I will confess here and
now that I am a Discworld fan. In
fact, I reckon it's because of Terry Pratchett that I nowadays have such a fervent love
of reading. Most youngsters probably start their love of reading with things
like Harry Potter or those dreadful Twilight things, but not for me – my
formative reading-years were monopolised by these tales from a flat world where
magic is a daily inconvenience, the river is polluted enough to walk on, wizards
are bumbling academics, and Death shows up in person when life has reached its
sudden and unexpected conclusion.
It is unnecessary for me to expound on just how popular a writer
Pratchett has become – all I need to do is work out why. My new long-term task is to re-read each and every one of the Discworld series in order, put that in
my toaster and see what pops up steaming. Because there are about forty of the
things, it would be unrealistic of me of to read each of them before writing a
review, or to write a separate review for each one, so I shall do it in stages –
books 1 to 4 now, and we’ll see how I feel after that.
For those who are new to Discworld, know nothing about it or who think of it simply as a
hackneyed piece of Comic Fantasy that has thus far refused to die, here is a
short explanation: the term Comic Fantasy does not do it justice. While it
began as such, the setting of the Discworld itself proved to be a whole lot
more interesting than that of most Fantasy pieces that take themselves
seriously – a world completely flat, held upon the shoulders of four
continent-sized elephants who in turn stand on the shell of a gigantic turtle,
swimming forever through space. The sun is a small ball of light which orbits
the world, thus creating night and day, and at the centre of the Disc is the hub,
where a towering mountain rises above the Disc, and upon which live the Disc’s
irritable gods. But that’s just the world; in essence it’s a joke about
primitive ideas on the structure of the universe, where the world really is
flat, where the sun really does go round the planet, and where there really are
gods at the top of the tallest mountain playing games with the lives of men. Pratchett uses these simple concepts
to poke fun at our own world, by taking ideas and stories from our past and
setting them on his creation, then examining them under a magnifying glass as they play
out how he would expect real, screwed up cynical people to be. Naturally he
starts off with the Fantasy genre, showing what Conan the Barbarian is really made of by aging him over half a century
and making him toothless, and showing what wizards are by making one useless at
magic and giving him a particularly rational form of cowardice. But it spirals
out from there; what would a university of magic be like if it was
actually put under the charge of old bumbling academics? And what would a city
be like if it actually regulated its own crime levels by legalising them? Let’s go and see what
happens when we go, in order, through this impressive body of work and see
what’s what.
The Colour of Magic
The first novel in the
venerable Discworld series, The Colour of Magic is actually one of my
least favourite of all of them. An all-round fairly good introduction to the
world itself, unfortunately it lacks in the character and even the humour that
mark Pratchett’s later instalments, and in terms of a story there is none
really to be found. Yet it is not an unpleasant experience to read; after all,
this is still a Discworld book, and
the germ of many future ideas can be clearly seen throughout the length and
breadth of the tale.
The premise is this: the city of Ankh-Morpork is witness to
an unprecedented event – the arrival of the Disc’s first tourist. A jolly and
naïve young man named Twoflower, sporting a loud shirt, a book that tells him
what to say, a homicidal luggage on legs, and more gold than Ankh-Morpork has
ever seen in its long history, is eager to live his dreams by seeing the city,
completely oblivious that it is nothing more than the proverbial ‘Wretched Hive
of Scum and Villainy’. He quickly runs into Rincewind the failed magician,
recently thrown out of the Unseen University for his ineptitude, and after
taking him on as a guide they wind up on a journey across the Disc, running
across Conan-esque heroes, Lovecraftian HorrorTM, a kingdom of
imaginary dragons in an upside-down mountain, and the edge of the world itself.
It is not one whole story, but four quite distinct
novelettes strung together. The only thing that actually ties it together is
that Rincewind and Twoflower are on this journey together; but as to why
they’re on the journey I can’t really work out. Yes, Ankh-Morpork gets burned
down – which prompts them to leave it I suppose – and Rincewind was dragooned
into keeping Twoflower alive, but all it seems to be is that they get lost,
wind up in a temple of Lovecraftian HorrorTM in the company of an
obvious Conan the Barbarian parody, with whom they accompany as far as an area
of unstable magical energy that allows dragons to pop into existence only if
you believe in them strongly enough, and then they get washed up at the island
nation of Krull that literally overlooks the edge of the world. As a tour of
the Disc, it is relatively good, and Twoflower certainly enjoys it despite the
number of times his life is put in jeopardy, but as a story it is somewhat
lacking. It is enjoyable to see how Twoflower’s mere arrival sets off a chain
of events that leads to Ankh Morpork’s conflagration at the end of the
following day, but one can’t help but feel that the book has used up most of
its energy for this initial third of its total length.
