Cecilia Lei's Blog

     Roald Dahl, most known for works such as James and the Giant Peach and Matilda, makes a surprising turn from cheerful, children’s books. In the short story, “Lamb to the Slaughter,” Dahl uses an ironic play on words to weave a jaw-dropping, chilling short story about murder. The story unfolds in the 1950s, with a pregnant housewife being told heart-breaking news by her husband who is planning to leave her. While going to make dinner for her husband, she stumbles upon her murder weapon: a leg of lamb. Dahl makes the common phrase “lamb to the slaughter” a reality as the housewife, Mary Maloney, kills her husband with a blow to the head with the lamb leg. The story progresses as Mary figures out ingenious and unexpected ways to hide the murder and the weapon. 

During the 1950s, there were different expectations for men and women. In the story, Mary Maloney is described as the perfect housewife: She serves drinks for her husband after work, makes supper for him, and refers to herself as Mrs. Patrick Maloney. She tries to anticipate his every feeling, “she knew he didn’t want to speak much until the first drink was finished, and she, on her side, was content to sit quietly, enjoying his company after the long hours alone in the house.” Women were expected to dedicate themselves to their husband, they often saw their identity interchangeable with their husbands. Mary loved Patrick and devoted herself to him, but all of this is disrupted when she finds out that he is leaving her. In this story, Dahl makes a powerful statement about gender and identity. Mary goes against gender norms in the murder of her husband, going undetected by detectives who never would have thought to suspect her. 

A symbol that Dahl utilizes is the lamb leg. Lambs are generally depicted as gentle and docile, much like Mary with “the mouth that was soft, and the eyes, with their new placid look, seemed larger and darker than before.” But the assumptions about the lamb is quickly shattered as it is used as the murder weapon. The lamb leg symbolizes Mary’s transformation and defiance of gender roles. 

One of the most noticeable features that Dahl uses is subtle irony and humor. Being titled Lamb to the Slaughter is fitting, as the phrase usually refers to an individual who is helpless and unaware of their impending death, much like Patrick Maloney. It is especially accurate since the murder weapon was a lamb leg. Another time irony is incorporated is near the finishing paragraph, when the detectives murmur, “‘Probably right under our noses,’” when discussing where the murder weapon may be. As readers will find out in the end, the murder weapon was very much right under their noses. 

Throughout the story, readers will hold their breath as they read each sentence, not truly knowing the outcome until the very end. Dahl incorporates depth in symbolism and meaning, using a complex time setting of the 1950s to do so. This unique dynamic between gender and identity and role reversal is clear throughout the duration of the story, but the brevity and humor that make up the story allow for a quick and fast read. Only barely three pages, the story is filled with subtle irony and deeper themes. In Lamb to the Slaughter, Dahl shows a deeper, more complex side of himself as a writer, allowing readers to understand the range and skill that he possesses.

I grew up with stories. Each night I would cocoon myself in my blankets, piled next to stuffed animals, and listen to my mother and father recount the stories that they’d heard in their childhoods. They wove tales about Ali Baba and “Open Sesame”, the boy who cried wolf, and a poor village boy who read when the lights were off at his boarding school by sneaking a flashlight under the covers. The last story was about my father, whose love for reading is apparent in the way that he tells stories. His mother had told him stories that he carried with him and later passed onto me. The stories he told me always had a special message: whether it was that hard work yields results or that certain problems required ingenious solutions. My introduction to reading and writing stemmed from bedtime stories told in the glow of my nightlight. 

I loved hearing about distant lands and getting to know fictional characters. The first book I remember reading was the first book of the Magic Tree House series. I still remember the smell of the pages and the red pterodactyl on the front cover. I would read at least one of the Magic Treehouse books a day, completely enamored by the idea of getting to live through these unbelievable realities. I was a speed reader, devouring stacks of books checked out from the library and then returning the next day for more. As I entered second grade I found Harry Potter, and then later Percy Jackson.

Reading gave me the opportunity to understand the world a little better. I was curious about life and books gave me the ability to gain insight from another person’s perspective. But soon, I wasn’t satisfied with simply reading. In my room, the entire last shelf of my bookshelf is dedicated to dozens of spiral notebooks. Inside the notebooks are filled with countless stories and drawings that I had paired together. There are stories about made-up princesses, pickles, and turtles–anything that I could imagine I wrote about. Writing became my outlet. There’s something immensely satisfying about coming up with a string of words and trying to fit into the rest of the story. Something about the sound of the pencil scratching against the paper and the way the sentence flows when the words are finally rearranged. I made a game out of trying to come up with the prettiest sounding words and paragraphs. 

As I entered middle school, I slowly began to forget about my love for writing and reading. I went from reading a book a day to a book every three months if I was lucky. I forgot about my adventures with Jack and Annie and Hermione Granger. I don’t know if it was my new phone, the increased workload in middle school or the time I would spend doing other things I felt were more welcomed at the time. But I realized that I was missing a piece of myself when I wasn’t trying to create something. Freshman year of high school, I dedicated myself to reclaim the piece of myself that I had neglected.

When I began to read and write again, I felt my understanding of the world expand around me. There’s something unexplainable about the way reading helps us connect to those around us. Literature is one of the most powerful ways that we can relate to each other regardless of geography, time periods, or the everyday barriers that separates us from others. My father understood the importance of storytelling, reading to me every night as I fell asleep cradled in fluffy blankets and under the plastic stars on the ceilings. My love for reading and writing sparked from bedtime stories, but it has since then become interwoven into the fabric of my identity.