Discworld series read-through

I read a few of the Discworld books at the Birkenhead Library when I was younger. 

Every now and again quotes from some of the books would show up on The Internet, in particular the Sam Vimes ‘Boots’ Theory of Socio-Economic Unfairness.

Those quotes reminded me that I had enjoyed reading those few Discworld books when I was younger, so I decided to read all of the books.

I think I started the read-through in 2023 but I can’t find the receipts. (I’m buying all the books, original artwork where possible.)

If I started the read-through at the beginning of 2023 then I guess I’m on track to finish in 2027. Each book only takes about 3-4 evenings of reading time to finish, but I’m buying them just when I have spare time/spare cash/spare brain power for reading.

So yes, The World’s Slowest Binge-Read™.

Partway through I started making bookmarks on passages and quotes that stood out, and here’s a collection of those.

The Colour of Magic

Didn’t make any bookmarks. The colour of magic is ‘octarine’.

The Light Fantastic

Didn’t make any bookmarks. It’s a Rincewind story, so there probably would have been some good quotes.

Equal Rites

Didn’t make any bookmarks. It’s a Witches story, and Granny Weatherwax (a fave character) usually has some great quotes … woops.

Mort

Didn’t make any bookmarks. It’s a Death story, and Death (a fave character) usually has some good quotes … woops again.

Sourcery

Long quote incoming, the main bit is highlighted.

‘He’s got a point,’ said Conina. ‘I’ve nothing against wizards, but it’s not as if they do much good. They’re just a bit of decoration, really. Up to now’.

Rincewind pulled off his hat. It was battered, stained, and covered with rock dust, bits of it had been sheared off, the point was dented and the star was shedding sequins like pollen, but the word ‘Wizzard’ was still just readable under the grime.

‘See this?’ he demanded, red in the face. ‘Do you see it? Do you? What does it tell you?’

‘That you can’t spell?’ said Nijel.

‘What? No! It says I’m a wizard, that’s what! Twenty years behind the staff, and proud of it! I’ve done my time, I have! I’ve pas— I’ve sat dozens of exams! If all the spells I’ve read were piled on top of one another, they’d … it’d … you’d have a lot of spells!’

‘Yes, but—‘ Conina began.

‘Yes?’

‘You’re not actually very good at them, are you?’

Rincewind glared at her. He tried to think of what to say next, and a small receptor area opened in his mind at the same time as an inspiration particle, its path bent and skewed by a trillion random events, screamed down through the atmosphere and burst silently at just the right spot.

‘Talent just defines what you do,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t define what you are. Deep down, I mean. When you know what you are, you can do anything.’

He thought a bit more and added, ‘That’s what makes sourcerers so powerful. The important thing is to know what you really are.’

There was a pause full of philosophy.

‘Rincewind?’ said Conina, kindly.

‘Hmm?’ said Rincewind, who was still wondering how the words got into his head.

‘You really are an idiot. Do you know that?’

Sourcery p205

Wyrd Sisters

A Witches story. Long quote incoming, the main bit is highlighted.

‘Mrs Vitoller,’ she said eventually, ‘may I make so bold as to ask if your union has been blessed with fruit?’

The couple looked blank.

‘She means—‘ Nanny Ogg began.

‘No, I see,’ said Mrs Vitoller, quietly. ‘No. we had a little girl once.’

A small cloud hung over the table. For a second or two Vitoller looked merely human-sized, and much older. He stared at the small pile of cash in front of him.

‘Only, you see, there is this child,’ said Granny, indicating the baby in Nanny Ogg’s arms. ‘And he needs a home.’

The Vitollers stared. Then the man sighed.

‘It is no life for a child,’ he said. ‘Always moving. Always a new town. And no room for schooling. They say that’s very important these days.’ But his eyes didn’t look away.

[…snipped a bit …]

Vitoller played abstractly with the coins in front of him. His wife reached out across the table and touched his hand, and there was a moment of unspoken communication. Granny looked away. She had grown expert at reading faces, but there were times when she preferred not to.

‘Money is, alas, tight—’ Vitoller began.

‘But it will stretch,’ said his wife firmly.

‘Yes, I think it will. We should be happy to take care of him.’

Granny nodded and fished in the deepest recesses of her cloak. At last she produced a small leather bag, which she tipped out on to the table. There was a lot of silver, and even a few tiny gold coins.

‘This should take care of—’ she groped – ‘nappies and such like. Clothes and things. Whatever.’

‘A hundred times over, I should think,’ said Vitoller weakly. ‘Why didn’t you mention this before?’

‘If I’d had to buy you, you wouldn’t be worth the price.’

Wyrd Sisters p54–55

Pyramids

No marks in this one. Wouldn’t say it’s my favourite, so far.

Guards! Guards!

No marks in this book, which is strange because I do like a good Sgt. Vimes socio-economic-commentary rant, and the antics of the various scallywags of the City Watch (Corporal Nobbs, Carrot, Sergeant Colon, etc.) are always humorous as well.

Eric

No marks in this, not even a crease or hint of a dog-ear. (Couldn’t find a copy with original artwork either.)

Moving Pictures

The bookmarks return. Not really a favourite, but Gaspode the dog was funny.

‘Didn’t you want to be anything?’ said Ginger, putting a whole sentence-worth of disdain in a mere three letters.

‘Not really,’ said Victor. ‘Everything looks interesting until you do it. Then you find it’s just another job. I bet even people like Cohen the Barbarian get up in the morning thinking “Oh, no, not another day of crushing the jewelled thrones of the world beneath my sandalled feet.”’

‘Is that what he does?’ said Ginger, interested despite herself.

‘According to the stories, yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Search me. It’s just a job I guess.’

