What can I say about an author who is one of my greatest inspirations, a figure in literature I have always looked up to and aspired to emulate, in philosophy and insight if not in style? Let’s not mince words – my hero, in every meaningful sense of the word?
Nothing, really. Nothing I haven’t just said. And it occurred to me, in the process of looking back through my blog posts and trying to come up with something more meaningful to write, that I have been writing eulogies for Terry Pratchett for a while already. Getting ready.
So, now he’s gone. We’re on our own with the seventy-odd books he wrote, and hopefully a small collection of mostly-finished collaborative efforts still in the pipeline. The rest is up to us. He’s done more than his share.
At this moment, I’m pleased to say at least three Pratchett books are on the go in the Hatboy household, simultaneously. I’m reading the fourth Science of Discworld book, which is sadly a bit of a disorderly hodgepodge of ideas, but you can’t win them all. I’m reading Truckers, the first book of the Bromeliad, to Wump, and each night I read Where’s My Cow? to Toop at bedtime. Wonderful stuff.
I can’t wait to share the rest of them.