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Interesting Times, Terry Pratchett

There’s something refreshing about the consistency of the Discworld novels. Yes, some are better than others, but the humour remains constant, as does the sideways look at social issues. Many cite Interesting Times (1994, UK) as their favourite Discworld novel – I’ve not read them all yet, so I wouldn’t like to choose, but… It’s all a bit orientalist to begin with, although it soon pulls back from that. On the other hand, its targets are orientalist clichés, so perhaps that initial orientalism is justified…

The Agatean Empire on the Counterclockwise Continent has asked for the help of the “Great Wizzard”, but the only person who spells the word with a double z is Rincewind, who is anything but great. It’s all due to the journal written by Twoflower from the first book in the series, The Colour of Magic (1983, UK), who was a tourist from the Agatean Empire.

Using Hex, a sort of magical AI – and Pratchett’s description maps quite neatly onto present-day so-called AI – the Unseen University sends Rincewind to the Counterclockwise Continent. Where he stumbles across Cohen the Barbarian, and his team of equally-aged barbarians, who are planning to take over the empire.

The end result is a collision between the well-meaning incompetence of the Red Army, a group of slogan-spouting Agatean rebels, the somewhat puzzled but violent competence of Cohen and his barbarians, the machinations of the super-competent Lord Hung, and the extremely lucky total lack of any competence whatsoever of Rincewind. The combination of which manages to both destroy the Agatean Empire and build something fair and equitable from its wreckage. Interesting Times, unusually, not only has a happy ending but also leaves the reader feeling happier. Which, to be fair, is one of the strengths of the series, that it leaves the reader feeling as if shit is solvable. Which is not to say it’s not, but this is not Discworld.

I can understand why Interesting Times is a favourite for many. It’s certainly one of the better Discworld novels. But I think I’ll wait until I’ve read more of them before I call it.


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Soul Music, Terry Pratchett

I’ve heard it said the Grateful Dead were not actually very good live, but every now and again everything would sort of fall into place and it would be an almost transcendental experience – and it was those moments which led to their popularity. I’ve no idea if that’s true, but I do know that such moments can happen at a live performance. I remember one gig at Corporation in Sheffield – I forget the year, or who was the main act, but a support act was playing. I was standing with two guys, complete strangers, and none of us was impressed. Then the band started a new song and all three of us said, “Now that’s interesting.” (For the benefit of non-Brits, that means it was good.)

In Soul Music (1994, UK), Pratchett takes those moments – generated here by magic, and by some magical force for its own ends – to chart (see what I did there?) the invention of a new kind of music in Ankh-Morpork. A harpist from Llamedos (read it backwards) moves to Ankh-Morpork. Unable to afford a license to perform, the harper falls in with a troll and a dwarf, and the three form a band, The Band With Rocks In (because the troll is a drummer and his drums are, er, rocks). The harper’s, er, harp is broken at an unlicensed performance, but he finds a new one in a mysterious shop that mysteriously appears mysteriously. And that changes everything. Suddenly, all The Band With Rocks In’s performances are like those mythical Grateful Dead performances.

Meanwhile, Death has left his post, upset over the death of his apprentice and adopted daughter, so his granddaughter takes over the role. But she’s not especially good at it. When she turns up to the Mended Drum at which the harpist – now calling himself Buddy (referencing a pop star who died, um, 66 years ago), and the troll has taken the name Cliff (a rock joke, and referencing a pop star who, I suspect, will never die)… The harpist is supposed to die at the gig, but instead Death’s granddaughter allows him to live… which only makes the music magic more powerful…

Pratchett has a great deal of fun taking the piss out of the music industry, although many of his references are a good thirty years earlier than the year the book was published. And some of the jokes about bands on the road were already clichés when Pratchett made use of them. Neither of which means the book isn’t amusing. And the Death/Death’s granddaughter narrative makes for a good contrast – and introduces some interesting characters (and makes use of several old ones).

I find the music industry a more interesting target than some of the targets in earlier Discworld novels, but it does occasionally feel like the jokes are a little too obvious and the commentary not as pointed or insightful. Having said that, my taste in music is… niche, and quite specific, and has regularly been misrepresented in popular culture. So perhaps that got a little in the way when I read Soul Music. All the same, I enjoyed it, although I wouldn’t put it in the top five of Discworld novels (of the ones I’ve read).


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Men at Arms, Terry Pratchett

Cited by many as their favourite of the Discworld novels, Men at Arms (1993, UK), the fifteenth book in the Discworld series, is certainly one of the more quotable books of the series, at least in the sense it has more quotable lines of commentary than the sort of bad jokes people like to quote (but really shouldn’t). The one about Vimes and his boots – a serious point, not a joke – has had a lot of airplay on social media over the years.

Men at Arms is the second of the City Watch novels, featuring many of the cast from Guards! Guards! (1989, UK). A new recruit, human but brought up by dwarfs, is unknowingly the heir to the throne of Ankh-Morpork (which has not had a king or queen for centuries), and a prominent member of the Assassins’ Guild has decided restoring the monarchy would be good for the city and his own much-reduced fortunes.

Meanwhile, the Night Watch has taken on some other recruits under a new hiring initiative, including a dwarf, a troll and a woman. They are, of course, completely inept, except the woman, who’s actually a werewolf. They investigate a series of random murders, and begin bonding as a squad. Sergeant Vimes is due to marry a duchess, the richest woman in the city (although, to be honest, the eccentric animal (dragons, in this case) sanctuary-obsessed aristocrat is a bit of a tired cliché). And the aforementioned assassin has stolen the “gonne”, Discworld’s only firearm, and is using it to murder people to discredit the Lord Patrician, the ruler of Ankh-Morpork.

It can hardly be a surprise the new recruits foil the plot, more by accident than by design, but that’s how these sorts of stories work. Pratchett has fun with his characters, using them to mock various institutions and attitudes, both Ankh-Morporkian and real world. There are several laugh out loud lines, and a number of bitter-sweet moments. II’s easy to understand why so many pick Men at Arms as a favourite.