Moving Pictures, p171

It was dawning on the wizards that they were outside the university, at night and without permission, for the first time in decades. A certain suppressed excitement crackled from man to man. Any watcher trained in body language would have been prepared to bet that, after the click, someone was going to suggest that they might as well go somewhere and have a few drinks, and then someone else would fancy a meal, and there was always room for a few more drinks, and then it would be 5 a.m. and the city guards would be respectfully knocking on the University gates and asking if the Archchancellor would care to step down to the cells to identify some alleged wizards who were singing an obscene song in six-part harmony, and perhaps he would also care to bring some money to pay for all the damage. Because inside every old person is a young person wondering what happened.

Moving Pictures, p310-311

General theme here? “It really do be like that sometimes.”

Reaper Man

Intellectually, Ridcully maintained his position for two reasons. One was that he never, ever, ever changed his mind about anything. The other was that it took him several minutes to understand any new idea put to him, and this is a very valuable trait as a leader, because anything that someone is still trying to explain to you after two minutes is probably important and anything they give up on after a mere minute or so is almost certainly something they shouldn’t have been bothering you with in the first place.

Reaper Man p45

In Reaper Man, Death becomes a human (named Bill Door) for a while, to try it out, and it gets a bit existential.

Bill Door hadn’t been aware of it coming. But there it was, a grey figure floating in the darkness of the barn.

[… snipped a bit …]

It told him, Bill Door, there has been a mistake. […] It told him, Return. You have work to do. There has been a mistake.

The figure faded.

Bill Door nodded. Of course there had been a mistake. Anyone could see there had been a mistake. He’d known all along there had been a mistake.

He tossed the overalls in a corner and took up his robe of absolute blackness.

Well, it had been an experience. And, he had to admit, one that he didn’t want to relive. He felt as though a huge weight had been removed.

Was that what it was really like to be alive? The feeling of darkness dragging you forward?

How could they live with it? And yet they did, and even seemed to find enjoyment in it, when surely the only sensible course would be to despair. Amazing. To feel you were a tiny living thing, sandwiched between two cliffs of darkness. How could they stand to be alive?

Obviously it was something you had to be born to.

Death saddled his horse and rode out and up over the fields.

Reaper Man p155–156

Witches Abroad

This is a Witches story and as such contains Granny Weatherwax common-sense bangers. (Does Granny Weatherwax represent Pratchett’s opinions on common-sense wisdom?)

‘I’m staying here’, she [Lily] said. ‘Mrs Gogol may have come up with a new trick, but that doesn’t mean she has won.’

‘No. Things have come to an end, see,’ said Granny. ‘That’s how it works when you turn the world into stories. You should never have done that. You shouldn’t turn the world into stories. You shouldn’t treat people like they was characters, like they was things. But if you do, then you’ve got to know when the story ends.’

Witches Abroad p342

Small Gods

I’m not sure exactly why I highlighted this next one but I think it was because of the very slow and extended build up towards Brutha’s realisation that the Book does not have all the answers. (Not all of the build up is included here.)

‘But is all this true?’ said Brutha.

Didactylos shrugged. ‘Could be. Could be. We are here and it is now. The way I see it is, after that, everything tends towards guesswork.’

‘You mean you don’t know it’s true?’ said Brutha.

‘I think it might be,’ said Didactylos. ‘I could be wrong. Not being certain is what being a philosopher is all about.’

‘Talk about gods,’ said Om.

‘Gods,’ said Brutha weakly.

His mind was on fire. These people made all these books about things, and they weren’t sure. But he’d been sure, and Brother Nhumrod had been sure, and Deacon Vorbis had a sureness you could bend horseshoes around. Sureness was a rock.

Now he knew why, when Vorbis spoke about Ephebe, his face was grey with hatred and his voice was tense as a wire. If there was no truth, what was there left? And these bumbling old men spent their time kicking away the pillars of the world, and they’d nothing to replace them with but uncertainty. And they were proud of this?

Urn was standing on a small ladder, fishing among the shelves of scrolls. Didactylos sat opposite Brutha, his blind gaze still apparently fixed on him.

‘You don’t like it, do you?’ said the philosopher.

Small Gods p197

‘Don’t you fear death? You’re a human!’

Brutha considered this.

[…snipped a bit…]

‘Well … sometimes … when I’m on catacomb duty … it’s the kind of place where you can’t help … I mean, all the skulls and things … and the Book says …’

‘There you are,’ said Om, a note of bitter triumph in his voice. ‘You don’t know. That’s what stops everyone going mad, the uncertainty of it, the feeling that it might work out all right after all. But it’s different for gods. We do know. You know that story about the sparrow flying through a room?’

‘No.’

‘Everyone knows it.’

‘Not me.’

‘About life being like a sparrow flying through a room? Nothing but darkness outside? And it flies through the room and there’s just a moment of warmth and light?’

‘There are windows open?’ said Brutha.

‘Can’t you imagine what it’s like to be that sparrow, and know about the darkness? To know that afterwards there’ll be nothing to remember, ever, except that one moment of the light?’

‘No.’

‘No. Of course you can’t. But that’s what it’s like, being a god. And this place … it’s a morgue.’

Brutha looked around at the ancient, shadowy temple.

‘Well … do you know what it’s like, being human?’

Om’s head darted into his shell for a moment, the nearest he was capable of to a shrug.

‘Compared to a god? Easy. Get born. Obey a few rules. Do what you’re told. Die. Forget.’

Brutha stared at him.

‘Is something wrong?’

Small Gods p290

What the gods said was heard by each combatant in his own language, and according to his own understanding. It boiled down to:
I. This is Not a Game.
II. Here and Now, You are Alive.

And then it was over.

Small Gods p390

Lords and Ladies

I read this one out of order (maybe first?) after spotting it at a bookstore. It might have been the thing that set me off on the read-through, actually. It’s a Witches story, with a Ridcully cameo.

