My book shelf could be very easily split into two halves. Terry Pratchett and related, then all the rest. It also wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out which half is more loved. The rest is all pristine books, read once or twice and returned to their slot. On the other hand, my Pratchett books are falling apart. Some held together by pure force of will. One is even splattered with Warhammer paint, from when I was young and thought those were two tasks I could do simultaneously.
My love of Terry Pratchett was sealed the first time I read The Amazing Maurice and his Educated Rodents. I fell for it hook, line and sinker and since then I haven’t stopped. Samuel Vimes and the City Watch were always my favourite and if you give me a few drinks and get me talking on economics it won’t be long until I bring up Vimes’s boot theory. They weren’t alone however. In fact, just this last month I finally picked up a new copy of The Light Fantastic, a book which I had lost many years before and hadn’t read since. It shows a very different Discworld, one which was just starting out, but I still love it, I love all of those books.
I’m going to keep this short, because there are a million people out there more qualified to talk about Sir Terry than I am. I never met him. And yet there are so many things that he has done for me. On the shelf next to me is a children’s book I have been writing for the last few years and it is little more than a Pratchett rip off and if someday someone deigns it with those words I will be ecstatic. The Discworld and Terry Pratchett’s works are a part of who I am and a world without the man who created them is a sadder one that it was before.
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