If you have no idea who the BFG is, you should check out my previous blog entry here. The BFG is a nice, jumbly giant who “kidsnatched” the orphan Sophie because she saw him by accident. She learned from him that he was not a “cannibully” giant who ate “human beans,” which apparently taste differently when they’re from different cities or countries.

“Bonecruncher says Turkish human beans has a glamourly flavour. He says Turks from Turkey is tasting of turkey.”

“I suppose they would,” Sophie said.

“Of course they would!” the Giant shouted. “Every human bean is diddly and different. Some is scrumdiddlyumptious and some is uckyslush. Greeks is all full of uckyslush. No Giants is eating Greeks, ever.”

“Why not?” Sophie asked.

“Greeks from Greece is all tasting greasy,” the Giant said….

“As I am saying,” the Giant went on, “all human beans is having different flavours. Human beans from Panama is tasting very strong of hats.”

“Why hats?” Sophie said.

“You is not very clever,” the Giant said, moving his great ears in and out. “I thought all human beans is full of brains, but your head is emptier than a bundongle….”

“The human bean,” the Giant went on, “is coming in dillions of different flavours. For instance, human beans from Wales is tasting very whooshey of fish. There is something very fishy about Wales.”

“You mean whales,” Sophie said. “Wales is something quite different.”

“Wales is whales,” the Giant said. “Don’t gobblefunk around with words. I will now give you another example. Human beans from Jersey has a most disgustable woolly tickle on the tongue,” the Giant said. “Human beans from Jersey is tasting of cardigans.”

“You mean jerseys,” Sophie said.

“You are once again gobblefunking!” the Giant shouted. “Don’t do it! This is a serious and snitching subject. May I continue.”

“Please do,” Sophie said.

“Danes from Denmark is tasting ever so much of dogs,” the Giant went on.

“Of course,” Sophie said. “They taste of great danes.”

“Wrong!” cried the Giant,  slapping his thigh. “Danes from Denmark is tasting doggy because they is tasting of labradors!”

“The what do the people of Labrador taste of?” Sophie asked.

“Danes,” the Giant cried, triumphantly. “Great danes!”

“Aren’t you getting a bit mixed up?” Sophie said.

“I is a very mixed up Giant,” the Giant said. “But I does do my best. And I is not nearly as mixed up as the other giants. I know one who gallops all the way to Wellington for his supper.”

“Wellington?” Sophie said. “Where is Wellington?”

“Your head is full of squashed flies,” the Giant said. “Wellington is in New Zealand. The human beans in Wellington has an especially scrumdiddlyumptious taste, so says the Welly-eating Giant.”

“What do the people of Wellington taste of?” Sophie asked.

“Boots,” the Giant said.

Heehee. That was a long passage (with some parts chopped off – note the ellipses I put in), but I couldn’t resist. The other quotes are a bit shorter, I promise.

“I’m not sure I quite know what that means,” Sophie said.

“Meanings is not important,” said the BFG. “I can’t be right all the time. Quite often I is left instead of right.”

Here’s how the BFG described the other “cannibully” giants:

“All of those man-eating giants is enormous and very fierce! They is all at least two times my wideness and double my royal highness!”

What he means (in case you didn’t quite get it) is that the other giants are twice as wide and high as he is. After all, as the BFG himself says, “Twenty-four feet is puddlenuts in Giant Country.” But don’t listen to everything he says. As he warned Sophie:

“If you listen to everything I am saying you will be getting earache.”

And speaking of ears, you may have noticed the abnormally large ears the BFG has.

“They maybe is looking a bit propsposterous to you,” the BFG said, “but you must believe me when I say they is very extra-usual ears indeed. They is not to be coughed at.”

“I’m quite sure they’re not,” Sophie said.

Big ears or not, the BFG needs to eat. Since he doesn’t want to eat “human beans,” he must settle for an “icky-poo” vegetable called the “snozzcumber.”

“If I dont, I will be nothing but skin and groans.”

“You mean skin and bones,” Sophie said.

Sophie didn’t want to taste it at first, and asked if she really had to eat the dreadful snozzcumber.

“You do unless you is wanting to become so thin you will be disappearing into a thick ear.”

“Into thin air,” Sophie said.

But even though he has to live on snozzcumber (that tastes like rotten fish and frogskins), at least the BFG has a sweet and jumbly fizzy drink called the frobscottle. Unlike our fizzy drinks however, the bubbles go down instead of go up. Upon learning of this, the BFG reacted vehemently.

“Catasterous!” cried the BFG. “Upgoing bubbles is a catasterous disastrophe!”

The problem with talking loudly with Sophie inside his cave is that the other giants became suspicious, and asked him who he was talking to, getting “suspichy” that he is keeping “human beans” as pets. The BFG tried to bluff his way out of it.

“You is welcome to go and search my cave from frack to bunt,” the BFG answered. “You can go looking into every crook and nanny. There is no human beans or stringy beans or runner beans or jelly beans or any other beans in there.”

They had a close call with the other giants, who turned out to be not only “cannibullys” (cannibals), but real bullies as well when it comes to the BFG.

“I didn’t like that,” she said.

“Phew!” said the BFG. “Phew and far between!”

Sophie later learned that the BFG was a dream-collector. He took him with her in the pale country where you can hear dreams sailing along if you have such “propsposterous” ears as the BFG.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“We is in Dream Country,” the BFG said. “This is where all dreams is beginning.”

Unfortunately, sometimes what he catches are not good dreams (or “phizzwizards”), but nightmares as well (or “trogglehumpers”).

“Oh no!” he cried. “Oh mince my maggots! Oh swipe my swoggles!”

“What’s the matter?” Sophie asked.

“It’s a trogglehumper!” he shouted. His voice was filled with fury and anguish. “Oh, save our solos!” he cried. “Deliver us from weasels! The devil is dancing on my dibbler!”

While talking about dreams, Sophie made the interesting discovery that most giants only sleep for two or three hours per day.

“When do you sleep?” Sophie asked.

“Even less,” the BFG answered. “I is sleeping only once in a blue baboon.”

After some time, Sophie asked the BFG how he learned how to write, and found out that he had a Charles Dickens novel for the past 80 years.

“I is reading it hundreds of times,” the BFG said. “And I is still reading it and teaching new words to myself and how to write them. It is the most scrumdiddlyumptious story.”

“Sophie took the book out of his hand.” “Nicholas Nickleby,” she read aloud.

“By Dahl’s Chickens,” the BFG said.

The BFG and Sophie, upon hearing that the other giants were off to England to eat schoolchildren, began to hatch an idea to stop the giants. They went to the Queen of England to ask for her help.

“Your Majester,” he said. “I is your humbug servant…. Oh Queen! Oh Monarcher! Oh, Golden Sovereign! Oh, Ruler! Oh, Ruler of Straight Lines!” 

I will not give away how the story ends, but it’s definitely worth getting a copy of The BFG.