Somewhere on the frontier between thought and reality exists the Discworld, a parallel time and place which might sound and smell very much like our own, but which looks completely different. Particularly as it's carried though space on the back of a giant turtle (sex unknown). It plays by different rules.
But then, some things are the same everywhere. The Disc's very existence is about to be threatened by a strange new blight: the world's first tourist, upon whose survival rests the peace and prosperity of the land. Unfortunately, the person charged with maintaining that survival in the face of robbers, mercenaries and, well, Death, is a spectacularly inept wizard...
What shall we do?' said Twoflower.
'Panic?' said Rincewind hopefully. He always held that panic was the best means of survival.
As it moves towards a seemingly inevitable collision with a malevolent red star, the Discworld could do with a hero. What it doesn't need is a singularly inept and cowardly wizard, still recovering from the trauma of falling off the edge of the world, or a well-meaning tourist and his luggage which has a mind (and legs) of its own. Which is a shame because that's all there is...
They say that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing, but it is not one half so bad as a lot of ignorance.
The last thing the wizard Drum Billet did, before Death laid a bony hand on his shoulder, was to pass on his staff of power to the eighth son of an eighth son. Unfortunately for his colleagues in the chauvinistic (not to say misogynistic) world of magic, he failed to check that the baby in question was a son. Everybody knows that there's no such thing as a female wizard. But now it's gone and happened, there's nothing much anyone can do about it. Let the battle of the sexes begin...
This is one of Pratchett's best books. Hilarious and highly recommended' The Times The Discworld is very much like our own - if our own were to consist of a flat planet balanced on the back of four elephants which stand on the back of a giant turtle, that is . . .
___________________ 'It was the usual Ankh-Morpork mob in times of crisis; half of them were here to complain, a quarter of them were here to watch the other half, and the remainder were here to rob, importune or sell hotdogs to the rest.' Insurrection is in the air in the city of Ankh-Morpork. The Haves and Have-Nots are about to fall out all over again.
Captain Sam Vimes of the city's ramshackle Night Watch is used to this. It's enough to drive a man to drink. Well, to drink more. But this time, something is different - the Have-Nots have found the key to a dormant, lethal weapon that even they don't fully understand, and they're about to unleash a campaign of terror on the city.
Time for Captain Vimes to sober up.
___________________ The Discworld novels can be read in any order but Guards! Guards! is the first book in the City Watch series.
Things like crowns had a troublesome effect on clever folks; it was best to leave all the reigning to the kind of people whose eyebrows met in the middle.
Three witches gathered on a lonely heath. A king cruelly murdered, his throne usurped by his ambitious cousin. A child heir and the crown of the kingdom, both missing...
Witches don't have these kind of dynastic problems themselves - in fact, they don't have leaders. Granny Weatherwax was the most highly-regarded of the leaders they didn't have. But even she found that meddling in royal politics was a lot more complicated than certain playwrights would have you believe, particularly when the blood on your hands just won't wash off and you're facing a future with knives in it...
Just because you can't explain it, doesn't mean it's a miracle.' In the beginning was the Word. And the Word was: 'Hey, you!' This is the Discworld, after all, and religion is a controversial business. Everyone has their own opinion, and indeed their own gods, of every shape and size, and all elbowing for space at the top. In such a competitive environment, shape and size can be pretty crucial to make one's presence felt. So it's certainly not helpful to be reduced to appearing in the form of a tortoise, a manifestation far below god-like status in anyone's book.
In such instances, you need an acolyte, and fast: for the Great God Om, Brutha the novice is the Chosen One - or at least the only One available. He wants peace and justice and brotherly love. He also wants the Inquisition to stop torturing him now, please...
Death has to happen. That's what bein' alive is all about. You're alive, and then you're dead. It can't just stop happening.' But it can. And it has. Death is missing - presumed...er...gone (and on a little farm far, far away, a tall dark stranger is turning out to be really good with a scythe). Which leads to the kind of chaos you always get when an important public service is withdrawn. If Death doesn't come for you, then what are you supposed to do in the meantime? You can't have the undead wandering about like lost souls. There's no telling what might happen, particularly when they discover that life really is only for the living...
All this books and stuff, that isn't what it should all be about. What we need is real wizardry.
There was an eighth son of an eighth son. He was, quite naturally, a wizard. And there it should have ended. However (for reasons we'd better not go into), he had seven sons. And then he had an eighth son... a wizard squared...a source of magic...a Sourcerer.