Just two passages marked, right near the end. (Both Granny Weatherwax.)

Circle time was ending. Besides, she knew now why her mind had felt so unravelled, and that was a help. She couldn’t hear the ghostly thoughts all the other Esme Weatherwaxes any more.

Perhaps some lived in a world ruled by elves. Or had died long ago. Or were living what they thought were happy lives. Granny Weatherwax seldom wished for anything, because wishing was soppy, but she felt a tiny regret that she’d never be able to meet them.

Perhaps some were going to die, now, here on this path. Everything you did meant that a million copies of you did something else. Some were going to die. She’d sensed their future deaths … the deaths of Esme Weatherwax. And couldn’t save them, because chance did not work like that.

On a million hillsides the girl ran, on a million bridges the girl chose, on a million paths the woman stood …

All different, all one.

All she could do for all of them was be herself, here and now, as hard as she could.

She stuck out a hand.

A few yards away the unicorn hit an invisible wall. Its legs flailed as it tried to stop, its body contorted in pain, and it slid the rest of the way to Granny’s feet on its back.

Lords and Ladies p372

Listen to me, Jason Ogg,’ said Granny, hauling on the hair as the creature skittered around in a circle, ‘you can shoe anything anyone brings you. And there’s a price for that, ain’t there?’

Jason gave Nanny Ogg a panic-stricken look. She had the grace to look embarrassed.

‘She never told me about it,’ said Granny, with her usual ability to read Nanny’s expression through the back of her own head.

She leaned closer to Jason, almost hanging from the plunging beast. ‘The price for being able to shoe anything, anything that anyone brings you … is having to shoe anything anyone brings you. The price for being the best is always … having to be the best. And you pays it, same as me.’

Lords and Ladies p375

Men at Arms

The book is the source of the Captain Samuel Vimes ‘Boots’ Theory of Socio-Economic Unfairness, the most famous of the many Sam Vimes socio-economic commentary bangers.

And here it is – but I’ll also include the two paragraphs that follow it, which are illustrative and never included* when the Boots Theory is posted online.

* well I’ve never seen those two extra paragraphs included.

The reason that the rich were so rich, Vimes reasoned, was because they managed to spend less money.

Take boots, for example. He earned thirty-eight dollars a month plus allowances. A really good pair of leather books cost fifty dollars. But an affordable pair of boots, which were sort of okay for a season or two and then leaked like hell when the cardboard gave out, cost about ten dollars. Those were the kind of boots Vimes always bought, and wore until the soles were so thin that he could tell where he was in Ankh-Morpork on a foggy night by the feel of the cobbles.

But the thing was that good boots lasted for years and years. A man who could afford fifty dollars had a pair of boots that’d still be keeping his feet dry in ten years’ time, while a poor man who could only afford cheap boots would have spent a hundred dollars on boots in the same time and would still have wet feet.

This was the Captain Samuel Vimes ‘Boots’ theory of socio-economic unfairness.

The point was that Sybil Ramkin hardly ever had to buy anything. The mansion was full of this big, solid furniture, bought by her ancestors. It never wore out. She had whole boxes full of jewellery which just seemed to have accumulated over the centuries. Vimes had seen a wine cellar that a regiment of speleologists could get so happily trunk in that they wouldn’t mind that they’d got lost without trace.

Lady Sybil Ramkin lived quite comfortably from day to day by spending, Vimes estimated, about half as much as he did. But she spent a lot more on dragons.

Men at Arms p34

Inspirations sleet through the universe continuously. Their destination, if they cared, is the right mind in the right place at the right time. They hit the right neuron, there’s a chain reaction, and a little while later someone is blinking foolishly in the TV lights and wondering how he came up with the idea of pre-sliced bread in the first place.

Men at Arms p193

He could lead armies, Angua thought. He really could. Some people have inspired whole countries to great deeds because of the power of their vision. And so could he. Not because he dreams about marching hordes, or world domination, or an empire of a thousand years. Just because he thinks that everyone’s really decent underneath and would get along just fine if only they made the effort, and he believes that so strongly it burns like a flame which is bigger than he is. He’s got a dream and we’re all part of it, so that it shapes the world around him. And the weird thing is that no-one wants to disappoint him. It’d be like kicking the biggest puppy in the universe. It’s a kind of magic.

Men at Arms p244

Soul Music

Just marked a few jokes in this one. Susan Death is in this story, there’s a cameo from Death of Rats, and Death gets drunk and existential.

‘Right,’ said Glod.

He turned to the old woman.

‘You don’t call this a music instrument, do you?’ he demanded. ‘Look at it, half of it’s not even there.’

‘Glod, I don’t think—‘ Imp began. Under his hand the strings trembled.

The old woman looked at the thing.

‘Ten dollars,’ she said.

‘Ten dollars? Ten dollars?’ said Glod. ‘It’s not worth two dollars!’

‘That’s right,’ said the old woman. She brightened up a bit in a nasty way, as if looking forward to a battle in which no expense would be spared.

‘And it’s ancient,’ said Glod.

‘Antique.’

‘Would you listen to that tone? It’s ruined.’

‘Mellow. You don’t get craftsmanship like that these days.’

‘Only because we’ve learned from experience!’

Soul Music p49

He looked up. A solitary horse was walking under the gate arch. A white horse, with a sombre, black-clad rider.

There was no question of ‘Halt, who goes there?’ The night watch walked the streets at strange hours and had become accustomed to seeing things not generally seen by mortal men.

Sergeant Colon touched his helmet respectfully. ‘Evenin’, your lordship,’ he said.

‘er … good evening.’

The guards watched the horse walk out of sight.

‘Some poor bugger’s in for it, then,’ said Sergeant Colon.

‘What’s his first name?’ said Nobby.

