Roald Dahl – Mere Inkling Press

Would you purchase a collection of poetry inspired by pigs? It was certainly not what I was looking for, but my local library has once again seduced me by conducting one of their periodic “used book sales.”

I find them irresistible. Just as I was unable to bypass, without browsing, any “secondhand bookshop” while I lived in the United Kingdom.

One never knows what treasures are buried in the stacks, since many of the volumes came from personal libraries where they may have rested for decades.

We had just finished our regular writing critique meeting when I accompanied two of my companions into the wilderness of temptation. Alas, on one of the first shelves I perused, I encountered an oddity I was unable to resist.

The title attracted my interest – The Porcine Legacy. The minimalist sketches of pigs illustrating the text drew me in. And the final element, which captured me, was that it was autographed by both the author and the artist. The bargain price sealed the deal.

Scanning the poems I saw curious mentions of God, which I considered intriguing. The swinish images reminded me of some of DaVinci’s quick sketches of animals.

Sadly, although he professes the love he had for his hogs and piglets, the author did consign them to the market. I understand that’s their intended fate, and I do enjoy lean bacon, but it seems sad. Especially in an ode to porcine intelligence and their congeniality as pets.

The author, David Lee, moved on from animal husbandry to teaching at a university in Utah. Presumably it was his contributions there, rather than on his farmstead, which earned him the honor of becoming the very first poet laureate of Utah.

A Taste of Porcine Poetry

The poem which follows is entitled “Jubilate Agno, 1975.” As often happens when I expose myself to unfamiliar works, I learned far more than I anticipated. In this case, I discovered the “1975” in the title was included because the poem was based upon a religious poem originally penned between 1759 and 1763, while its author, Christopher Smart, was convalescing as a “Curable Patient” at London’s St. Luke’s Hospital for Lunatics.

Lee’s version follows the basic structure of Smart’s 1200 line work. Cat lovers will enjoy a section of seventy-four lines where the original author praises the wonders of his cat, Jeoffry. This is the portion of the original which most closely resembles the copy, since the latter extols its author’s favorite sow. Lee also proposes a shift in the deity upon whom the creature focuses.

