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Matilda, by Roald Dahl Quentin Blake
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About the Author
Roald Dahl was a spy, ace fighter-pilot, chocolate historian and medical inventor. He was also the author of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Matilda, The BFG and many more brilliant stories. He remains the World’s No.1 storyteller. Find out more at roalddahl.com.
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Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
The Trunchbull let out a yell. . .The Trunchbull lifted the water-jug and poured some water into her glass. And suddenly, with the water, out came the long slimy newt straight into the glass, plop!The Trunchbull let out a yell and leapt off her chair as though a firecracker had gone off underneath her.She stared at the creature twisting and wriggling in the glass. The fires of fury and hatred were smouldering in the Trunchbull’s small black eyes.“Matilda!” she barked. “Stand up!”“Who, me?” Matilda said. “What have I done?”“Stand up, you disgusting little cockroach! You filthy little maggot! You are a vile, repellent, malicious little brute!” The Trunchbull was shouting. “You are not fit to be in this school! You ought to be behind bars, that’s where you ought to be! I shall have the prefects chase you down the corridor and out of the front-door with hockey-sticks!”The Trunchbull was in such a rage that her face had taken on a boiled colour and little flecks of froth were gathering at the corners of her mouth. But Matilda was also beginning to see red. She had had absolutely nothing to do with the beastly creature in the glass. By golly, she thought, that rotten Trunchbull isn’t going to pin this one on me!Puffin Books by Roald DahlThe BFGBoy: Tales of ChildhoodCharlie and the Chocolate FactoryCharlie and the Great Glass ElevatorDanny the Champion of the WorldDirty BeastsThe Enormous CrocodileEsio TrotFantastic Mr. FoxGeorge’s Marvelous MedicineThe Giraffe and the Pelly and MeGoing SoloJames and the Giant PeachThe Magic FingerMatildaThe MinpinsRoald Dahl’s Revolting RhymesThe TwitsThe Vicar of NibbleswickeThe WitchesThe Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Six MoreRoald DahlMatildaillustrated by Quentin BlakePUFFIN BOOKSFor Michael and LucyThe Reader of BooksMr Wormwood, the Great Car DealerThe Hat and the SuperglueThe GhostArithmeticThe Platinum-Blond ManMiss HoneyThe TrunchbullThe ParentsThrowing the HammerBruce Bogtrotter and the CakeLavenderThe Weekly TestThe First MiracleThe Second MiracleMiss Honey’s CottageMiss Honey’s StoryThe NamesThe PracticeThe Third MiracleA New HomeThe Reader of BooksIt’s a funny thing about mothers and fathers. Even when their own child is the most disgusting little blister you could ever imagine, they still think that he or she is wonderful.Some parents go further. They become so blinded by adoration they manage to convince themselves their child has qualities of genius.Well, there is nothing very wrong with all this. It’s the way of the world. It is only when the parents begin telling us about the brilliance of their own revolting offspring, that we start shouting, “Bring us a basin! We’re going to be sick!”School teachers suffer a good deal from having to listen to this sort of twaddle from proud parents, but they usually get their own back when the time comes to write the end-of-term reports. If I were a teacher I would cook up some real scorchers for the children of doting parents. “Your son Maximilian”, I would write, “is a total wash-out. I hope you have a family business you can push him into when he leaves school because he sure as heck won’t get a job anywhere else.” Or if I were feeling lyrical that day, I might write, “It is a curious truth that grasshoppers have their hearing-organs in the sides of the abdomen. Your daughter Vanessa, judging by what she’s learnt this term, has no hearing-organs at all.”I might even delve deeper into natural history and say, “The periodical cicada spends six years as a grub underground, and no more than six days as a free creature of sunlight and air. Your son Wilfred has spent six years as a grub in this school and we are still waiting for him to emerge from the chrysalis.” A particularly poisonous little girl might sting me into saying, “Fiona has the same glacial beauty as an iceberg, but unlike the iceberg she has absolutely nothing below the surface.” I think I might enjoy writing end-of-term reports for the stinkers in my class. But enough of that. We have to get on.Occasionally one comes across parents who take the opposite line, who show no interest at all in their children, and these of course are far worse