But whereas the story is virtually non-existent, the two
main characters are good enough to keep the reader hooked for the rest of it.
Rincewind is the very opposite of a Fantasy genre hero; cowardly, bitter,
sceptical, packed with disdain, and he doesn’t even have any great respect for
Twoflower, the man who’s life he’s ended up trying to protect. His one real
talent in life is running away, but also knowing when to run away which is
perhaps even more important than the act itself. Rincewind has a genuine fear
of heights, and for some reason, an irony which is not lost on him, he spends
the second of half of the book dangling for his life over some sheer drop or
other. Twoflower on the other hand is
virtually the opposite of his cowardly guide; curious about the world, full of
wonder about everything he encounters (even if the things he encounters are
obviously about to kill him), and able to see his surroundings through
rose-tinted spectacles – even if those surroundings are the squalid,
crime-ridden streets of Ankh-Morpork. He seems completely oblivious to the
chaos that’s happening around him, the chaos that he has unintentionally caused,
and the prospect of being involved in a bar-brawl is not, as Rincewind
imagines, a reason to run for your life screaming, but is in fact something to
write home about with barely-contained excitement, and to take a snapshot of
with your grinning face in the middle of the picture.
The
other characters are fairly disposable, the various thieves, heroes, villains
and whatnots, but two supporting characters are worthy of note. The Luggage is
a truly wonderful thing, a chest on many walking feet that will follow its
owner to the ends of the earth, has storage room for everything you could ever
want to take with you, and will occasionally eat people if they get too nosy.
Aside from being a rather clever joke about a traveller’s luggage, which seems
to move about on its own, gets lost yet somehow inexplicably finding its way
back to you in the end, it brings an edge of weirdness to the story that makes
it genuinely worth reading. The character of Death meanwhile is one of the most
iconic things about the whole Discworld series;
the literal personification of the end of life, skeletal, dressed in black
robe, carrying a scythe, and whose dialogue is ALWAYS WRITTEN IN CAPTIALS,
Death is a character who makes a token appearance in nearly every subsequent
book whenever somebody is about to die (or has just died). Alas the first appearance of this beloved character is
lacking in the refinement of later Discworld
novels, seeming hungry and mildly villainous rather than, as he should
rightfully be, possessed of a dry, gallows humour, and even a little poignancy,
while he experiences the world of humanity through the eyes of an immortal
outsider.
So
all in all, The Colour of Magic is a
fairly disposable piece of unashamed Comic Fantasy, showing a few neat ideas
while taking easy shots at the Sword & Sorcery works of Robert E. Howard
and the horror works of H.P. Lovecraft. It will be fascinating to see the
upwards evolution of the series from this, admittedly, rather flimsy base line.
The Light Fantastic
One of the things that Discworld can be credited on is the way
that they are never left on a cliff-hanger ending. Pratchett has the ability to
tell a whole story in the space of one novel, and does not need to delay the
conclusion in a weak-fisted attempt to make people come back for more; okay, so
just about every one of them is a sequel of one sort or another, but that’s
more a case of reusing characters in different stories rather than, as I hate,
dragging out a story over two or more books. The only point where this rule
does not come into play is with the first two Discworld novels.
Although this is not quite the case. The Colour of Magic did not have a cliff-hanger ending any more
than it had an actual plot – Rincewind and Twoflower simply go over the edge of
the Disc, and that’s that. They could quite easily die, and no more Discworld stories would have been necessary. What The Light Fantastic does is to rescue these characters from certain
death and to use what was just a senselessly hanging character thread –
Rincewind’s Eighth Spell – and turn it not only into a coherent plot that not only stays
at the centre of the novel but actually makes it a good 'un. It’s like its
predecessor, but it actually has a story to tell, and a fairly decent one at
that. Great A ‘Tuin, the star turtle on whose back the Disc rests, appears to
be on a collision course with a gigantic red sun. The wizards of the Unseen
University are aware that the only way to prevent this is to reclaim the Eighth
Spell of the Octavo, last seen in the head of the failed student Rincewind,
whom they expelled for that very reason, and so they must try everything in their
power to track him down and bring him back to the University before the Disc
hits the star. Rincewind meanwhile, still in the company of the Disc’s first
tourist Twoflower, has mysteriously wound up back on the surface of the world
and must survive the various perils they attract long enough to work out what
the hell’s going on.
