SO, THESE THINGS HAPPEN. YOUR TIME HAS COME.
British author Sir Terry Pratchett wrote fantasy novels, and he was rewarded for his wit and imagination with bestselling books, and fans whose love is legendary.
Pratchett died this month at the age of 66. He’d been diagnosed in 2007 with early onset Alzheimer’s.
As one critic noted: “He wasn’t imagining an alternative universe; he was reimagining ours. His fantasies sit alongside – and are the equals of – those of Rabelais, Voltaire, Swift, Kurt Vonnegut and Douglas Adams.”
The UK Guardian pointed out that Death himself was a character in Pratchett’s novels: “Death has a booming, unamused voice (always in capitals, never in quotation marks), and is the permanent straight man in the comic chaos around him. He goes about his morbid business on a horse called Binky, whose hooves throw up sparks on every street cobble. Death is a skeleton, with eyes like two tiny blue stars set deep within the sockets. He wears a black cloak, carries a scythe and, at the end of a day’s work, loves to murder a curry. At the point of contact with his latest client, he usually spends a few moments having a courteous word or two with the recently deceased, until they fade away….
“Now Death has gained a most illustrious client, for Pratchett himself has died…. It’s a conversation that millions of Pratchett fans would ache to overhear. Would Death dare to speak in capitals to Sir Terry Pratchett?”
You’ll find some of Pratchett’s work filed in the children’s section of the Lennoxville Library, at C-256; read these books, regardless of your age. More of Pratchett’s work is in Adult Fiction.
– March 20, 2015