odds and about hope.
It’s just ironic that my favourite Roald Dahl is Danny the champion of the world, a book about a motherless child living in a mobile home with his father. The nine year old Danny finds his father missing one night, only to discover that he has been out poaching pheasants. To cut a long story short, little Danny stumbles upon an idea that is the greatest pheasant poaching idea ever, and the idea succeeds, and Danny is the Champion of the World.
And Danny Boyle, making a film set in India, tells the tale of a boy in a slum who goes on, against all odds, to become a millionaire.
This time, it’s not the protagonist, the boy in the film, who becomes a champion. It’s the director, Danny Boyle, who picks up 8 Oscars and is, in no uncertain terms, the Champion of the World.
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