The Light Fantastic
not only manages to sort out the various problems left over from the first
book, but it also has a great deal more fun doing so. Pratchett’s comedic
talents emerge from underneath the rock they were skulking under, and the
result is, in my opinion, the first proper Discworld
book – The Colour of Magic becoming
merely a prequel, and not a particularly good one at that. Death is a decent
character now, Rincewind and Twoflower’s misbegotten friendship is well on
form, the Luggage is magnificent as always, and we get our first glimpse of the
wizards of the Unseen University. Also, rather than simply being a
Comic-Fantasy novel, one of the many weapons in The Light Fantastic’s arsenal is its ability to actually criticize
the Fantasy genre – particularly in the Sword-and-Sorcery vein – rather than
merely parody it. Cohen the Barbarian is a welcome addition to the character
roster – unlike Hrun the Barbarian in the previous instalment, who was little
more than a ‘point-and-laugh’ at the well-known Conan archetype, Cohen
actually turns the very concept of a barbarian super-hero on its head by
showing what happens when one of them reaches the ripe old age of eighty-seven.
Of the other excellent additions is the new-found sense of humour in the character
of Death, who is seen struggling to get to grips with a complicated new card
game, and who impatiently overturns the pretentious mysticism of the wizards by berating them for having dragged him out of a party.
This is a much better book than its predecessor. Taken
together, the first two books are an adequate introduction to the Discworld series; The Colour of Magic gives us the world itself and a couple of good
characters, but The Light Fantastic is
what welds it into the unique comic formula that will sustain the rest of
the series. The humour is excellent, and the story keeps it all ticking over
nicely; and we see the introduction of another of Pratchett’s recurring
characters, the Librarian - an Unseen University wizard who is accidentally
turned into an orangutan, but finds he prefers that state a lot more than being
turned back into a human. It is impossible not to love an orangutan Librarian.
Equal Rites
The little known third book in the
series, and small wonder; it seems to be one of Pratchett’s weaker works,
light on the humour, heavy on the pseudo-mechanics, and of a much more serious cast. It also stars a
completely new set of characters from the first two books – Granny Weatherwax,
a witch of the Ramtop mountains, and the young girl Esk, who by inheritance has
ended up as the Disc’s first female wizard. After attempting to tutor Esk in
witchcraft, a more practical style of magic that is deeply grounded in what she
calls Headology (like psychology, but with fewer bells attached), and is in
every way the opposite of the word-based and power-obsessed magic of wizardry,
Granny Weatherwax decides to take her to Ankh-Morpork to enrol in the Unseen
University, in spite of the prejudices of the wizards themselves.
The humour in this book is sparse, and for the first sixty
pages there’s very little to make one laugh or smile. Nevertheless, Pratchett’s
clear and engrossing style of writing draws us in to the story of Esk’s
childhood and her apprenticeship to Granny, and Granny’s Headology and her
ability to ‘borrow’ the minds of living creatures makes an interesting set-up
for the rest of the book. It then improves a bit once we’ve actually left the
cottage behind for the journey to the city of Ankh-Morpork, though the scenes
in the Unseen University itself and the resurfacing of the ‘Dungeon Dimension’
creatures, seen before in The Light Fantastic,
are a bit wishy-washy and difficult to follow, leading to a bit of a hurried
anticlimax. It must be said that the rapport that springs up between Granny and
the Arch-chancellor towards the end is definitely worthwhile, giving the book
just about enough life to get to the end, and Pratchett does have the ability to turn his comedic creation to talk about pertinent and serious issues, unlike Douglas Adams whose similar attempts ended in complete failure. Altogether though this is not one of
the strongest Discworlds, but Granny Weatherwax’s time will come again, when she gets her own supporting cast and setting in book 6: Wyrd Sisters, a much better book if my memory serves me right.
Mort
This could probably be described as one of the most well known of the Discworld books, and it is also one of my favourites. The main character, a young lad called Mort, finds himself apprenticed to none other than Death himself and must learn the trade of someone who presides over the passing of souls from the world of the living to whatever may or may not lie beyond (the technical term for this sort of person is ‘psychopomp’. Now you know something you may not have known before). In the course of the story we learn how Death actually does his job; about his fascination for the human world he can never truly be a part of; about his love of cats, who aside from wizards and witches are the only creatures who can see him as he really is; and about the strange household he maintains for himself. Mort, after joining the rest of Death’s entourage of Albert, the ancient and grease-loving servant, Ysabell, Death’s adopted daughter, and Binky, his horse, accidentally ends up messing with the fabric of reality; only a boy, he finds himself unable to carry out the demise of the young princess Keli. It’s a bid to outmanoeuvre fate, and there’s still the underlying question of it all: why does Death, of all people, suddenly need an apprentice?
