Yes, I know, I said I was going to do a post about Venice. Sorry. I will get to it, I promise.

Today Sir Terry Pratchett died. And I sniffled at work, and then outright cried once nobody else was around.

The first book of his that I read was The Light Fantastic. I must have been 14. I’d seen a review of it in Dave Langford’s book review column in White Dwarf (this was before it was a house organ for Games Workshop), and I bought it on my way back to boarding school at the railway station at London Victoria, using the spare money I had after my taxi fare from London Waterloo to London Victoria. After reading it, I then got my hands on The Colour of Magic too, and I bought every book after that. In earlier days I bought them in paperback (after reading them in hardback from the library), but as time went on and I had a bit more spare change, I didn’t wait, I just bought the hardback.

I loved his writing. The characters, the story, the style, everything. His books have expanded my thinking and have given me so many happy moments it’s not true. (And a few sad moments.) I imagine that I will keep them for the rest of my life, and probably reread them all again several times yet.

“Go back,” said Granny. “You call yourself some kind of goddess and you know nothing, madam, nothing. What don’t die can’t live. What don’t live can’t change. What don’t change can’t learn. The smallest creature that dies in the grass knows more than you. You’re right. I’m older. You’ve lived longer than me but I’m older than you. And better’n you. And, madam, that ain’t hard.”

Lords and Ladies, Terry Pratchett

 

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