than the doting ones. Mr and Mrs Wormwood were two such parents. They had a son called Michael and a daughter called Matilda, and the parents looked upon Matilda in particular as nothing more than a scab. A scab is something you have to put up with until the time comes when you can pick it off and flick it away. Mr and Mrs Wormwood looked forward enormously to the time when they could pick their little daughter off and flick her away, preferably into the next county or even further than that.It is bad enough when parents treat ordinary children as though they were scabs and bunions, but it becomes somehow a lot worse when the child in question is extraordinary, and by that I mean sensitive and brilliant. Matilda was both of these things, but above all she was brilliant. Her mind was so nimble and she was so quick to learn that her ability should have been obvious even to the most half-witted of parents. But Mr and Mrs Wormwood were both so gormless and so wrapped up in their own silly little lives that they failed to notice anything unusual about their daughter. To tell the truth, I doubt they would have noticed had she crawled into the house with a broken leg.Matilda’s brother Michael was a perfectly normal boy, but the sister, as I said, was something to make your eyes pop. By the age of one and a half her speech was perfect and she knew as many words as most grown-ups. The parents, instead of applauding her, called her a noisy chatterbox and told her sharply that small girls should be seen and not heard.By the time she was three, Matilda had taught herself to read by studying newspapers and magazines that lay around the house. At the age of four, she could read fast and well and she naturally began hankering after books. The only book in the whole of this enlightened household was something called Easy Cooking belonging to her mother, and when she had read this from cover to cover and had learnt all the recipes by heart, she decided she wanted something more interesting.“Daddy,” she said, “do you think you could buy me a book?”“A book?” he said. “What d’you want a flaming book for?”“To read, Daddy.”“What’s wrong with the telly, for heaven’s sake? We’ve got a lovely telly with a twelve-inch screen and now you come asking for a book! You’re getting spoiled, my girl!”Nearly every weekday afternoon Matilda was left alone in the house. Her brother (five years older than her) went to school. Her father went to work and her mother went out playing bingo in a town eight miles away. Mrs Wormwood was hooked on bingo and played it five afternoons a week. On the afternoon of the day when her father had refused to buy her a book, Matilda set out all by herself to walk to the public library in the village. When she arrived, she introduced herself to the librarian, Mrs Phelps. She asked if she might sit awhile and read a book. Mrs Phelps, slightly taken aback at the arrival of such a tiny girl unaccompanied by a parent, nevertheless told her she was very welcome.“Where are the children’s books please?” Matilda asked.“They’re over there on those lower shelves,” Mrs Phelps told her. “Would you like me to help you find a nice one with lots of pictures in it?”“No, thank you,” Matilda said. “I’m sure I can manage.”From then on, every afternoon, as soon as her mother had left for bingo, Matilda would toddle down to the library. The walk took only ten minutes and this allowed her two glorious hours sitting quietly by herself in a cosy corner devouring one book after another. When she had read every single children’s book in the place, she started wandering round in search of something else.Mrs Phelps, who had been watching her with fascination for the past few weeks, now got up from her desk and went over to her. “Can I help you, Matilda?” she asked.“I’m wondering what to read next,” Matilda said. “I’ve finished all the children’s books.”“You mean you’ve looked at the pictures?”“Yes, but I’ve read the books as well.”Mrs Phelps looked down at Matilda from her great height and Matilda looked right back up at her.“I thought some were very poor,” Matilda said, “but others were lovely. I liked The Secret Garden best of all. It was full of mystery. The mystery of the room behind the closed door and the mystery of the garden behind the big wall.”Mrs Phelps was stunned. “Exactly how old are you, Matilda?” she asked.“Four years and three months,” Matilda said.Mrs Phelps was more stunned than ever, but she had the sense not to show it. “What sort of a book would you like to read next?” she asked.Matilda said, “I would like a really good one that grown-ups read. A famous one. I don’t know any names.”Mrs Phelps looked along the shelves, taking her time. She didn’t quite know what to bring out. How, she asked herself, does one choose a famous grown-up book for a four-year-old girl? Her first thought was to pick a young teenager’s romance of the kind that is written for fifteen-year-old schoolgirls, but for some reason she found herself instinctively walking past that particular shelf.