Thursday, December 17, 2020

Review: Hogfather

Hogfather Hogfather by Terry Pratchett
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

A part of me felt that it had been reading this book for a long time. All other Pratchett novels I've read (and loved) have been telling a very similar tale... about humanity, about love, about our need for fantasy and stories.

Pratchett was always brilliant, but as someone who generally read his later stuff first I firmly believe that he got more and more brilliant as he matured as a writer. This isn't always the case with authors, as they get famous, respectable and sometimes revere, there's sometimes a feeling that their editors aren't quite so harsh with them, don't quite dare to cut out what needs cutting.

But Pratchett just kept growing as an author.

I'd watched the TV movie. I'd read other Death books. I loved them so much that I must admit I was half afraid that the real deal wouldn't be quite as good as later adaptations had made it.

It was better.

It almost feels like this is the book where he lays it all out, his thesis statement. This is what my books are about. This is why I choose to write fantasy. This is why it MATTERS. And all the rest of the beautiful, wonderful books I've read expound upon it, examine it, break it down and build it back up.

Stories are important. Be careful what stories you write.

Moist von Lipwig. Tiffany Aching. Polly Perks. All the later characters I loved, before knowing if I loved the Big Names like Granny Weatherwax, Rincewind, Sam Vimes, work upon what Hogfather laid down: that stories and belief in stories make us human, that the tales we well, about justice and about gods, little and great, about children and about monsters, are the essential building blocks of our very essence. Strange how Death and his author love us so much, not in spite fo our monstrous lies but because of them. May we endeavour to make our lies so beautiful that we may deserve their love.

I guess there will be many other stories about stories from Pratchett, as I work through all the books I have yet to read. In these trying times, I miss the sense of possibility, I miss knowing there could be MORE Discworld books.

I miss Mr. Pratchett, may he be making others laugh in the Great Beyond.

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