Penguin to Publish ‘Classic’ Roald Dahl Books after Backlash

A cake decorated in the style of the Roald Dahl children's book "Matilda" is displayed at the Cake and Bake show in London, Britain October 3, 2015. (Reuters)
A cake decorated in the style of the Roald Dahl children's book "Matilda" is displayed at the Cake and Bake show in London, Britain October 3, 2015. (Reuters)
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Penguin to Publish ‘Classic’ Roald Dahl Books after Backlash

A cake decorated in the style of the Roald Dahl children's book "Matilda" is displayed at the Cake and Bake show in London, Britain October 3, 2015. (Reuters)
A cake decorated in the style of the Roald Dahl children's book "Matilda" is displayed at the Cake and Bake show in London, Britain October 3, 2015. (Reuters)

Publisher Penguin Random House announced Friday it will publish “classic” unexpurgated versions of Roald Dahl’s children’s novels after it received criticism for cuts and rewrites that were intended to make the books suitable for modern readers.

Along with the new editions, the company said 17 of Dahl’s books would be published in their original form later this year as “The Roald Dahl Classic Collection” so “readers will be free to choose which version of Dahl’s stories they prefer.”

The move comes after criticism of scores of changes made to “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” and other much-loved classics for recent editions published under the company’s Puffin children’s label, in which passages relating to weight, mental health, gender and race were altered.

Augustus Gloop, Charlie’s gluttonous antagonist in “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” — originally published in 1964 — became “enormous” rather than “enormously fat.” In “Witches,” an “old hag” became an “old crow,” and a supernatural female posing as an ordinary woman may be a “top scientist or running a business” instead of a “cashier in a supermarket or typing letters for a businessman.”

In “Fantastic Mr. Fox," the word “black” was removed from a description of the “murderous, brutal-looking” tractors.

The Roald Dahl Story Company, which controls the rights to the books, said it had worked with Puffin to review and revise the texts because it wanted to ensure that “Dahl’s wonderful stories and characters continue to be enjoyed by all children today.”

While tweaking old books for modern sensibilities is not a new phenomenon in publishing, the scale of the edits drew strong criticism from free-speech groups such as writers’ organization PEN America.

PEN America chief executive Suzanne Nossel wrote on Twitter: “I applaud Penguin for hearing out critics, taking the time to rethink this, and coming to the right place.”

Camilla, Britain's queen consort, appeared to offer her view at a literary reception on Thursday. She urged writers to “remain true to your calling, unimpeded by those who may wish to curb the freedom of your expression or impose limits on your imagination.”

Dahl’s books, with their mischievous children, strange beasts and often beastly adults, have sold more than 300 million copies and continue to be read by children around the world. Their multiple stage and screen adaptations include “Matilda the Musical” and two “Willy Wonka” films based on “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,” with a third in the works.

But Dahl, who died in 1990, is also a controversial figure because of antisemitic comments made throughout his life. His family apologized in 2020.

In 2021, Dahl's estate sold the rights to the books to Netflix, which plans to produce a new generation of films based on the stories.

Francesca Dow, managing director of Penguin Random House Children’s, said the publisher had “listened to the debate over the past week which has reaffirmed the extraordinary power of Roald Dahl’s books and the very real questions around how stories from another era can be kept relevant for each new generation.”

“Roald Dahl’s fantastic books are often the first stories young children will read independently, and taking care for the imaginations and fast-developing minds of young readers is both a privilege and a responsibility," she said.

“We also recognize the importance of keeping Dahl’s classic texts in print,” Dow said. “By making both Puffin and Penguin versions available, we are offering readers the choice to decide how they experience Roald Dahl’s magical, marvelous stories.”



Three Rivers, One Bridge: Mahfouz’s Last Dreams Revisited

By using black and white, Matar sought to bridge the temporal gap between her Cairo and Mahfouz’s Cairo. (Courtesy of Diana Matar)
By using black and white, Matar sought to bridge the temporal gap between her Cairo and Mahfouz’s Cairo. (Courtesy of Diana Matar)
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Three Rivers, One Bridge: Mahfouz’s Last Dreams Revisited

By using black and white, Matar sought to bridge the temporal gap between her Cairo and Mahfouz’s Cairo. (Courtesy of Diana Matar)
By using black and white, Matar sought to bridge the temporal gap between her Cairo and Mahfouz’s Cairo. (Courtesy of Diana Matar)

With refreshing honesty, the Libyan British novelist Hisham Matar begins his translation of Naguib Mahfouz’s last dreams with a confession.

During their only meeting in the 1990s, Matar asked Mahfouz how he viewed writers who write in a language other than their mother tongue. The question reflected the concerns of a young writer born in America, raised partly in Cairo, and later sent to a British boarding school under a false identity to evade persecution by Gaddafi’s regime, which had disappeared his dissident father.

Naguib Mahfouz on the balcony of his café overlooking Tahrir Square in Cairo, 1988. (AFP)

Mahfouz’s reply was as concise and sharp as his prose: "You belong to the language you write in."

Yet Matar admits that, in later recollections of this exchange, he often caught himself embellishing Mahfouz’s words, adding an unspoken elaboration: "Every language is its own river, with its own terrain and ecology, its own banks and tides, its own source and destinations where it empties, and therefore, every writer who writes in that language must swim in its river."

In this sense, I Found Myself... The Last Dreams, published by Penguin's Viking last week, attempts to be a bridge between three rivers: the Arabic in which Mahfouz wrote his original text, the English into which Matar translated it, and the visual language of the American photographer Diana Matar; the translator’s wife whose images of Cairo are interspersed throughout the book.

No easy task. Mahfouz’s translations have often sparked debate—whether over inaccuracies, neglected context, or occasional editorial interference.

A touch of this affects Matar’s attempt without ruining it. For instance, in translating Dream 211, where Mahfouz finds himself facing Saad Zaghloul, leader of the 1919 revolution, alongside "Umm al-Masriyyin" (Mother of the Egyptians)—a title referring to Zaghloul’s wife, Safiya—Matar misinterprets the epithet as a symbolic allusion to Egypt itself, rendering it "Mother Egypt."

Beyond this, however, the first published translation by Pulitzer-winning Matar flows smoothly, matching the simplicity of his project’s origin story: it began one morning over coffee at the kitchen table, where he translated a few dreams for his wife, only to find himself having done dozens—eventually deciding to publish them as his first major translation.

The images complement the dreamlike atmosphere without attempting to directly translate any of them. (Courtesy of Diana Matar)

Perhaps the concise, economical language of Mahfouz’s final dreams made the task easier.

Between dreams, Diana Matar’s photographs of Cairo—Mahfouz’s city and muse—appear shrouded in shadows, dust, and fleeting impressions, sometimes ghostly in detail, complementing the dreamscapes without directly illustrating them. Here, she joins Mahfouz in her love for Cairo, which became her "muse" after accompanying her husband to that summer meeting with the Arab world’s sole Nobel laureate in literature. Relying on black-and-white imagery and abstraction where possible, Diana seems to bridge the temporal gap between her Cairo and Mahfouz’s.

Diana Matar took most of the book's photographs between the late 1990s and early 2000s. (Courtesy of Diana Matar)

In his introduction’s closing lines, Hisham Matar imagines Mahfouz flipping through the translation and remarking, in his trademark brevity: "Of course." But perhaps closer to the truth is that he would repeat his original verdict: "You belong to the language you write in."

Perhaps we must accept that translation—not just of this book, but in general—is a bridge, not a mirror. And that is enough.