When I was a kid, Roald Dahl was my favorite author. Dude pretty much turned me into a reader. I’ve written about my pre-internet quest to find every last one of his books. I wanted to ride in the great glass elevator. I wanted to live in Danny’s caravan and pull one over on Mr. Hazell. But I’ve known for a while that he wasn’t someone to look up to. An awful guy, actually. Anti-semitic. Misogynistic. Mean. While he was alive, a number of edits …
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