They stared some more. Then Sergeant Colon, who still hadn’t quite been able to put his finger on it, said: ‘What do you mean, what’s his first name?’

‘What’s his first name?’

‘He’s Death,’ said the sergeant. ‘Death. That’s his whole name. I mean … what do you mean? … You mean like … Keith Death?’

‘Well, why not?’

‘He’s just Death, isn’t he?’

‘No, that’s just his job. What do his friends call him?’

‘What do you mean, friends?’

‘All right, please yourself.’

‘Let’s go and get a hot rum.’

‘I think he looks like a Leonard.’

Soul Music p111

Susan pulled out Imp’s lifetimer. Blue smoke was still pouring through the pinch.

‘Can you help me with this?’ she said.

Death spun around.

i should never have adopted your mother.

‘Why did you?’

Death shrugged.

what’s that you’ve got there?

He took Buddy’s lifetimer from here and held it up.

ah. interesting.

‘Do you know what it means, Grandad?’

i’ve not come across it before, but i suppose it’s possible, in certain circumstances. it means … somehow … that he has rhythm in his soul … grandad?

‘Oh, no. That can’t be right. That’s just a figure of speech. And what’s wrong with grandad?’

grandfather i can live with. grandad? one step away from gramps, in my opinion. anyway, i thought you believed in logic. calling something a figure of speech doesn’t mean it’s not true.

Death waved the hourglass vaguely.

for example, he said, many things are better than a poke in the eye with a blunt stick. i’ve never understood the phrase. surely a sharp stick would be even worse—

Death stopped.

i’m doing it again! why should i care what the wretched phrase means? or what you call me? unimportant! getting entangled with humans clouds the thinking. take it from me. don’t get involved.

‘But I am a human.’

i didn’t say it was going to be easy, did i? don’t think about it. don’t feel.

‘You’re an expert, are you?’ said Susan hotly.

i may have allowed myself some flicker of emotion in the recent past, said Death, but i can give it up any time i like.

Soul Music p174

Interesting Times

Rincewind and Twoflower feature prominently. I’ve got just one page marked in this book, and there are barely any signs of bookmarks and dog-ears – I must have sped through this story.

Here’s part of a conversation between Rincewind and Twoflower. I liked this part because I have a passing interest in situations that develop when a person doesn’t have anyone who is willing to tell them that they’re messing up. (And if you think I’m messing up at any time, I hope you would tell me.)

‘It’s not really his fault. He just doesn’t understand people.’

‘Is that so?’

‘You know how common kids go through a stage of pulling the wings off flies?’

‘I never did,’ said Rincewind. ‘You can’t trust flies. They may look small but they can turn nasty.’

‘Kids generally, I mean.’

‘Yes? Well?’

‘He is an Emperor. No one ever dared tell him it was wrong. It’s just a matter, of, you know, scaling up. All the five families fight among themselves for the crown. He killed his nephew to become Emperor. No one has ever told him that it’s not right to keep killing people for fun. At least, no one who has ever managed to get to the end of the first sentence. And the Hongs and the Fangs and the Tangs and the Sungs and the McSweeneys have been killing one another for thousands of years. It’s all part of the royal succession.’

‘McSweeneys?’

‘Very old-established family’

Rincewind nodded gloomily. It was probably like breeding horses. If you have a system where treacherous murderers tend to win, you end up breeding really treacherous murderers. You end up with a situation where it’s dangerous to lean over a cradle …

Interesting Times p233

Maskerade

A Witches story, including Greebo the Cat.

But magic is never as simple as people think. It has to obey certain universal laws. And one is that, no matter how hard a thing is to do, once it has been done it’ll become a whole lot easier and will therefore be done a lot. A huge mountain might be scaled by strong men only after many centuries of failed attempts, but a few decades later grandmothers will be strolling up it for tea and then wandering back afterwards to see where they left their glasses.

Maskerade p98

There’s a Granny Weatherwax vs. Death section, which is spectacular. (I shan’t type out the whole lot.)

Granny breathed out, slowly.

‘Come and sit where I can see you. That’s good manners. And let me tell you right now that I ain’t at all afraid of you.’

The tall, black-robed figure walked across the floor and sat down on a handy barrel, leaning its scythe against the wall. Then it pushed back its hood.

Granny folder her arms and stared calmly at the visitor, meeting his gaze eye-to-socket.

i am impressed.

‘I have faith.’

really? in what particular deity?

‘Oh, none of them.’

then faith in what?

‘Just faith, you know. In general.’

Death leaned forward. The candlelight raised new shadows on his skull.

courage is easy by candlelight. your faith, i suspect, is in the flame.

Death grinned.

Granny leaned forward, and blew out the candle. Then she folded her arms again and stared fiercely ahead of her.

After some length of time, a voice said, all right, you’ve made your point.

Granny lit a match. Its flare illuminated the skull opposite, which hadn’t moved.

‘Fair enough’, she said, as she relit the candle. ‘We don’t want to be sitting here all night, do we? How many have you come for?’

one.

‘The cow?’

Death shook his head.

‘It could be the cow.’

no. that would be changing history.

‘History is about things changing.’

no.

‘Then I challenge you to a game. That’s traditional. That’s allowed.’

this is true.

‘Good.’

challenging me by means of a game is allowable.

‘Yes.’

however … you understand that to win all you must gamble all?

‘Double or quits? Yes, I know.’

but not chess.

‘Can’t abide chess.’

or cripple mr onion. i’ve never been able to understand the rules.

‘Very well. How about one hand of poker? Five cards each, no draws? Sudden death, as they say.’

Death thought about this, too.

you know this family?

‘No.’

then why?

‘Are we talking or are we playing?’