“Try this,” she said at last. “It’s very famous and very good. If it’s too long for you, just let me know and I’ll find something shorter and a bit easier.”“Great Expectations,” Matilda read, “by Charles Dickens. I’d love to try it.”I must be mad, Mrs Phelps told herself, but to Matilda she said, “Of course you may try it.”Over the next few afternoons Mrs Phelps could hardly take her eyes from the small girl sitting for hour after hour in the big armchair at the far end of the room with the book on her lap. It was necessary to rest it on the lap because it was too heavy for her to hold up, which meant she had to sit leaning forward in order to read. And a strange sight it was, this tiny dark-haired person sitting there with her feet nowhere near touching the floor, totally absorbed in the wonderful adventures of Pip and old Miss Havisham and her cobwebbed house and by the spell of magic that Dickens the great story-teller had woven with his words. The only movement from the reader was the lifting of the hand every now and then to turn over a page, and Mrs Phelps always felt sad when the time came for her to cross the floor and say, “It’s ten to five, Matilda.”During the first week of Matilda’s visits Mrs Phelps had said to her, “Does your mother walk you down here every day and then take you home?”“My mother goes to Aylesbury every afternoon to play bingo,” Matilda had said. “She doesn’t know I come here.”“But that’s surely not right,” Mrs Phelps said. “I think you’d better ask her.”“I’d rather not,” Matilda said. “She doesn’t encourage reading books. Nor does my father.”“But what do they expect you to do every afternoon in an empty house?”“Just mooch around and watch the telly.”“I see.”“She doesn’t really care what I do,” Matilda said a little sadly.Mrs Phelps was concerned about the child’s safety on the walk through the fairly busy village High Street and the crossing of the road, but she decided not to interfere.Within a week, Matilda had finished Great Expectations which in that edition contained four hundred and eleven pages. “I loved it,” she said to Mrs Phelps. “Has Mr Dickens written any others?”“A great number,” said the astounded Mrs Phelps. “Shall I choose you another?”Over the next six months, under Mrs Phelps’s watchful and compassionate eye, Matilda read the following books:Nicholas Nickleby by Charles DickensOliver Twist by Charles DickensJane Eyre by Charlotte BrontëPride and Prejudice by Jane AustenTess of the D’Urbervilles by Thomas HardyGone to Earth by Mary WebbKim by Rudyard KiplingThe Invisible Man by H. G. WellsThe Old Man and the Sea by Ernest HemingwayThe Sound and the Fury by William FaulknerThe Grapes of Wrath by John SteinbeckThe Good Companions by J. B. PriestleyBrighton Rock by Graham GreeneAnimal Farm by George OrwellIt was a formidable list and by now Mrs Phelps was filled with wonder and excitement, but it was probably a good thing that she did not allow herself to be completely carried away by it all. Almost anyone else witnessing the achievements of this small child would have been tempted to make a great fuss and shout the news all over the village and beyond, but not so Mrs Phelps. She was someone who minded her own business and had long since discovered it was seldom worth while to interfere with other people’s children.“Mr Hemingway says a lot of things I don’t understand,” Matilda said to her. “Especially about men and women. But I loved it all the same. The way he tells it I feel I am right there on the spot watching it all happen.”“A fine writer will always make you feel that,” Mrs Phelps said. “And don’t worry about the bits you can’t understand. Sit back and allow the words to wash around you, like music.”“I will, I will.”“Did you know”, Mrs Phelps said, “that public libraries like this allow you to borrow books and take them home?”“I didn’t know that,” Matilda said. “Could I do it?”