Sir Terry Pratchett has wandered off somewhere with Death – probably gone to pat Death’s kitten and have a chat with Death’s daughter, Susan – and he won’t find his way back to us. No more wonderful Discworld stories. No more hilariously biting, intriguing satire wrapped up in fantasy, literary allusions and brilliant penmanship. Like the well-known Monty Python parrot, he has gone to sing in the heavenly choir; he is no more.

What would be his opinion on his own demise? I quote from his book, The Colour of Magic.

“You see, one of the disadvantages of being dead is that one is released as it were from the bonds of time and therefore I can see everything that has happened or will happen, all at the same time except of course I now know that Time does not, for all practical purposes, exist.”
“That doesn’t sound like a disadvantage,” said Twoflower.
“You don’t think so? Imagine every moment being at one and the same time a distant memory and a nasty surprise and you’ll see what I mean.”

Let’s face it, I could give you quote after quote that would demonstrate his brilliance, his sense of fun, his mastery of technique but the big problem would be knowing where and when to stop. I’ll just pop a few down here, for my own amusement, and let you get on with reading his books for yourself (if you haven’t already). (And, why haven’t you?!!)

“A person ignorant of the possibility of failure can be a halfbrick in the path of the bicycle of history.
“If women were as good as men they’d be a lot better!”
“Nanny Ogg tried to look haughty, which is hard to do when you have a face like a happy apple.”
“In the bathtub of history the truth is harder to hold than the soap and much more difficult to find.”
“He had a face that only a lorry tyre could love.”
“Inside every old person is a young person wondering what happened.”
“Never trust a dog with orange eyebrows.”

Discworld grew out of Pratchett’s vast reading of world mythology and his keen observation of people. By writing about a strange world inhabited by fanciful creatures such as trolls, dwarfs, zombies, golems, werewolves and scientific wizards as well as human beings, he freed himself to write about the phenomenon of being human and all the intricacies of relationships, endeavour, creativity and a vast array of human foibles. And, to write it in a way that allows us to laugh and say, “He’s right, you know”, without ever thinking he’s taking a satirical poke at us.

I’m so grateful a good friend introduced me to Pratchett’s books. I’m so grateful Sir Terry shared his wit, humour and insight with the world. I wish I could have met him to shake his hand and say, “Cheers, mate.”

I’ll let him have the last word: “No one is finally dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away – until the clock he wound up winds down, until the wine she has made has finished its ferment, until the crop they planted is harvested. The span of one’s life…is only the core of their actual existence.”

Long may Pratchett’s ripples spread out into the world…