Maskerade p99

There was fear here. It stalked the place like a great dark animal. It lurked in every corner. It was in the stones. Old terror crouched in the shadows. It was one of the most ancient terrors, the one that meant that no sooner had mankind learned to walk on two legs than it dropped to its knees. It was the terror of impermanence, the knowledge that all this would pass away, that a beautiful voice or a wonderful figure was something whose arrival you couldn’t control and whose departure you couldn’t delay.

Maskerade p164

‘So I’ve no doubt at all that there’s some kind of idea floating around in your mind about this Ghost …’

‘Well … sort of an idea, yes …’

‘A name, perhaps?’

Nanny shifted uncomfortably, and not only because of the moneybags under her skirt.

‘I got to admit something crossed my mind. A kind of … feeling. I mean, you never can tell …’

Granny nodded. ‘Yes. It’s all neat, isn’t it. It’s a lie.’

‘You said last night you saw the whole thing!’

‘It’s still a lie. Like the lie about masks.’

‘What lie about masks?’

‘The way people say they hide faces.’

‘They do hide faces,’ said Nanny Ogg.

‘Only the one on the outside.’

Maskerade p224

They turned and looked at Agnes, who was standing in the centre of the stage and glowering at nothing.

‘Feeling a bit angry?’ said Nanny. ‘Only to be expected.’

‘Yes!’

‘Feeling that everything’s happened for other people and not for you?’

‘Yes!’

‘But,’ said Granny Weatherwax, ‘look at it like this: what’s Christine got to look forward to? She’ll just become a singer. Stuck in a little world. Oh, maybe she’ll be good enough to get a little fame, but one day the voice’ll crack and that’s the end of her life. You have got a choice. You can either be on the stage, just a performer, just going through the lines … or you can be outside it, and know how the script works, where the scenery hangs, and where the trapdoors are. Isn’t that better?’

‘No!’

Maskerade p368

Feet of Clay

There are many Sam Vimes socio-economic commentary bangers in this one. (Is Vimes Pratchett’s conscience?) Plus some excellent Constable Angua bits.

When Nobby had gone Vimes reached behind the desk and picked up a faded copy of Twurp’s Peerage or, as he personally thought of it, the guide to the criminal classes. You wouldn’t find slum dwellers in these pages, but you would find their landlords. And, while it was regarded as pretty good evidence of criminality to be living in a slum, for some reason owning a whole street of them merely got you invited to the very best social occasions.

Feet of Clay p103

‘You know everything that’s going on, Igor,’ Angua said. ‘Two old men got killed yesterday. And a load of clay got stolen from Igneous the troll recently. Did you ever hear about that?’

‘What’s that to you?’

‘Killing old men is against the law,’ said Angua. ‘Of course, a lot of things are against the law, so we’re very busy in the Watch. We like to be busy about important things. Otherwise we have to be busy about unimportant things. Are you hearing me?’

The shadow considered this. ‘Go and take a seat,’ it said. ‘I’ll bring you drinks.’

Angua lead the way to a table in an alcove. The clientele lost interest in them. A buzz of conversation resumed.

Feet of Clay p122

Vimes returns to Cockbill Street, where he grew up.

Unlike the Shades, though, Cockbill Street was clean, with the haunting, empty cleanliness you get when people can’t afford to waste dirt. For Cockbill Street was where people lived who were worse than poor, because they didn’t know how poor they were. If you asked them they would probably say something like ‘mustn’t grumble’ or ‘there’s far worse off than us’ or ‘we’ve always kept uz heads above water and we don’t owe nobody nowt’.

He could hear his granny speaking. ‘No one’s too poor to buy soap.’ Of course, many people were. But in Cockbill Street they bought soap just the same. The table might not have any food on it, but, by gods, it was well scrubbed. That was Cockbill Street, where what you mainly ate was your pride.

What a mess the world was in, Vimes reflected. Constable Visit had told him the meek would inherit it, and what had the poor devils done to deserve that?

Cockbill Street people would stand aside to let the meek through. For what kept them in Cockbill Street, mentally and physically, was their vague comprehension that there were rules. And they went through life filled with a quiet, distracted dread that they weren’t quite obeying them. People said that there was one law for the rich and one law for the poor, but it wasn’t true. There was no law for those who made the law, and no law for the incorrigibly lawless. All the laws and rules were for those people stupid enough to think like Cockbill Street people.

Feet of Clay p231–232

‘Yeah, but … you can’t trust ‘em,’ said one of the other hammer-bearers. They sneak around and they never say anything. What are they up to, eh?’

He gave Dorfl a kick. The golem rocked slightly.

‘Well, now,’ said Carrot. ‘That is what I am finding out. In the meantime, I must ask you to go about your business…’

The third demolition man had only recently arrived in the city and had gone along with the idea because there are some people who do.

He raised his hammer defiantly and opened his mouth to say ‘Oh, yeah?’ but stopped, because just by his ear he heard a growl. It was quite low and soft, but it had a complex little waveform which went straight down into a little knobbly bit in his spinal column where it pressed an ancient button marked Primal Terror.

He turned. An attractive watchwoman behind him gave him a friendly smile. That was to say, her mouth turned up at the corners and all her teeth were visible.

He dropped the hammer on his foot.

‘Well done,’ said Carrot. ‘I’ve always said you can do more with a kind word and a smile.’

The crowd looked at him with the kind of expression people always wore when they looked at Carrot. It was the face-cracking realisation that he really did believe what he was saying. The sheer enormity tended to leave people breathless.

Feet of Clay p291–292

‘It just killed Dorfl, just like that!’ said Carrot.

‘It’s a shame, yes,’ said Angua. ‘Or it would be if Dorfl had been alive. Carrot, they’re like … machinery. Look, we can make it to the door—’

Carrot shook himself free. ‘It’s murder,’ he said. ‘We’re Watchmen. We can’t just … watch! It killed him!’