This could probably be described as one of the most well known of the Discworld books, and it is also one of my favourites. The main character, a young lad called Mort, finds himself apprenticed to none other than Death himself and must learn the trade of someone who presides over the passing of souls from the world of the living to whatever may or may not lie beyond (the technical term for this sort of person is ‘psychopomp’. Now you know something you may not have known before). In the course of the story we learn how Death actually does his job; about his fascination for the human world he can never truly be a part of; about his love of cats, who aside from wizards and witches are the only creatures who can see him as he really is; and about the strange household he maintains for himself. Mort, after joining the rest of Death’s entourage of Albert, the ancient and grease-loving servant, Ysabell, Death’s adopted daughter, and Binky, his horse, accidentally ends up messing with the fabric of reality; only a boy, he finds himself unable to carry out the demise of the young princess Keli. It’s a bid to outmanoeuvre fate, and there’s still the underlying question of it all: why does Death, of all people, suddenly need an apprentice?
The
story is a lot better held-together than in Equal
Rites, perhaps even better than The
Light Fantastic; the humour is in service of this, and the progression and
climax of the plot are much more skilfully handled. The comedic aspects of the
book are amongst Pratchett’s best, his inventive and playful use of metaphor
and his ability to tell a story with a wicked grin keep it romping along well
into the main meat of the story, and at some point in the second half it takes
on a more finite role while the story, adopting a more serious stance, takes
centre-stage in order to resolve itself, featuring some moments of genuine tension. The
characters, as always, are a lot more detailed and engrossing than you would
expect for a comedy – Mort himself goes through a strange and disturbing
character arc, Albert and Ysabell have impressive hidden layers under their
initial comedic input, and the wizard Cutwell is a later addition who brings a
great deal of fun to the later parts of the book. But the real
star of the show is Death himself, who gives to the book much of the life
(ahem... unintentional pun) for which it is popular. The juxtaposition of
seeing this traditionally terrifying figure mixing with ordinary people –
hiring an apprentice, eating curry, going to a party, trying to find a new job –
is wonderful, but at the same time quite sad. Death, despite interacting with
souls for an eternity, still struggles to fully understand people or why they
do the things they do, while his sense of cold morality illuminates a character
of considerable depth and compassion – something highlighted all the more when
Mort has to do the job himself, and discovers how difficult and odd it really
is.
I
believe that Mort is one of the most
popular Discworld books for good
reason. It is an impressive stand-alone tale that displays the some of the best
uses of Pratchett’s comedic talents so far, its characters are rich and memorable,
and the world of the Disc is arrayed in all its magnificence through the eyes
of Death himself. It goes beyond the mere parody and tour-guide feel of the
first book, combining the humour of the second with the serious
character-driven ideas of the third, to create a genuinely funny book that
carries within it a critique of our own attitudes to mortality, morality, and
fate.
And as such, I fully recommend the Discworld series. Even the poorer books are worthwhile in their own way, and the rest are pearls, delightful and full of life. Pratchett's sense of satire, mixed with his inventive metaphors and energetic writing treat the reader as an equal, his characters are each and every one of them vibrant and great fun to accompany through this mad, flat world, with its 'rimfall', its Counterweight Continent, its heavy light, its Mended Drum, its orangutan Librarian, its Unseen University, and the largest turtle in all the multiverse. There can be no doubt that this is something great, a cultural icon of our age, hardly like the disposable rubbish that clogs up our book shops; I will very much enjoy re-reading the rest of the series, and hope that you will follow me in this endeavour - or perhaps even beat me to it!
And as such, I fully recommend the Discworld series. Even the poorer books are worthwhile in their own way, and the rest are pearls, delightful and full of life. Pratchett's sense of satire, mixed with his inventive metaphors and energetic writing treat the reader as an equal, his characters are each and every one of them vibrant and great fun to accompany through this mad, flat world, with its 'rimfall', its Counterweight Continent, its heavy light, its Mended Drum, its orangutan Librarian, its Unseen University, and the largest turtle in all the multiverse. There can be no doubt that this is something great, a cultural icon of our age, hardly like the disposable rubbish that clogs up our book shops; I will very much enjoy re-reading the rest of the series, and hope that you will follow me in this endeavour - or perhaps even beat me to it!
Biblioworld
Pratchett, Terry. The Colour of Magic. Corgi: Reading.
(1985 [First Published 1983])
The Light
Fantastic. Corgi: Reading. (1986)
Equal Rites.
Corgi: Reading. (1987)
Mort. Corgi:
Reading. (1988 [First Published 1987])
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