“Of course,” Mrs Phelps said. “When you have chosen the book you want, bring it to me so I can make a note of it and it’s yours for two weeks. You can take more than one if you wish.”From then on, Matilda would visit the library only once a week in order to take out new books and return the old ones. Her own small bedroom now became her reading-room and there she would sit and read most afternoons, often with a mug of hot chocolate beside her. She was not quite tall enough to reach things around the kitchen, but she kept a small box in the outhouse which she brought in and stood on in order to get whatever she wanted. Mostly it was hot chocolate she made, warming the milk in a saucepan on the stove before mixing it. Occasionally she made Bovril or Ovaltine. It was pleasant to take a hot drink up to her room and have it beside her as she sat in her silent room reading in the empty house in the afternoons. The books transported her into new worlds and introduced her to amazing people who lived exciting lives. She went on olden-day sailing ships with Joseph Conrad. She went to Africa with Ernest Hemingway and to India with Rudyard Kipling. She travelled all over the world while sitting in her little room in an English village.Mr Wormwood, the Great Car DealerMatilda’s parents owned quite a nice house with three bedrooms upstairs, while on the ground floor there was a dining-room and a living-room and a kitchen. Her father was a dealer in second-hand cars and it seemed he did pretty well at it.“Sawdust”, he would say proudly, “is one of the great secrets of my success. And it costs me nothing. I get it free from the sawmill.”“What do you use it for?” Matilda asked him.“Ha!” the father said. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”“I don’t see how sawdust can help you to sell second-hand cars, daddy.”“That’s because you’re an ignorant little twit,” the father said. His speech was never very delicate but Matilda was used to it. She also knew that he liked to boast and she would egg him on shamelessly.“You must be very clever to find a use for something that costs nothing,” she said. “I wish I could do it.”“You couldn’t,” the father said. “You’re too stupid. But I don’t mind telling young Mike here about it seeing he’ll be joining me in the business one day.” Ignoring Matilda, he turned to his son and said, “I’m always glad to buy a car when some fool has been crashing the gears so badly they’re all worn out and rattle like mad. I get it cheap. Then all I do is mix a lot of sawdust with the oil in the gear-box and it runs as sweet as a nut.”“How long will it run like that before it starts rattling again?” Matilda asked him.“Long enough for the buyer to get a good distance away,” the father said, grinning. “About a hundred miles.”“But that’s dishonest, daddy,” Matilda said. “It’s cheating.”“No one ever got rich being honest,” the father said. “Customers are there to be diddled.”Mr Wormwood was a small ratty-looking man whose front teeth stuck out underneath a thin ratty moustache. He liked to wear jackets with large brightly-coloured checks and he sported ties that were usually yellow or pale green. “Now take mileage for instance,” he went on. “Anyone who’s buying a second-hand car, the first thing he wants to know is how many miles it’s done. Right?”“Right,” the son said.“So I buy an old dump that’s got about a hundred and fifty thousand miles on the clock. I get it cheap. But no one’s going to buy it with a mileage like that, are they? And these days you can’t just take the speedometer out and fiddle the numbers back like you used to ten years ago. They’ve fixed it so it’s impossible to tamper with it unless you’re a ruddy watchmaker or something. So what do I do? I use my brains, laddie, that’s what I do.”“How?” young Michael asked, fascinated. He seemed to have inherited his father’s love of crookery.“I sit down and say to myself, how can I convert a mileage reading of one hundred and fifty thousand into only ten thousand without taking the speedometer to pieces? Well, if I were to run the car backwards for long enough then obviously that would do it. The numbers would click backwards, wouldn’t they? But who’s going to drive a flaming car in reverse for thousands and thousands of miles? You couldn’t do it!”“Of course you couldn’t,” young Michael said.“So I scratch my head,” the father said. “I use my brains. When you’ve been given a fine brain like I have, you’ve got to use it. And all of a sudden, the answer hits me. I tell you, I felt exactly like that other brilliant fellow must have felt when he discovered penicillin. ‘Eureka!’ I cried. ‘I’ve got it!’”“What did you do, dad?” the son asked him.“The speedometer”, Mr Wormwood said, “is run off a cable that is coupled up to one of the front wheels. So first I disconnect the cable where it joins the front wheel. Next, I get one of those high-speed electric drills and I couple that up to the end of the cable in such a way that when the drill turns, it turns the cable backwards. You got me so far? You following me?”“Yes, daddy,” young Michael said.
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Product details
Age Range: 8 - 12 years
Grade Level: 3 - 7
Lexile Measure: 840L (What's this?)
