![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() The Colour of Magic, oddly, is one of those books – it may not be one of his best novels, but it’s one I can’t possibly imagine anybody else (or even the same author at any other time in his life) writing. And then there are a small number of novels that, I can’t help but feel, he wrote because he was born to write them. There are novels that it feels as though he wrote because there was something he wanted to write about – Soul Music, for example, or Jingo. There are novels that, it feels, he wrote because he had what he thought was a cool idea for a book, like Feet of Clay or Maskerade. There are novels that, it feels, he wrote because he needed to write a new book: books like The Last Continent, for example. Permit me a slightly fanciful new classification of Terry Pratchett’s Discworld novels. The 29th installment of my ongoing complete Discworld re-read. ![]()
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