Roald Dahl
One of our fondest memories from childhood has us in our bed in the upstairs of a 200+ year old farmhouse in western Massachussets, flickering kerosene lamp dancing patterns on the spider cracked ceiling, while my father read to us from an old, broke-spined Roald Dahl book. Not, as you might think, James and the Giant Peach or Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Rather, Dahl's adult fiction: creepy tales like Lamb to the Slaughter (where a wife, at a loss how…