Roald Dahl was kind of a mean guy. Honestly, if you look at his letters or the way he treated his editors, he wasn't exactly the "friendly BFG" character the world wants him to be. But maybe that's why the Roald Dahl all books series remains so addictive. He didn't write for kids like they were fragile glass ornaments. He wrote for them like they were co-conspirators in a world of nasty adults and terrifying coincidences.
Most people think they know the lineup. They’ve seen the Johnny Depp movie or the newer Netflix adaptations, so they figure they’ve got the gist of the Roald Dahl all books series. But the actual bibliography is a messy, sprawling thing that includes dark adult short stories, weirdly specific poetry, and some of the most unsettling imagery in 20th-century literature. It’s not just chocolate factories and giant peaches. It’s a whole ecosystem of subverted expectations.
The heavy hitters everyone remembers
You've got the big ones. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is basically the sun around which the rest of the Roald Dahl all books series orbits. It’s a morality play, plain and simple. Augustus Gloop is greed. Veruca Salt is entitlement. Mike Teavee is the rot of mass media. It’s surprisingly violent when you actually sit down and read the descriptions of what happens to these kids.
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Then there’s Matilda.
This one hits different because it’s about the power of the mind against institutional cruelty. Miss Trunchbull isn't just a "bad teacher"—she’s a borderline war criminal who uses a spiked closet called The Chokey to torture children. Dahl had this uncanny ability to tap into the specific, visceral fears children have of the people who are supposed to be looking after them.
The stuff you probably forgot (or never knew)
Did you know there's a sequel to Charlie and the Chocolate Factory? It’s called Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator. It is weird. Like, really weird. It starts right where the first book ends, but instead of more candy, they go into space, fight "Vermicious Knids," and travel to a place called Minusland. It feels less like a structured story and more like Dahl had a fever dream and just decided to keep typing until his fingers hurt.
And then there are the "series" that aren't really series.
Take the The Giraffe and the Pelly and Me. It’s a shorter, illustrated book, but it occupies that same universe of whimsical absurdity. Or Esio Trot, which is basically a story about a guy who lies to an elderly woman and replaces her tortoise dozens of times just to get her to like him. When you explain the plot of some of these books to an adult who hasn't read them in twenty years, they usually look at you with a bit of horror.
"Wait, he did what with the tortoises?"
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Yeah. He did that.
Why the Roald Dahl all books series feels different now
In 2023, there was a massive controversy when Puffin (an imprint of Penguin Books) announced they were editing some of the language in the Roald Dahl all books series to be more "inclusive." They removed words like "fat" and "ugly." They changed "Cloud-Men" to "Cloud-People."
People lost their minds.
Salman Rushdie called it "absurd censorship." The Estate eventually backed down and said they would keep the "Classic Collection" in print alongside the edited versions. The reason this matters for anyone looking for the Roald Dahl all books series is that the tone is the point. Dahl’s world is supposed to be grotesque. It’s supposed to be jagged. When you smooth out the edges, you lose the "Dahl-ness" of it all.
He didn't want you to feel safe. He wanted you to feel like you were hiding under the covers with a flashlight, reading something you weren't supposed to see.
The adult stuff is darker than you think
Before he was the king of kids' books, Dahl was writing "Tales of the Unexpected." These are the "adult" entries in the Roald Dahl all books series canon. If you want to see how dark his mind truly went, go read Lamb to the Slaughter. It’s a short story about a woman who kills her husband with a frozen leg of lamb and then feeds the evidence to the police officers investigating the crime.
It’s brilliant. It’s also deeply cynical.
His autobiographies, Boy and Going Solo, are equally fascinating. Boy details his horrific experiences at British boarding schools, which explains why so many of his fictional villains are teachers or headmistresses. Going Solo covers his time as a fighter pilot in WWII. He actually survived a massive plane crash in the Libyan desert that left him temporarily blind. You can see the echoes of that trauma in the way he describes physical pain in his later fiction.
The complete chronological vibe
If you’re trying to track down the Roald Dahl all books series in order, it’s a bit of a nightmare because he hopped between genres so much. But generally, the flow looks something like this:
- The Gremlins (1943) - His first book, actually written for Disney.
- James and the Giant Peach (1961) - This is where the "Classic Dahl" era really starts.
- Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (1964)
- The Magic Finger (1966)
- Fantastic Mr. Fox (1970) - A masterclass in pacing.
- Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator (1972)
- Danny, the Champion of the World (1975) - Notably more grounded and realistic than his other stuff.
- The Enormous Crocodile (1978)
- The Twits (1980) - Pure, unadulterated nastiness.
- George's Marvellous Medicine (1981) - Do not try this at home. Seriously.
- The BFG (1982)
- The Witches (1983) - Probably his scariest book.
- Matilda (1988)
There are others, like Billy and the Minpins (his last book), but those are the core pillars.
The impact of Quentin Blake
You can't talk about the Roald Dahl all books series without mentioning Quentin Blake. His scratchy, frantic illustrations are inseparable from the prose. Before Blake, other artists illustrated Dahl’s work—even Nancy Ekholm Burkert did a very beautiful, realistic version of James and the Giant Peach.
But it didn't fit.
Dahl’s writing is chaotic. Blake’s art is chaotic. They were a perfect match of "messy" energy. When you see a drawing of the BFG or the Grand High Witch, you’re seeing Blake’s interpretation of Dahl’s internal madness.
How to actually collect them
If you’re looking to get the Roald Dahl all books series for your shelf, don't just buy the first box set you see on Amazon. There are levels to this.
First, decide if you want the "Original" text or the "Revised" text. If you want the grit, look for older editions or the specifically labeled "Classic" editions.
Second, look for the hardcovers. The paperback sets are great for kids to beat up, but the hardcover editions with the cloth spines are beautiful. They hold their value better, too.
Third, don't skip the poetry. Revolting Rhymes and Dirty Beasts are some of his best work. They’re hilarious, twisted retellings of fairy tales. In his version of Little Red Riding Hood, Red pulls a pistol out of her knickers and shoots the wolf. It’s fantastic.
Why we still care
We live in a very sanitized world. Most modern children's media is designed to be "educational" or "affirming." Dahl wasn't interested in affirming anyone. He was interested in the power struggle between the small and the large, the weak and the strong.
His books teach kids that the world can be unfair. They teach them that adults can be idiots. But they also teach them that if you’re clever, and if you’ve got a bit of "spark," you can win.
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That’s the legacy of the Roald Dahl all books series. It’s not about being "nice." It’s about being brave in a world that is often very, very weird.
To get the most out of your reading experience, start with the "Big Three"—Charlie, Matilda, and The BFG. Once you’ve got the rhythm of his prose down, move into the "Nasty Two"—The Twits and The Witches. Finally, if you really want to see the man behind the curtain, read Boy. Seeing where the inspiration for the Child-Chewer and the Trunchbull came from makes the fiction feel a lot more real—and a lot more impressive. Keep an eye out for the 1980s editions if you want the most authentic Quentin Blake reproductions.