‘It’s an it, and so’s he—’

‘Commander Vimes said someone has to speak for the people with no voices!’

He really believes it, Angua thought. Vimes puts words in his head.

‘Keep it occupied!’ he shouted, and darted away.

‘How? Organise a sing-song?’

‘I’ve got a plan.’

‘Oh, good!’

Feet of Clay p362

It seemed to Vimes that Dragon was getting bigger, but perhaps it was only a trick of the candlelight. The light flickered as the candles hissed and popped.

‘You made good use of me, eh?’ Vimes carried on. ‘I’d been ducking out of appointments with you for weeks. I expect you were getting quite impatient. You were so surprised when I told you about Nobby, eh? Otherwise you’d’ve had to send for him or discovered him or something, very suspicious. But Commander Vimes discovered him. That looks good. Practically makes it official.

‘And then I started thinking: who wants a king? Well, nearly everyone. It’s built in. Kings make it better. Funny thing, isn’t it. Even those people who owe everything to him don’t like Vetinari. Ten years ago most of the guild leaders were just a bunch of thugs and now … well, they’re still a bunch of thugs to tell the truth, but Vetinari’s given ‘em the time and energy to decide they never needed him.

‘And then young Carrot turns up with charisma writ all over him, and he’s got a sword and a birthmark and everyone gets a funny feeling and dozens of buggers start going through the records and say, “hey, looks like the king’s come back.” And then they watch him for a while and say “Shit, he really is decent and honest and fair and just, just like in all the stories. Whoops! If this lad gets on the throne we could be in serious trouble! He might turn out to be one of those inconvenient kings from long ago who wanders around talking to the common people—”’

‘You are in favour of the common people?’ said Dragon mildly.

‘The common people?’ said Vimes. ‘They’re nothing special. They’re no different from the rich and powerful except they’ve got no money or power. But the law should be there to balance things up a bit. So I suppose I’ve got to be on their side.’

Feet of Clay p381–382

Lord Vetinari fell silent for a moment. His fingers drummed softly on his desk. ‘Many fine old manuscripts in that place, I believe. Without price, I’m told.’

‘Yes sir, certainly worthless, sir.’

‘Is it possible you misunderstood what I just said, Commander?’

‘Could be, sir.’

‘The provenances of many splendid old families went up in smoke, Commander. Of course, the Heralds will do what they can, and the families themselves keep records but frankly, I understand, it’s all going to be patchwork and guesswork. Extremely embarrassing. Are you smiling, Commander?’

‘It was probably a trick of the light, sir.’

‘Commander, I always used to consider that you had a definite anti-authoritarian streak in you.’

‘Sir?’

‘It seems that you have managed to retain this even though you are authority.’

‘Sir?’

‘That’s practically Zen.’

Feet of Clay p391–392

‘Y’know,’ said Colon, ‘if it doesn’t work out, you could always get a job making fortune cookies.’

‘Funny thing, that,’ said Nobby. ‘You never get bad fortunes in cookies, ever noticed that? They never say stuff like: “Oh dear, things’re going to be really bad.” I mean, they’re never misfortune cookies.’

Vimes lit a cigar and shook the match to put it out. ‘That, Corporal, is because of one of the fundamental driving forces of the universe.’

‘What? Like, people who read fortune cookies are the lucky ones?’ said Nobby.

‘No. Because people who sell fortune cookies want to go on selling them. Come on Constable Dorfl. We’re going for a walk.’

Feet of Clay p400

‘So you won’t need that silver spoon in your pocket,’ said Angua.

Cheri’s mouth dropped open and then the words tumbled over themselves. ‘Er … I don’t know how it got there it must have dropped in when I was washing up oh I didn’t mean—’

‘It doesn’t worry me, honestly. I’m used to it.’

‘But I didn’t think you’d—’

‘Look, don’t get the wrong idea. It’s not a case of not wanting to,’ said Angua. ‘It’s a case of wanting to and not doing it.’

Feet of Clay p408

Hogfather

In the foreword to this book is a dedication to a friend of the author for ‘asking me, many years ago, the question Susan asks in this book.’

In Hogfather (who seems to be the Discworld equivalent of Father Christmas) we have all the Deaths (Susan, Keith [?], and Death of Rats).

And many quotable sections!

Or possibly not, of course. The philosopher Didactylos has summed up an alternative hypothesis as ‘Things just happen. What the hell.’

Hogfather p12

And they are correct. The universe clearly operates for the benefit of humanity. This can be readily seen from the convenient way the sun comes up in the morning, when people are ready to start the day.

Hogfather p140 (footnotes)

‘We’ll see what we can find out, Archchancellor,’ said Ponder diplomatically.

‘Good man.’ Ridcully put the gnome back in his pocket and looked up at Hex.

‘Amazin’,’ he said again. ‘He just looks as though he’s thinking, right?’

‘Er … yes.’

‘But he’s not actually thinking?’

‘Er … no.’

‘So he just gives the impression of thinking but really it’s just a show?’

‘Er … yes.’

‘Just like everyone else, then, really,’ said Ridcully.

Hogfather p146

Her parents had sat her down one day when she was about six or seven and explained how such things as the Hogfather did not really exist, how they were pleasant little stories that it was fun to know, how they were not real. And she had believed it. All the fairies and bogeymen, all those stories from the blood and bone of humanity, were not really real.

They’d lied. A seven-foot skeleton had turned out to be her grandfather. Not a flesh and blood grandfather, obviously. But a grandfather, you could say, in the bone.

Binky touched down and trotted over the snow.

Was the Hogfather a god? Why not? thought Susan. There were sacrifices, after all. All that sherry and pork pie. And he made commandments and rewarded the good and he knew what you were doing. If you believed, nice things happened to you. Sometimes you found him in a grotto, and sometimes he was up there in the sky…

Hogfather p159

‘Tell me again who those people were,’ said the oh god.