For I will consider my Cat Jeoffry.
For he is the servant of the Living God duly and daily serving him.
For at the first glance of the glory of God in the East he worships in his Way.

~~~~~~

For I will consider my black sow Blackula.
For she is the servant of the god of the feed bucket and serveth him.
For she worships the god in him and the secret of his pail in her way.

The title, “Jubilate Agno” actually translates as “Rejoice in the Lamb.” And, while Lee includes no such reference, the beginning lines of Smart’s work proclaim its vision in inspiring terms.

Rejoice in God, O ye Tongues; give the glory to the Lord, and the Lamb.
Nations, and languages, and every Creature, in which is the breath of Life.
Let man and beast appear before him, and magnify his name together.

I encourage interested readers to read the edifying “Jubilate Agno” by Christopher Smart, which is available here. Ailurophiles (cat lovers) can go directly to the feline section here. The complete text of “Jubilate Agno, 1975” is available at the Poetry Foundation.

Although I don’t believe C.S. Lewis ever wrote porcine poetry, there is an interesting passage which appears in Boxen, the collection of his childhood stories. Apparently, the first king of the northern region of Animal-Land, set out to add Pig-Land to his domain.

The pigs under their various chiefs (who had now united against Hacom, as a common enemy) advanced to meet him. The 2 armies met at a place called Kuckton (near where Marston now stands). Hacom fought well, and would have won had he not been outwitted by a clever feint on the part of the pigs.

The [invading] force was beaten, but still, much had been done towards the subjection of the pigs. Hacom was severely wounded by a stray arrow, but might have recovered, had he not been obliged to spend the night in the fields. It was winter, and the wound froze causing instant death. He had been an excellent king.

Surprisingly, to me at least, there are many other poems inspired by pigs. Since I’ve written in the past about Roald Dahl (and his slight connection to C.S. Lewis), seeing his poem entitled “The Pig” incited my curiosity. The All Poetry website includes the poem, and offers as part of its analysis:

“The Pig” by Roald Dahl is a humorous and macabre poem that explores the existential crisis of a highly intelligent pig. The poem is characterized by its playful language, which contrasts with the gruesome subject matter. . . .

The pig’s realization that he is destined for slaughter also highlights the existential themes of meaninglessness and the inevitability of death. Overall, “The Pig” is a clever and thought-provoking poem that combines humor, darkness, and a touch of existential angst, showcasing Dahl’s versatility as a storyteller.

So, if you want to end this peculiar discussion with a bit of existential porcine angst, ponder Dahl’s poem, “The Pig.”

In England once there lived a big,
A wonderfully clever pig.
To everybody it was plain
That Piggy had a massive brain.
He worked out sums inside his head,
There was no book he hadn’t read.
He knew what made an airplane fly,
He knew how engines worked and why.
He knew all this, but in the end
One question drove him round the bend:
He simply couldn’t puzzle out
What LIFE was really all about.

What was the reason for his birth?
Why was he placed upon this earth?
His giant brain went round and round.
Alas, no answer could be found.
Till suddenly one wondrous night.
All in a flash he saw the light.
He jumped up like a ballet dancer
And yelled, “By gum, I’ve got the answer!”
“They want my bacon slice by slice
“To sell at a tremendous price!
“They want my tender juicy chops
“To put in all the butcher’s shops!
“They want my pork to make a roast
“And that’s the part’ll cost the most!
“They want my sausages in strings!
“They even want my chitterlings!
“The butcher’s shop! The carving knife!
“That is the reason for my life!”

Such thoughts as these are not designed
To give a pig great peace of mind.
Next morning, in comes Farmer Bland,
A pail of pigswill in his hand,
And piggy with a mighty roar,
Bashes the farmer to the floor . . .
Now comes the rather grizzly bit
So let’s not make too much of it,
Except that you must understand
That Piggy did eat Farmer Bland,
He ate him up from head to toe,
Chewing the pieces nice and slow.
It took an hour to reach the feet,
Because there was so much to eat,
And when he finished, Pig, of course,
Felt absolutely no remorse.

Slowly he scratched his brainy head
And with a little smile he said,
“I had a fairly powerful hunch
“That he might have me for his lunch.
“And so, because I feared the worst,
“I thought I’d better eat him first.”

Do C.S. Lewis (1898-1963) and Roald Dahl (1916-1990) have anything in common, besides authoring books enjoyed by children?

Looking back, I must have been deprived of opportunities to read common children’s books. I recall my mom having many of Dr. Seuss’ classics, but don’t remember more advanced works such as those of Beatrix Potter or E.B. White.

I suppose that is why Roald Dahl’s name means little to me. By the time I was aware of his popular works, I was too old to appreciate them. Added to that was my intense dislike for the cinematic presentation of his Chocolate Factory, which has permanently (and probably unfairly) soured my impression of the poor man.

In Matilda, published in 1988, Dahl offers a rather curious homage to the Inklings. The young protagonist offers to her teacher the following observations.

“I like The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe,” Matilda said. “I think Mr. C.S. Lewis is a very good writer. But he has one failing. There are no funny bits in his books.”