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Paperback: 256 pages
Publisher: Puffin Books; Reprint edition (August 16, 2007)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0142410373
ISBN-13: 978-0142410370
Product Dimensions:
5 x 0.6 x 7.8 inches
Shipping Weight: 8.8 ounces (View shipping rates and policies)
Average Customer Review:
4.7 out of 5 stars
903 customer reviews
Amazon Best Sellers Rank:
#1,828 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
Okay, first off I don't know why it's taken me so long to read MATILDA. My only excuse? There are a lot of great middle grade books out there. However, every time I watch the Danny DeVito film version I promise myself I will read the book. So now I have. Did I enjoy it? Absolutely. I love Roald Dahl's whimsically fun voice. Is MATILDA perfect? Absolutely not. I know I am treading on hallowed ground with some people, and to those people I extend my heartfelt apologies, but for me MATILDA does have a few issues. The dialog is often stilted and unrealistic. Yes, I know it's a fantasy, but the characters should still speak like real human beings. The writing style is overly simplistic for today's middle grade reader, although I am certain it was appropriate for its time. It seems to have multiple antagonists. You think it's her father at first, then later on its the Trunchbull. Matilda's goal early on is ill-defined, and there is no central goal throughout the book. And finally, the ending is too abrupt for my taste. I would have loved for there to be a "...and they lived happily ever after...", or some such thing. As for the Matilda herself, I loved her character, but do we really want to teach kids that it is all right to take revenge on their parents if their parents do something they don't like? Yes, she had terrible parents, but that's poor justification. For all of these reasons I gave it four stars and not five, but I still thoroughly enjoyed it. It is fun and funny, heartwarming and touching. Is it perfect? No. But I'll take a billion imperfectly perfect books just like it.
I used some of the "best books" lists to find a good "chaptered" book for my seven year old granddaughter. When Matilda by Roald Dahl arrived, I read about 1/4 of it. I was disappointed to find the portrayal of Matilda's parents grossly negative and much of the language used in the book is degrading of central characters. The first few pages derides parents who speak positively about their children who are really "disgusting little blisters," and the author says that such positive statements about offspring cause him to exclaim “bring us a basinâ€. It gets worse. The father of Matilda calls her an "ignorant little twit" and he tears pages out of library books. Even Matilda who is suppose to be admirably smart and a "miracle" worker, says, “Shut up you nut†to a noisy bird saying. "Hello" over and over again.I am hopeful that reading is a positive growth-enhancing learning experience for my granddaughter; reading Matilda would expose her to language her parents and I do not want her using and to attitudes of disrespect and cynicism.
My daughter and I read this book together as part of her homeschool curriculum. It was interested because she noted what she thought were several spelling errors. I had to tell her that there are two forms of English. Anyway, the storyline was quite amusing. The book made me chuckle from beginning to end.I think I really loved how the main character's happy ending didn't come in the predictable form of her parents learning their lesson. I find myself using Matilda as a way to encourage my own daughter to read by pointing out to her how Matilda became extremely super intelligent by reading tons of books. This is definitely a book that the whole family can enjoy. After reading the book we watched the movie and did a comparison analysis as well.
My ten-year-old daughter reads very well, just not very much. The struggle is mostly in finding material and/or subject matter to engage her. She recently discovered Roald Dahl through her school librarian, and subsequently, she enthusiastically enjoyed James and the Giant Peach. When she asked for more by the same writer, Matilda became her first chapter-book download to her Kindle. She is loving it just as much and is in the e-book every night. She noses into it, asks me a million questions, and I can hear her laughing and/or gasping as the action unfolds. While I have not read Matilda myself, I am giving it five stars for thoroughly captivating my daughter.
The book was good, but Roald Dahl has a certain nastiness that I would have appreciated as a young child who felt abused by the world but that I can't appreciate as an adult who has gotten over those issues.I read this for myself because sometimes I get tired of the depressing genre in adult books. However, if I had a child, while I would allow them to read this book--I would probably discuss some things with them to make sure they understand that some of the things in the book are inappropriate. For instance, in the book, Matilda shoves a parrot up a chimney to play a prank on her parents. Aside from her being disrespectful of her friend's property (the bird belonged to her friend), this would be out right animal cruelty that could result in an animal being harmed, or at the very least distressed.
Great story and so fun to read aloud. It is told with a sense of humor, wit, and mischief that any kid will love. I grew up loving this story so much that I have a daughter named Matilda now.
Absolutely LOVED it!Best $7.99 I spent on a book experience to share with my son.At 8 years old, my son doesn't always love the books I choose for him, but having grown up reading Roald Dahl classics, I figured he HAS to like it, even just a little bit.I read the whole book out loud to him, and he kept begging for more. It reignited his passion for reading, and stories... and now I want to get another Roald Dahl classic!!
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