‘Some of the cleverest men in the world,’ said Susan.

‘And I’m sober, am I?’

‘Clever isn’t the same as sensible,’ said Susan, ‘and they do say that if you wish to walk the path to wisdom then for your first step you must become as a small child.’

‘Do you think they’ve heard about the second step?’

Susan sighed. ‘Probably not, but sometimes they fall over it while they’re running around shouting.’

‘Ah.’ The oh god looked around. ‘Do you think they have any soft drinks here?’ he said.

Hogfather p199–200

What Ponder was worried about was the fear that he was simply engaged in a cargo cult. He’d read about them. […] people whose island might once have been visited by some itinerant merchant vessel that traded pearls and coconuts for such fruits of civilisation as glass beads, mirrors, axes and sexual diseases, would later make big model ships out of bamboo in the hope of once again attracting this magical cargo. Of course, they were far too ignorant and credulous to know that just because you built the shape you didn’t get the substance. He’d built the shape of Hex and, it occurred to him, he’d built it in a magical university where the border between the real and ‘not real’ was stretched so thin you could almost see through it. He got the horrible suspicion that, somehow, they were merely making solid a sketch that was hidden somewhere in the air.

Hogfather p212–213

‘Is … is there a privy nearby?’ mumbled their burden.

‘I believe it’s through that arch over there,’ said Susan. ‘I’ve heard it’s not very pleasant, though.’

‘That’s not a rumour, that’s a forecast,’ said the fat figure, and lurched off. ‘And then can I please have a glass of water and one charcoal biscuit …’

‘Friend of yours?’ said Susan.

‘God of Indigestion, I think.’

Hogfather p230

Here’s that question.

‘Rows of teeth,’ said the oh god again. ‘Like … rows, you know? What’s the Tooth Fairy?’

[snipped a bit]

‘They collect teeth?’

‘Yes. Obviously.’

‘Why?’

‘Why? It’s their job!’

[snipped a bit]

Susan looked thoughtfully at the Death of Rats. ‘Actually … where do they take the teeth?’

Hogfather p232

A fantastic Albert and Death discussion that veers towards socio-economic commentary as they are delivering Hogswatch gifts in the Hogfather’s absence. (Again, shan’t type it all out)

A letter, in erratic handwriting, was attached to it. Death picked it up.

the boy wants a pair of trousers that he doesn’t have to share, a huge meat pie, a sugar mouse, ‘a lot of toys’, and a puppy called scruff.

‘Ah, sweet,’ said Albert. ‘I shall wipe away a tear, ‘cos what he‘s getting’, see, is this little wooden toy and an apple.’ He held them out.

but the letter clearly—

‘Yes, well, it’s socio-economic factors again, right?’ said Albert. ‘The world’d be in a right mess if everyone got what they asked for, eh?’

i gave them what they wanted in the store …

‘Yeah, and that’s gonna cause a lot of trouble, master. All them “toy pigs that really work”. I didn’t say nothing ‘cos it was getting the job done but you can’t go on like that. What good’s a god who gives you everything you want?’

you have me there.

‘It’s the hope that’s important. Big part of belief, hope. Give people jam today and they’ll just sit and eat it. Jam tomorrow, now – that’ll keep them going for ever.’

and you mean that because of this the poor get poor things and the rich get rich things?

‘’s right,’ said Albert. ‘That’s the meaning of Hogswatch.’

Hogfather p269–270

There’s more.

but we have been into houses where the children had so many toys and brought them even more toys, and in houses like this the children get practically nothing.

‘Huh, we’d have given anything to get practically nothing when I were a lad’, said Albert.

be happy with what you’ve got, is that the idea?

‘That’s about the size of it, master. A good god line, that. Don’t give ‘em too much and tell ‘em to be happy with it. Jam tomorrow, see.’

this is wrong. Death hesitated, i mean … it’s right to be happy with what you’ve got. but you’ve got to have something to be happy about having. there’s no point in being happy about having nothing.

Albert felt a bit out of his depth in this new tide of social philosophy.

‘Dunno,’ he said. ‘I suppose people’d say they’ve got the moon and the stars and suchlike.’

i’m sure they wouldn’t be able to produce the paperwork.

‘All I know is, if Dad’d caught us with a big bag of pricy toys we’d just have got a ding round the earhole for nicking ‘em.’

it is … unfair.

‘That’s life, master.’

but i’m not.

‘I meant this is how it’s supposed to go, master.’

no. you mean this is how it goes.

Hogfather p272–273

‘Oh, just … you know, just … looking. A little … experiment. After all, you never know.’

‘You never know what?’

‘Just … never know, you know.’

‘Sometimes you know,’ said Ridcully. ‘I think I know quite a lot that I didn’t used to know. It’s amazing what you do end up knowing, I sometimes think. I often wonder what new stuff I’ll know.’

‘Well, you never know.’

‘That’s a fact.’

Hogfather p300

‘Why the Hog—’

it is the things you believe which make you human. good things and bad things, it’s all the same.

The mists parted. Sharp peaks were all around them, lit by the glow off the snow.

‘These look like the mountains where the Castle of Bones was,’ she said.

they are, said Death, in a sense. he has gone back to a place he knows. an early place …

Binky cantered low over the snow.

‘And what are we looking for?’ said Susan.

you will know when you see it.

‘Snow? Trees? I mean, could I have a clue? What are we here for?’

i told you, to ensure the sun comes up.

‘Of course the sun will come up!’

no.

‘There’s no magic that’ll stop the sun coming up!’

i wish i was as clever as you.

Susan stared down out of sheer annoyance, and saw something below.

