Roald Dahl was a bit of a mad genius, honestly. If you grew up with your nose buried in a paperback, you know the feeling of his worlds. They're dark. They're funny. They're weirdly tactile. But among all the Roald Dahl books The BFG stands out as something fundamentally different from Matilda or The Witches. It’s less about revenge and more about a strange, lonely linguistic dance between a giant who can’t talk "proper" and an orphan who has nothing left to lose.
Most people remember the snozzcumbers. Or the frobscottle. But if you look closer, the book is actually a masterclass in how to handle childhood trauma without being preachy. It’s gritty.
The BFG is the outlier of the Dahl universe
Think about it. Most of Dahl’s protagonists are fighting against cruel adults—The Wormwoods, Aunt Sponge, or the Grand High Witch. But in the landscape of Roald Dahl books The BFG introduces us to a protagonist who is technically an adult—a giant—but has the social standing of a child. He’s bullied. He’s small (for a giant). He’s illiterate in the traditional sense, yet he’s the most poetic character Dahl ever wrote.
Sophie is snatched from an orphanage. It’s a terrifying start. You’ve got this huge, cloaked figure reaching through a window with a long, thin trumpet. It’s the stuff of nightmares, yet within twenty pages, Dahl flips the script. We aren't scared of the giant; we're scared for him. The other giants—Fleshlumpeater, Bonecruncher, Meatdripper—are the real monsters. They’re the ones who go "galloping" off to England to eat "human beans."
Dahl actually dedicated this book to his daughter, Olivia, who died of measles encephalitis when she was only seven. When you know 그 (that) bit of history, the book feels heavier. It isn't just a wacky story about big ears. It’s a story about protecting innocence in a world that is literally trying to swallow you whole.
What most people get wrong about Gobblefunk
If you ask a casual reader about the language in the book, they'll say it's just "funny gibberish." That’s wrong. It’s called Gobblefunk. And it’s a fully realized linguistic system.
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Dahl didn’t just throw letters together. He used portmanteaus, spoonerisms, and phonetic play to create a dialect that feels ancient. When the BFG says he is "mixed up" or "all in a golden fizz," he isn't just being cute. He’s expressing the frustration of someone whose thoughts are bigger than his vocabulary. He tells Sophie, "I is knowing exactly what words I is wanting to say, but somehow or other they is always getting squiff-squiddled around."
That’s a universal feeling. Kids feel it every day.
The vocabulary is extensive. We have:
- Whizzpopping: The joyful act of flatulence caused by downward-traveling bubbles.
- Phizz-whizzing: Something excellent or brilliant.
- Trogglehumper: A truly horrific nightmare.
- Gloriumptious: Beyond wonderful.
Interestingly, the Oxford University Press actually released a Roald Dahl Dictionary because his invented words—over 8,000 of them across his bibliography—became so ingrained in the English lexicon. The BFG is responsible for the lion's share of that.
The darkness that Disney smoothed over
We have to talk about the 2016 Steven Spielberg movie. It was beautiful, sure. Mark Rylance was incredible as the giant. But it was soft.
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The original text of Roald Dahl books The BFG is actually quite violent. The giants aren't just "mean." They are predators. They talk about the taste of people from different countries like they’re sampling a menu. Greeks taste like grease. People from Panama taste like hats. It’s dark humor, but it’s also high-stakes.
There is a specific scene where the giants are fighting each other, and it’s described with a visceral, jagged energy. Dahl never talked down to kids. He knew they could handle the idea of "beastly" giants because he knew children already understood that the world can be unfair and scary. By making the BFG a vegetarian who only eats the foul-tasting snozzcumber, Dahl creates a moral hero who chooses kindness despite the physical cost. It’s a deliberate choice.
The Queen and the dream jars
The final act of the book is where things get truly surreal. Sophie and the BFG go to Buckingham Palace. This is a classic Dahl trope—bringing the magical into the mundane world of British authority.
The BFG mixes a dream. This is arguably the most beautiful concept in children's literature. He catches dreams with a net, bottles them, and labels them. He’s a curator of the subconscious. To stop the man-eating giants, he creates a bespoke nightmare for the Queen of England, showing her the reality of the giant attacks.
It’s a bizarre sequence. You have the BFG sitting on a windowsill, blowing a dream into the Queen’s bedroom. Then you have the breakfast scene. The palace staff has to use grandfather clocks and ladders to serve the giant. It’s funny, but it also grounds the fantasy. It says: "This is happening right here, in London."
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Why it still matters in 2026
We live in a world of polished, CGI-perfect stories. Everything is "content." But Roald Dahl books The BFG feels handmade. It feels like a story told by a grandfather who is slightly eccentric and maybe a little bit dangerous.
The core message isn't about being "special." It’s about the power of the small. Sophie is a tiny girl. The BFG is a "stunted" giant. Together, they take down the biggest predators in the world. They do it with dreams and a bit of help from the military.
If you’re revisiting the book or introducing it to a new reader, pay attention to the silence. The BFG hears things no one else can. He hears the "whispering of the flowers" and the "music of the stars." He’s a character defined by his sensitivity in a culture (giant culture) that values only size and appetite.
How to experience The BFG today
Don't just watch the movie. Reading the book aloud is the only way to truly "get" the Gobblefunk. The rhythm of the sentences is designed for the ear, not just the eye.
- Read it aloud. Use different voices for the giants. If you don't feel slightly ridiculous saying "delumptious," you aren't doing it right.
- Look at the Quentin Blake illustrations. They are inseparable from the text. Blake’s scratchy, nervous lines perfectly capture the BFG’s gangly nature. Without Blake, the BFG would just be a generic giant. With him, he’s a specific, slightly disheveled friend.
- Visit Great Missenden. If you’re ever in the UK, go to the Roald Dahl Museum. You can see the actual hut where he wrote these stories. You can see his writing chair. It puts the scale of these "big" stories into a very small, human perspective.
The BFG is essentially a story about two lonely people who find a way to make the world a little less "uckyslush." It’s a weird, wonderful, and slightly gross masterpiece that doesn't have an expiration date.
Next time you hear a strange rustle outside your window at night, just hope it’s a giant with a trumpet and a jar full of golden phizz-wizards.
To get the most out of the Dahl experience, start by comparing the original 1982 illustrations with the modern editions. You'll notice how the visual representation of the giants has shifted from genuinely terrifying to somewhat more "animated," which changes how a child perceives the danger. Also, try tracking the "logic" of the BFG’s dreams—Dahl used actual dream-logic, which is why the labels on the jars are often fragmented and emotional rather than narrative. This helps readers understand that dreams are about feelings, not just plots.