Come with me as I continue my journey, reading the science fiction classics of my youth that I, nonetheless, never read when I was young.
Terry Pratchett’s The Color of Magic came out as I was discovering the allure of fantasy fiction. While I’d certainly heard of it, the tropes used to construct his fantasy universe were similar enough to “serious” fantasy (what Pratchett calls the “consensus fantasy universe”) that I don’t think really knew the difference. That is to say, I never realized that his books were intended to be comedy. Over the years, I was apt to confuse Discworld with, say, Riverworld (or perhaps Farmer’s other oddly-shaped planets) or Ringworld*, or some other extra-dimensional concept**.
In a talk, Pratchett has described The Color of Magic both as a tribute to the genre that was formative for him as a person and as an author as well as “an attempt to do for the classical fantasy universe what Blazing Saddles did for Westerns.” Of course, Pratchett authored that speech as well, so one must weigh whether the analogy is meant to be informative or just funny. Others, presumably meant to be taken seriously, compare the work with Douglas Adams. That seems particularly relevant to my reading experience and strikes a chord. The other book that comes to mind is The Illuminatus! Trilogy.
You see, there is something about absurdist style that, counter-intuitively, creates a sense of meaning out of the lack thereof. As I read The Color of Magic, I get this feeling that I’m reading something really important even though it is, objectively, nonsensical. It’s a tribute to Pratchett’s talent as well as a heretofore unappreciated characteristic of the literary style. Of course, maybe it is just me and the circumstances in which I find myself. There’s something about today’s reality – the news and the commentary and the never-ending crises – that implies a disconnection between the assumed permanence of the real world and the direction which life is taking us.
I don’t know if I can really dedicate myself to reading the dozens and dozens of Discworld-themed novels that Pratchett has written but I’m a little disappointed in myself that I took this long to even get started.
*I know, David Niven isn’t even the right genre, but remember I’m confused. Bits and pieces of Pratchett’s stories would float into my consciousness and I tried to alight them with what I already knew – what I already read.
**Mongo, anyone?
et tu, Bluto? 