I finished reading the last Discworld novel, and now I feel rather emotional. The book was good (it’s The Shepherd’s Crown, one of the Tiffany Aching books), and parts of it are quite sad, as it does deal with death, but that’s not really why it made me feel so much.
I know I’m late to the party. Sir Terry Pratchett died in 2015, and most fans have done their mourning. And yes, I was very sad at the time. But I hadn’t read all of the books then. I still had Discworld novels waiting for me, new parts of the world to explore, new characters to meet and old ones to revisit in new stories. Now, with that last page, it’s finally, truly over.
The first Discworld book I read was The Colour of Magic. Yes, I know, most people say ‘don’t start with the Colour of Magic, the later ones are better’, and yes, I agree, the later books are better. But the Colour of Magic was my introduction to the magical world of the Disc, and as a small child (seven or eight? I can’t remember), it was wonderful. I loved Rincewind, and I loved the Disc, and I loved the Luggage that sprouted legs. It was the weirdest fantasy I’d ever read. Even Narnia (the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe was the first fantasy book I ever read, and the first proper novel I sat down and read by myself as a child), with its wardrobe and lamppost, wasn’t as creative, wasn’t as exciting, wasn’t as magical.
I remember my dad taking me to Borders (back when Borders was still a thing, I think the one we used to go to is closed down now) so that I could pick out the next Discworld book. I remember scanning the shelves, searching for a copy of the Light Fantastic, knowing that once I got my hands on it, I could go back to the Disc, and lose myself in magic again. I also remember a very friendly customer noticing that we were looking at the Discworld books, and helpfully warning ‘don’t bother with the Colour of Magic, it’s not worth it, the later ones are better’. Small Harri was shocked, and I remember telling him that I had already read that one and I loved it, so there.
Over the years, I’ve slowly read my way through the series, a book or so at a time. It’s always been comforting knowing that there was always another Discworld book waiting for me. And now, 20 years (ish) since I first picked up a Discworld book, I’ve finished them.
At least I know that I can always reread them. Perhaps from the very beginning again.