Homage to Terry Pratchett
I'm supposed to be seriously intellectual. I'm supposed to be intensely emotional. I'm supposed to be the coldest gorram fish ever to swim the Mojave. But when I'm in my closet, when I read by lamplight, it isn't always Shakespeare or Dickens. Sometimes, instead of suffering and dreading death and insanity, I embrace them, figuratively speaking.
Terry Pratchett's Discworld novels are the single most delightful series I have ever enjoyed. With a wit sharper than a scythe, he lays a bed of broken glass. I walk over it and giggle endlessly, reading sections aloud to unsuspecting relatives. The books are funny! The characters are desperate and heroic, and the prose sometimes both ironic and poignant but always absolutely insane, following the internal logic patterns of insanity with an admirable and breathtaking determination. And the single most frustrating perfection of them, is the way Pratchett often balances whole novels delicately onto a single, well-worded pun (which against all odds, almost always managest to bear the weight). Brilliant. I give Terry Pratchet the highest word of praise in my vocabulary: BRILLIANT.
Terry Pratchett's Discworld novels are the single most delightful series I have ever enjoyed. With a wit sharper than a scythe, he lays a bed of broken glass. I walk over it and giggle endlessly, reading sections aloud to unsuspecting relatives. The books are funny! The characters are desperate and heroic, and the prose sometimes both ironic and poignant but always absolutely insane, following the internal logic patterns of insanity with an admirable and breathtaking determination. And the single most frustrating perfection of them, is the way Pratchett often balances whole novels delicately onto a single, well-worded pun (which against all odds, almost always managest to bear the weight). Brilliant. I give Terry Pratchet the highest word of praise in my vocabulary: BRILLIANT.
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