Unseen University has finally got what it wished for: the most powerful wizard on the disc. Which, unfortunately, could mean that the death of all wizardry is at hand. And that the world is going to end, depending on whom you listen to. Unless of course one inept wizard can take the University's most precious artefact, the very embodiment of magic itself, and deliver it halfway across the disc to safety...
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a policeman taking a holiday would barely have had time to open his suitcase before he finds his first corpse. And Commander Sam Vimes of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch is on holiday in the pleasant and innocent countryside, but not for him a mere body in the wardrobe.
''Cracking dialogue, compelling illogic and unchained whimsy . . .'' Sunday Times The Discworld is very much like our own - if our own were to consist of a flat planet balanced on the back of four elephants which stand on the back of a giant turtle, that is . . . What sort of person sits down and writes a maniacal laugh? And all those exclamation marks, you notice? Five? A sure sign of someone who wears his underpants on his head. Opera can do that to a man . . . It can also bring Death. And plenty of it. In unpleasant variations. This isn''t real life - it''s worse. This is the Opera House, Ankh-Morpork . . . a huge, rambling building where innocent young sopranos are being targeted by a strangely familiar evil mastermind in a mask and evening dress and with a penchant for lurking in shadows and occasional murder. But Granny Weatherwax , Discworld''s most formidable witch, is in the audience. And she doesn''t hold with that sort of thing . There''s going to be trouble (but nevertheless a good evenin''s entertainment with murders you can really hum to) and the show MUST go on. ____________________ The Discworld novels can be read in any order but Maskerade is the fifth book in the Witches series.
As the witch of the Chalk, Tiffany Aching performs the distinctly unglamorous work of caring for the needy. But someone - or something - is inciting fear, generating dark thoughts and angry murmurs against witches.
Tiffany must find the source of unrest and defeat the evil at its root. Aided by the tiny-but-tough Wee Free Men, Tiffany faces a dire challenge, for if she falls, the whole Chalk falls with her . . .
Can you imagine a war between wizards, a rebellious ant called 4179003, or a time-travelling television?
Can you imagine that poor old Mr Swimble could see a mysterious vacuum cleaner in the morning, and make cheese sandwiches and yellow elephants magically appear by the afternoon?
Welcome to the wonderful world of Sir Terry Pratchett, and fourteen fantastically funny tales from the master storyteller. Bursting from these pages are food fights, pirates, bouncing rabbits and magical pigeons.
And a witch riding a vacuum cleaner, of course.
'One of the most consistently funny writers around' Guardian
In the beginning, there was nothing but endless flatness. Then came the Carpet... That's the old story everyone knows and loves. But now the Carpet is home to many different tribes and peoples and there's a new story in the making.
The story of Fray, sweeping a trail of destruction across the Carpet. The story of power-hungry mouls - and of two Munrung brothers, who set out on an amazing adventure. It's a story that will come to a terrible end - if someone doesn't do something about it. If everyone doesn't do something about it...
Co-written by Terry Pratchett, aged seventeen, and master storyteller, Terry Pratchett, aged forty-three.
Dragons have invaded Crumbling Castle, and all of King Arthur's knights are either on holiday or visiting their grannies. It's a disaster! Luckily, there's a spare suit of armour and a very small boy called Ralph who's willing to fill it.
It's all change for Moist von Lipwig, swindler, conman, and (naturally) head of the Royal Bank and Post Office.
A steaming, clanging new invention, driven by Dick Simnel, the man with t'flat cap and t'sliding rule, is drawing astonished crowds - including a few particularly keen young men armed with notepads and very sensible rainwear - and suddenly it's a matter of national importance that the trains run on time.
Moist does not enjoy hard work. His . . .vital input at the bank and post office consists mainly of words, which are not that heavy. Or greasy. And it certainly doesn't involve rickety bridges, runaway cheeses or a fat controller with knuckledusters. What he does enjoy is being alive, which may not be a perk of running the new railway. Because, of course, some people have OBJECTIONS, and they'll go to extremes to stop locomotion in its tracks.
Commander Sam Vimes of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch had it all. But now he's back in his own rough, tough past without even the clothes he was standing up in when the lightning struck.
Sorry?' said Carrot. If it's just a thing, how can it commit murder? A sword is a thing' - he drew his own sword; it made an almost silken sound - 'and of course you can't blame a sword if someone thrust it at you, sir.'
