Roald Dahl, you marvellous, wonderful bastard. You horrible, talented prick.

Roald played with my feelings in this one. He made me feel horrible and desperate, but he did it in his funny and entertaining way. I felt happy, but in a sticky, drying-blood-on-your-fingertips sort of way. He was terse (once in flight school he was laconic) and his text flowed incredibly. I think the short story format not only suits this kind of thing extremely well, but Roald also used it masterfully, giving out information in just the right pace.

The only thing that was very bad about this book is the obvious sexism. It's quite a lot. I guess you could explain some of it away by the text's age. It doesn't make it completely okay, though.

In any case, this is the first adult text of Roald's that I have read, and I will definitely go for more.