"Mr Twit was a twit. He was born a twit."
I read that opening line to my sophomore class last week during our unit on voice and narrative tone. They laughed. Then one kid asked if we could read the whole thing instead of The Scarlet Letter. (We cannot. But I understood the impulse.)
Here's the thing about Roald Dahl that I try to explain to people who dismiss children's literature as somehow lesser: the man understood rhythm. He understood that cruelty can be funny when it's cartoonish enough, and that justice—when it finally arrives—should be spectacular. The Twits is barely an hour long, and it's essentially a clinic in comedic timing disguised as a story about two horrible people who get exactly what they deserve.
Richard Ayoade Was Born for This
I'll admit I came into this with expectations. Ayoade has that bone-dry British delivery that works brilliantly in The IT Crowd and his various hosting gigs, and I wondered if he'd dial it back for a children's book or lean into something broader. He leans in. Way in.
His Mrs. Twit is genuinely magnificent—there's this gleeful nastiness in his voice that captures exactly what Dahl was going for. The woman who puts her glass eye in her husband's beer. The woman whose face has become ugly because her thoughts are ugly. Ayoade doesn't just read these lines; he performs them with the kind of relish that makes you feel slightly complicit in enjoying it.
Some listeners have complained that he rushes through certain sections, and I can see that. There's an energy to his delivery that occasionally tips into breathlessness. But honestly? For a book this short, with this much gleeful chaos happening, the pace felt right to me. My students would say "it hits different" at this speed. (I'm trying to learn their language. They find this embarrassing.)
One caveat: there's screaming. Mr. and Mrs. Twit scream at each other, and Ayoade commits to it fully. If you're listening on headphones while grading papers at 11 PM—hypothetically—this can be jarring. Fair warning.
Why Dahl Still Works
I've been teaching long enough to watch certain books fall in and out of favor. Dahl's had his controversies, and the 2022 Puffin editions sparked a whole debate about updating language in classic children's books. I had a similar reaction reading The Silmarillion—debates about textual changes can overshadow what makes a book actually work. This Penguin release specifically notes it's the pre-2022 version, which matters to some folks and won't matter at all to others.
What matters to me is this: The Twits works because it's honest about something kids already know—that some adults are terrible, and that being terrible has consequences. The Twits are petty and cruel and spend their entire marriage trying to make each other miserable. They're also genuinely funny in their awfulness, which is harder to pull off than it sounds.
The monkeys and birds who eventually get their revenge? That's the catharsis. Dahl understood that children's literature doesn't need to be gentle. It needs to be fair. The bad people lose. The oppressed creatures win. The universe, for once, makes sense.
Sound and Length
Clean audio throughout, with some original music that adds atmosphere without overwhelming the narration. At 58 minutes, this is basically a commute listen or a bedtime story stretched over two or three nights. My wife Denise and I listened to it on a Saturday walk along the lakefront, and we finished before we hit Navy Pier. Perfect length for what it is.
The character voices are distinct enough that you always know who's speaking, which matters more than you'd think in audio. Ayoade gives the Roly-Poly Bird this sort of pompous authority that works beautifully against the scheming monkeys. It's the kind of casting choice that makes you wonder why every audiobook doesn't think this carefully about narrator fit.
Who's This For?
Not for my classroom. But I've already recommended it to three colleagues with kids under ten, and I sent the link to my sister whose seven-year-old is going through a "gross stuff" phase. This is peak gross stuff. Wormspaghetti. Bird pie. A beard full of rotting food. Kids eat this up. (Pun intended. I'm not sorry.) Skip it if you need your children's lit wholesome and gentle—Dahl never was, and Ayoade's performance leans into the gleeful meanness.
If you're an adult listening solo, you'll finish it in an hour and probably smile more than you expected to. If you're listening with kids, prepare for them to request it again. And again. Ayoade's voice is the kind that sticks in your head—in the best possible way.
Class Dismissed
This is why we still read the classics. Even the short, weird, gleefully mean ones.
