Clearance Level: IndigoSelections from Terry Pratchett’s Hogfather

Which is odder: Death retiring, or Death as Father Christmas...?

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I recently finished reading Terry Pratchett's Hogfather. Terry Pratchett writes satirical fiction, and has many devotees. I am not really one of them. I have read Eric, The Truth, Carpe Jugulum, Small Gods, Reaper Man, and Hogfather. A friend sent me the first four to borrow, because she could not believe that I had not read any Terry Pratchett as of 2004. When I read the first four books, I quickly figured out why: not only did none of the characters really click with me, I had read similar things in Piers Anthony and Tom Holt (both of whom wrote many satirical-fiction books, though Tom Holt's were lesser-known in the US and, actually, unavailable until recently.) I was caught by my friend's description of Death, though:

  • endlessly fascinated with humans and with life
  • picks up many eccentricities and tries to emulate them, with amusing results
  • speaks in ALLCAPS
  • rides a pale horse...named Binky

I purchased Reaper Man once for a cross-country air flight, and loved it. Death is forced into retirement because he has become unsuitable as a dispassionate, non-personified, soulless carrier-out of the measurer and collector of the souls of the living. So what happens when Death suddenly has to occupy himself? What hobbies might He try taking up? And more importantly, what happens if those who are to fill His shoes aren't quick on the uptake?

In Hogfather, someone has made off with the Hogfather (think Santa Claus) and Death took it upon himself to try and fill in. “Nightmare Before Christmas” is one comparison: Death is as appropriate a Father Christmas as Jack Skellington, but for slightly different reasons. It's amusing, heartbreaking, and thought-provoking (in a light and fluffy kind of way). Here are:

Thursday Thirteen 79:15: Selections from Hogfather

  1. page 12¹: It's a sad and terrible thing that high-born folk really have thought that the servants would be totally fooled if spirits were put into decanters that were cunningly labeled backward. And also throughout history the more politically conscious butler has taken it on trust, and with rather more justification, that his employers will not notice if the whiskey is topped off with eniru.
  2. page 27: Peachy was not someone you generally asked questions of, except the sort that go like: “If-if-if I give you all my money coul dyou possibly not break the other leg, thank you so much?”
  3. page 52: The Quirmian philosopher Ventre said, “Possibly the gods exist, and possibly they do not. So why not believe in them in any case? If it's all true then you'll go to a lovely place when you die, and if it isn't then you've lost nothing, right?“ When he died he woke up in a circle of gods holding nasty-looking sticks and one of them said, “We're going to show you what we think of Mr. Clever Dick in these parts...”
  4. page 65: There was a metallic tzing as Susan withdrew the poker from the little brass stand it shared with the tongs and the coal shovel. She sighed. Normality was what you made it.
  5. page 76 (describing a little girl's enterprising venture vis a vis the Tooth Fairy): When she was eight she'd found a collection of animal skulls in the attic, relict of some former duke of an inquiring turn of mind. Her father had been preoccupied with affairs of state and she'd made twenty-seven dollars before being found out. The hippopotamus molar had, in hindsight, been a mistake.
  6. page 91: There was a much smaller room on the other side. It was merely the size of, say, a cathedral. And it was lined floor to ceiling with more hourglasses that Susan could just see dimly in the light from the big room. She stepped inside and snapped her fingers.
  7. page 114: “A Verruca Gnome?”
  8. page 127: “So where's all the lights? Where's all the noise? Where's all the jolly little buggers in pointy hats and red and green suits, hitting wooden toys unconvincingly yet rhythmically with hammers?” “This is more like the temple of some old thunder god...”
  9. page 141: Ridcully lifted the god's head. There was a groan. “Looks a bit under the weather,” he said. “He's the God of Hangovers.” said Susan.
  10. page 152: Nobby gave up, and sat mute. Whatever was going to happen next would happen, and there was not a thing he could do about it...Right now, the light at the end of his mental tunnel showed only more tunnel.
  11. page 163: I expect a doll is always acceptable. Or a soft toy of some description. The sack seems to know. What have we got for her, Albert? Ho. Ho. Ho. Something small dropped into His hand. “This,” said Albert. Oh. There was a moment of horrible silence as they both stared at the life-timer.
  12. page 166: “Just want to make sure that I've got this clear,” said the oh god in a reasonable tone. “You think your grandfather is Death and you think he's acting strange?”
  13. page 180: What do you call that warm feeling you get inside? “Heartburn!” Albert snapped. Do I detect a note of unseasonal grumpiness? said Death. No sugar piggywiggy for you, Albert.

¹At first I thought to take a paragraph from page 13, page 26, page 39, and so on; but there wasn't anything amusing on page 13 itself. Nor on page 26. So...a slight change in plans.

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Keywords: | Thursday | satire | memes | excerpt | books |
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