“You are right there,” Miss Honey said.

“There aren’t many funny bits in Mr. Tolkien either,” Matilda said.

If you are intrigued by this brief interchange, you would probably enjoy reading “Disagreeing with Matilda on Lewis and Tolkien.”

Curiously, a number of people have offered their evaluations of Lewis and Dahl, vis-à-vis one another. Author Grudge Match: Roald Dahl vs. C.S. Lewis invited diverse contributions to the debate eight years ago on LibraryThing.

A Christian blogger offers a faith-based appraisal on an entertaining website called “Like but better.” It’s entitled “How C.S Lewis is like Roald Dahl, but better (and Aslan is like Willy Wonka, but better).”

C.S Lewis is serious about what Dahl jokes about; even as both want us to pursue a childlike wonder and joy. For Lewis these enchanted stories and our sense of wonder are small stories reflecting on the big story — the ‘myth that became history’ — the death and resurrection of Jesus.

A BBC Culture article is quite critical of Dahl, despite his popularity. The introduction to “The Dark Side of Roald Dahl” aptly describes the essay.

Roald Dahl was an unpleasant man who wrote macabre books – and yet children around the world adore them. Perhaps this shouldn’t surprise us, writes Hephzibah Anderson.

An article by a Jewish journalist refers to both of the authors discussed here. It describes his bitter introduction to the major flaws of an author whose work he enjoyed as a child. “Why I Hope My Kids Never Read Roald Dahl” is, for me, most valuable for the way in which the journalist regards the faith which underlies the tales of Narnia.

As a nerdy Jewish kid in Indiana and Tennessee in the late 1970s and 1980s, I had far better relationships with books than I did with other kids. If I liked a book, I read it again, and again and again.

And so it was with Roald Dahl’s “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.” Dahl’s protagonists Charlie and later James (of the “Giant Peach”) both provided early models for how to find a better way through a hostile world where I always felt like an outsider.

Given that personal history, the announcement that Netflix has acquired Dahl’s entire catalog and plans a robust lineup of multimedia adaptations ought to feel like good news. . . .

Seeing his work still celebrated fills me with sadness, leaving me caught between attachment to something that mattered to me as a boy and commitment to the principles that, I hope, make me the man I am today.

Because I know that Roald Dahl hated Jewish people like me.

There are cases where it’s complicated to ascribe modern values to figures from the past and as a reader, my feelings, my emotions, are just not going to be consistent. I don’t share C.S. Lewis’ religious views . . . J.R.R. Tolkien’s “Lord of the Rings” trilogy is, I’m sad to say, bound up in long histories of racism.But my childhood copies of their books still occupy my shelves, some missing covers and pages, and I bought new copies for my kids and tried – with mixed success – to share my love of those stories with them. It’s hardly new for readers of one generation to struggle with the views of authors from another.But Dahl is different. He passed away in 1990, only 31 years ago. And we know he was an anti-Semite because he said so.

While I would challenge Perry’s modest critiques of the Inklings, I am delighted he is able to look beyond his adult disappointment with their imperfections to commend them to his own children. As for Dahl . . . this article reinforces my lack of regret in being unfamiliar with his work.

Enough, now, of their differences. I promised readers a surprising similarity between the two British authors.

And What Is Their Unusual Commonality?

In 1951, C.S. Lewis was approached by Prime Minister Churchill’s office to accept an honor occasionally bestowed upon renowned literary figures. He was invited to become a Commander of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire. Lewis declined, because he felt the political implications might overshadow the nonpartisan spirit of his writings. He was, however, honored to have been offered the honour.

This decision brings us to the peculiar similarity between the two writers. It turns out that Roald Dahl also passed up the invitation to join this chivalric order.

And the two were not alone. In 2012 a list of deceased individuals who had declined related honors between 1951 and 1999 was published.

Literary names were prominent amongst those to have said no to CBEs, OBEs and knighthoods in the annual New Year or Birthday Honours list, with Dahl, Lewis, and Huxley . . . joined by fellow naysayers Eleanor Farjeon, the children’s author, the poets Philip Larkin and Robert Graves, who said no to both a CBE and a CH (Order of the Companions honour), literary critic F.R. Leavis, Booker [Prize] winner Stanley Middleton and the authors J.B. Priestley and Evelyn Waugh.

An aspiring literary historian might do well to research whether and why successful writers might be more inclined to dismiss such an honor than other British citizens. I wonder if that inclination would carry over to other nationalities or cultures.

Ultimately, I assume most writers care less about receiving honors, than having their work read. And, perchance, having their literary efforts improve the lives of one or two others along the way. [This statement inspired vigorous debate when I shared this draft with members of my critique group.]

That desire – to enrich lives – is what motivates me. I believe it is also what inspired C.S. Lewis. And I know we are not alone.

Mere Inkling Press

Tag: Roald Dahl

Peculiar Poetic Themes

C.S. Lewis & Roald Dahl