Hogfather p394–395

‘Ah,’ said Susan dully. ‘Trickery with words. I would have thought you’d have been more literal-minded than that.’

i am nothing if not literal-minded. trickery with words is where humans live.

‘All right,’ said Susan. ‘I’m not stupid. You’re saying humans need … fantasies to make life bearable.’

really? as if it was some kind of pink pill? no. humans need fantasy to be human. to be the place where the falling angel meets the rising ape.

‘Tooth fairies? Hogfathers? Little—’

yes. as practice. you have to start out learning to believe the little lies.

‘So we can believe the big ones?’

yes. justice. mercy. duty. that sort of thing.

‘They’re not the same at all!’

you think so? then take the universe and grind it down to the finest powder and sieve it through the finest sieve and then show me one atom of justice, one molecule of mercy, and yet— Death waved a hand. and yet you act as if there is some ideal order in the world, as if there is some … some rightness in the universe by which it may be judged.

‘Yes, but people have got to believe that, or what’s the point—’

my point exactly.

Hogfather p407–408

Jingo

I enjoyed the extended appearances of Vetinari in this story.

‘By jingo, if we do, we’ll show those—’ Lord Selachi began.

Jingo p32

Suppose that quote is where the book’s title comes from?

Burleigh looked as though he’d been let off the hook on to a bigger hook.

Jingo p22

Vimes stood up. ‘You know what I always say,’ he said.

Carrot removed his helmet and polished it with his sleeve. ‘Yes, sir. “Everyone’s guilty of something, especially the ones who aren’t,” sir.’

‘No, not that one …’

‘Er … “Always take into consideration the fact that you might be dead wrong,” sir.’

‘No, not that one either.’

‘Er … “How come Nobby ever got a job as a watchman?” sir? You say that a lot.’

‘No! I meant “Always act stupid,” Carrot.’

‘Ah, right, sir. From now on I shall remember that you always said that, sir.’

Jingo p86

It was an hour later when she heard him step out into the hall. He was humming under his breath, tunelessly, with the faraway look of preoccupation that means that some Big Thought has required the shutting down of all non-essential processes. He was also re-radiating the field of angered innocence that was, to her, part of his essential Vimesness.

Jingo p182

Another classic Vimes bit.

And then he realised that he was wondering if the attack on Goriff’s shop had been organised by the same people, and whether those same people had set fire to the embassy.

And then he realised why he was thinking like this. It was because he wanted there to be conspirators. It was much better to imagine men in some smoky room somewhere, made mad and cynical by privilege and power, plotting over the brandy. You had to cling to this sort of image, because if you didn’t then you might have to face the fact that bad things happened because ordinary people, the kind who brushed the dog and told their children bedtime stories, were capable of then going out and doing horrible things to other ordinary people. It was so much easier to blame it on Them. It was bleakly depressing to think that They were Us. If it was Them, then nothing was anyone’s fault. If it was Us, what did that make Me? After all, I’m one of Us. I must be. I’ve certainly never thought of myself as one of Them. No-one ever thinks of themselves as one of Them. We’re always one of Us. It’s Them that do the bad things.

Jingo p199

The Last Continent

Good story, no notes.

‘’s okay, I like parrots,’ mumbled Rincewind, who was just hoping that they would let him go so that he could hold on to the ground again. ‘Er … what’s Ecksian for going mad with terrified fatigue and collapsing in a boneless heap?’

The men looked at one another.

‘Isn’t that “snagged as a wombat’s tonker”?’

‘No, no, no, that’s when you chuck a twister isn’t it?’ said Clancy.

‘What? Strewth, no. Chucking a twister’s when … when you … yeah it’s when you … yeah, it’s when your nose … Hang on, that’s “bend a smartie” …’

‘Er—’ said Rincewind, clutching his head.

‘What? “Bend a smartie” is when your ears get blocked underwater.’ Clancy looked uncertain, and then seemed to reach a decision. ‘Yeah, that’s right!’

‘Nah, that’s “gonging like a possum’s armpit,” mate.’

‘Excuse me—’ said Rincewind’

‘That ain’t right. “Gonging like a possum’s armpit” is when you crack a crusty. When your ears are stuffed up like a Mudjee’s kettle after a week of Fridays, that’s “stuck up like Morgan’s mule”.’

‘No, you’re referrin’ to “happier than Morgan’s mule in a choccy patch”—’.

‘You mean “as fast as Morgan’s mule after it ate Ma’s crow pie”.”

‘How fast was that? Exactly?’ said Rincewind.

They all stared at him.

‘Faster’n an eel in a snakepit, mate!’ said Clancy. ‘Don’t you understand plain language?’

‘Yeah,’ said one of the men, ‘he might be a fancy rider but I reckon he’s dumber than a—’

The Last Continent p217–218

I think my favourite Aussie-type slang is either ‘going off like a frog in a sock’, or how if a ball gets kicked into someone’s face it’s called a ‘falcon’.

‘Is it true that your life passes before your eyes before you die?’

yes.

‘Ghastly thought, really.’ Rincewind shuddered. ‘Oh, gods, I’ve just had another one. Suppose I am just about to die and this is my whole life passing in front of my eyes?’

i think perhaps you do not understand. people’s whole lives do pass in front of their eyes before they die. the process is called ‘living.’ would you like a prawn?

Rincewind looked down at the bucket on Death’s lap.

‘No, thank you. I really don’t think so. They can be pretty deadly. And I must say it’s a bit much of you to come here and gloat and eat prawns at me.

[… snipped a bit …]

‘Hang on … I mean, hold on, you told me I was certainly going to die!’

everyone is. eventually.

The wall opened and closed around Death as if it wasn’t there, which was, from his lengthy perspective, quite true.

The Last Continent p278–279

(More to be added at a later date as The World’s Slowest Live-Blog™ continues.)