I can tell you exactly why I remember Roald Dahl, even though I haven’t read one of his books in over ten years.
Because The Witches scared the living snot out of me. Seriously. When I was little, I couldn’t remember if I’d picked it up from the fiction side of the aisle or the nonfiction side, and I was half-afraid the whole time that this was a memoir.
And that’s the effect that it has. Dahl’s plots are absolutely quirky, scary, and weird, but his story telling and characters are so matter of fact about it that you’re fooled into thinking this world is real and plausible.
I still have a deep and abiding distrust of old ladies. Thanks, Dahl. Your fault. 100%.