On the Passing of Terry Pratchett

‘The storm walked around the hills on legs of lightning, shouting and grumbling.
The wizard disappeared around the bend in the track and the goats went back to their damp grazing.
Until something else caused them to look up. They stiffened, their eyes widening, their nostrils flaring.
This was strange, because there was nothing on the path. But the goats still watched it pass by until it was out of sight.’
– Equal Rites

I was eight year’s old when I read my first Terry Pratchett novel. My friends from Yorkshire had loaned me a copy of Equal Rites while on holiday in France. Although it is, chronologically, the third Discworld novel, it was a great entry point into Pratchett’s fantastical alternative world. It was a compelling read for me, not due to the wizards and witches battling each other but for the humour that soaked every page and paragraph.

I quickly caught up, reading The Colour of Magic and The Light Fantastic in quick succession and was hooked, eagerly devouring each new book from that moment on. On Thursday, just shy of thirty years later, the news came through that Terry Pratchett had died, after an eight year battle with Alzheimer’s.

It is profoundly sad when a literary voice, one which has been your companion for the largest part of your life goes silent. Especially a voice that contained such wry insight, one that was always willing to poke fun at the frailties of the human condition in such an unwaveringly positive and light-hearted manner.

‘What sort of man would put a known criminal in charge of a major branch of government? Apart from, say, the average voter.’
– Going Postal

The world in which Pratchett’s stories come to life exist in what is, irrefutably, a fantasy universe. His Discworld is flat, circular, and held together by magic and belief. It rests on the backs of four huge elephants who in turn are transported through the cosmos atop the shell of Great A’Tuin, the star turtle. No, this is not our world.

And yet, undeniably, it is. Ideas leak through from here into the Discworld, simple concepts or advancements that appear too unnaturally ‘normal’, and preposterous, within this magical world. Yet to Pratchett, ideas were cross-dimensional forces that have power, ones which change the Discworld, forcing its societies to modernise, to lurch dangerously forward with each novel, until they more closely resemble ours.

‘A third proposition, that the city be governed by a choice of respectable members of the community who would promise not to give themselves airs or betray the public trust at every turn, was instantly the subject of music-hall jokes all over the city.’
– Unseen Academicals

Pratchett’s vast universe has been constructed, brick by conceptual brick, over the course of forty books. His writing skilfully intertwines parody and satire, each story toying with the effects of these different emerging societal concepts, a list which, while including themes such as the emergence of the printing press, law, belief systems and cinema, goes on and on. Amidst these shifting tides of change, Pratchett’s (generally woefully inept) protagonists struggle to maintain a compassionate, or at least brutally reasonable social order against the constant threat of the more dominant and dumb human vices of greed, cowardice and stupidity.

Many of these seemingly hapless heroes continue their own branches of stories, often continuing a thematic genre with each, such as the detective style of Commander Vimes and the City Watch, Granny Weatherwax and the witches, defending common people from the dangerous temptations of belief and ambition or Death’s struggles with the concepts of fate, mortality and identity.

‘LET ME PUT FORWARD ANOTHER SUGGESTION: THAT YOU ARE NOTHING MORE THAN A LUCKY SPECIES OF APE THAT IS TRYING TO UNDERSTAND THE COMPLEXITIES OF CREATION VIA A LANGUAGE THAT EVOLVED IN ORDER TO TELL ONE ANOTHER WHERE THE RIPE FRUIT WAS?’
– Death and What Comes Next

Even the transitory characters who appear, sometimes momentarily before being killed, are fully fleshed-out personalities; humanly flawed and conflicted, confused and bewildered. They bear witness to grander movements that they can have no comprehension of and have no power to affect. Whether they are ‘good’, ‘bad’ or inconsequential, they are, recognisably, us.

‘Of course, Ankh-Morpork’s citizens had always claimed that the river water was incredibly pure in any case. Any water that had passed through so many kidneys, they reasoned, had to be very pure indeed.’
– Sourcery

The dirty, sprawling city of Ankh-Morpork, a mirror image of London, is a character in itself, one as ‘colourful as a bruise and as full of activity, industry, bustle and sheer exuberant busyness as a dead dog on a termite mound.’ This was Pratchett’s magical ability; that he could build this preposterous world, populate it, convey all that is least noble and most dangerous about the actions of humans en masse and yet maintain a consistent level of positivity, instilling a distinctive comedic flourish to every scene, dialogue and monologue, a humour that is laugh-out-loud funny, to the extent that I have been publically embarrassed by it.

Terry Pratchett’s style of writing and the short, breakneck chapters that propel you through the books appeals to both children and adults alike. The intricacy of the plots and the frantic adventures form a foundation from which the satirical parodies can be enjoyed and they consistently provide a deeply rewarding experience.

Moreover, what resonates throughout is the spirit of Terry Pratchett himself. His insight, sense of humour and optimism permeate every page of his work, as well as coming through in his public conduct. The manner in which he faced the onset of Alzheimer’s was inspiring, and his championing of the assisted dying cause was admirable.

Pratchett’s literary output was prolific and across his collaborations and children’s books totalled over seventy novels. I am glad that he has left behind him such a large body of work, and that the Discworld will also continue to expand through his daughter’s writing, but with Terry Pratchett’s passing, it does feel like the loss of a lifelong friend.

So thank you, Terry Pratchett, for teaching me that satire and social commentary could be so compelling and so consistently, ridiculously funny.

‘I AM DEATH, NOT TAXES. I COME ONLY ONCE.’
– Feet of Clay