For Commander Vimes, Head of Ankh-Morpork City Watch, life consists of troubling times, linked together by...well, more troubling times. Right now, it's the latter. There's a werewolf with pre-lunar tension in the city, and a dwarf with attitude and a golem who's begun to think for itself, but that's just ordinary trouble. The real problem is more puzzling - people are being murdered, but there's no trace of anything alive having been at the crime scene. So Vimes not only has to find out whodunit, but howdunit too. He's not even sure what they dun. But soon as he knows what the questions are, he's going to want some answers.
'This is the best Pratchett I've read' Sunday Telegraph The Discworld is very much like our own - if our own were to consist of a flat planet balanced on the back of four elephants which stand on the back of a giant turtle, that is . . . Time is a resource. Everyone knows it has to be managed. You mess with it at your peril. You can let it move fast or slowly but what you mustn't do is allow it to stop. The Monks of History have the glamorous job of time management in the Discworld . They store it and pump it from the places where it's wasted (like the underwater - how much time does a codfish need?) to places like cities, where there's never enough time. But with the construction of the world's first truly accurate clock starts a race against, well, time begins for History monk for Lu Tze and his suspiciously talented apprentice Lobsang Ludd . Because a truly accurate clock will stop time. And when time stands still, everything in human existence stops with it. Then, there really is no future. _________________ The Discworld novels can be read in any order but Thief of Time is the fifth book in the Death series.
Fantasy & magical realismWashed up on the shores of a remote island, 2 kids from cultures half a world apart have to learn to get along and survive. This is a terrific adventure filled with Pratchett's own brand of comic satire as he explores various topical issues, and there's a very rude parrot too. Now in paperback. Ages: 12+
'Look after the dead', said the priests, 'and the dead will look after you.' Wise words in all probability, but a tall order when, like Teppic, you have just become the pharaoh of a small and penniless country rather earlier than expected, and your treasury is unlikely to stretch to the building of a monumental pyramid to honour your dead father. He'd had the best education money could buy of course, but unfortunately the syllabus at the Assassin's Guild in Ankh-Morpork did not cover running a kingdom and basic financial acumen...
Don't put your trust in revolutions. They always come round again. That's why they're called revolutions. People die, and nothing changes.' For a policeman, there can be few things worse than a serial killer loose in your city. Except, perhaps, a serial killer who targets coppers, and a city on the brink of bloody revolution.
For Commander Sam Vimes, it all feels horribly familiar. He's back in his own rough, tough past without even the clothes he was standing up in when the lightning struck. Living in the past is hard. But he must survive, because he has a job to do. He must track down the murderer and change the outcome of the rebellion.
The problem is: if he wins, he's got no wife, no child, no future...
A Discworld Tale of One City, with a full chorus of street urchins, ladies of negotiable affection, rebels, secret policemen and other children of the revolution.
''This isn''t just football, it''s Discworld football. Or, to borrow another phrase, it''s about life, the Universe and everything'' The Times The Discworld is very much like our own - if our own were to consist of a flat planet balanced on the back of four elephants which stand on the back of a giant turtle, that is . . . Football has come to the ancient city of Ankh-Morpork . And now, the wizards of Unseen University must win a football match, without using magic, so they''re in the mood for trying everything else. This is not going to be a gentleman''s game. The prospect of the Big Match draws in a street urchin with a wonderful talent for kicking a tin can, a maker of jolly good pies, a dim but beautiful young woman, who might just turn out to be the greatest fashion model there has ever been, and the mysterious Mr Nutt (and no one knows anything much about Mr Nutt, not even Mr Nutt) but there is something powerful, and dark, locked away inside him. As the match approaches, secrets are forced into the light and four lives will be entangled and changed for ever. Here we go, here we go, here we go! ________________________ The Discworld novels can be read in any order but Unseen Academicals is the seventh book in the Wizards series.
Terry Pratchett in his own words With a foreword by Neil Gaiman Terry Pratchett earned a place in the hearts of readers the world over with his bestselling Discworld series - but in recent years he became equally well-known as an outspoken campaigner for causes including Alzheimer''s research and animal rights. A Slip of the Keyboard brings together the best of Pratchett''s non fiction writing on his life, on his work, and on the weirdness of the world: from Granny Pratchett to Gandalf''s love life; from banana daiquiris to books that inspired him; from getting started as a writer to the injustices that he fought to end.
With his trademark humour, humanity and unforgettable way with words, this collection offers an insight behind the scenes of Discworld into a much loved and much missed figure - man and boy, bibliophile and computer geek, champion of hats, orang-utans and the right to a good death.
