Good evening! I'm an English English graduate with an interest in all kinds of fun things, and a will to find even more. I reblog whatever I feel like at that moment, including but by no means limited to: Dr Who, Song of Ice and Fire, Homestuck, Pokemon, Avatar TLA/TLK, Zelda, Final Fantasy, Dept Heaven, Whedonverse. Usually not things that specifically ask me to reblog them, though. *****************************************************

THIEF OF VOID
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SLYTHERIN
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Most witches don’t believe in gods. They know that the gods exist, of course. They even deal with them occasionally. But they don’t believe in them. They know them too well. It would be like believing in the postman.

Terry Pratchett, Witches Abroad (via discworldquotes)

The town of Big Cabbage, theoretically the last place any sensible person would want to visit, was nevertheless popular throughout the summer because of the attractions of Brassica World and the Cabbage Research Institute, whose students were the first to get a cabbage to a height of five hundred yards propelled entirely by its own juices. Nobody asked why they felt it was necessary to do this, but that was science for you, and, of course, students.

Raising Steam, Terry Pratchett (via jenn2d2)

Anonymous asked
Yeah, I agree about Pratchett sounding different these days. Mentally I divide his work into the really early stuff, before he really figured out his world, and the middle stuff, which is Discworld down to the smell, and the more recent stuff, which is professional and more skilled but very different. The early and late stages both have in common that you get glimpses of the Disc here and there, among lots of sorta-kinda-but-not-really stuff. But the good bits are, thankfully, excellent.

ceruleancynic:

Yes! The really early stuff has the Patrician being fat and beringed, for example, and owes more than a little to Xanth. I think he really hit his stride with Wyrd Sisters, and everything from there through Hogfather was bloody good braincandy but didn’t really take on Deep Societal Issues (except for Feet of Clay).

Then we had Jingo, and with it a new slightly less just-for-laughs era, although outliers like Last Continent, Carpe Jugulum, and Thief of Time didn’t use Discworld as a lens to examine reality so intently. 

Leaving out the Tiffany Aching books and Amazing Maurice, I found that the series from Night Watch all the way to Making Money, with a couple of exceptions, was really solid. Monstrous Regiment was good but suffered from Beating The Reader Over The Head With The Concept to an extent that almost obscured the awesomeness like vampires side-scan-hallucinating Vietnam. The events of Thud gave Vimes his very own supernatural powers, which I’m still kind of torn about. The Summoning Dark is a very useful plot device and adds a new dimension to his character, but to me a lot of Vimes’s appeal has always been that he didn’t have any special powers, he was just dead clever in certain highly specialized ways (and aware of the ways in which he was not, which is almost as important).

With Unseen Academicals the city itself gets more of a role, the lens irising out, focus pulling back; and I think that pulling back and widening of the shot is what’s getting to me about Raising Steam. It’s trying to do too much at once, show too many aspects of the situation, keep too many story threads going at once. Going Postal and Making Money, like The Truth, focus in closely enough on the discovery that’s causing the paradigm shift and let the rest of the world go on in the background, but so far Raising Steam seems to be trying to do the New Discovery and the Big Picture.

As I said, I haven’t finished it, and there’s a lot of really, really good stuff in there, but it’s definitely different from what you refer to as Discworld down to the smell

LORD, WE KNOW THERE IS NO GOOD ORDER EXCEPT THAT WHICH WE CREATE…
THERE IS NO HOPE BUT US. THERE IS NO MERCY BUT US. THERE IS NO JUSTICE. THERE IS JUST US.
ALL THINGS THAT ARE, ARE OURS. BUT WE MUST CARE. FOR IF WE DO NOT CARE, WE DO NOT EXIST. IF WE DO NOT EXIST, THEN THERE IS NOTHING BUT BLIND OBLIVION.
AND EVEN OBLIVION MUST END ONE DAY. LORD, WILL YOU GRANT ME JUST A LITTLE TIME? FOR THE PROPER BALANCE OF THINGS. TO RETURN WHAT WAS GIVEN. FOR THE SAKE OF PRISONERS AND THE FLIGHT OF BIRDS.
LORD, WHAT CAN THE HARVEST HOPE FOR, IF NOT THE CARE OF THE REAPER MAN?

Death talks to Azrael, the Death of Universes

Reaper Man, by Terry Pratchett

(via espanolbot)

'A'Tuin was crawling from the Birthplace to the Time of Mating, as were all the stars in the sky which were, obviously, also carried by giant turtles. When they arrived they would briefly and passionately mate, for the first and only time, and from that fiery union new turtles would be born to carry a new pattern of worlds.'

[x]

(Source: 3parts)

jackscarab:


The other teachers in the school were known as Stephanie and Joan and so on, but to her class she was very strictly Miss Susan. “Strict,” in fact, was a word that seemed to cover everything about Miss Susan and, in the classroom, she insisted on the Miss in the same way that a king insists upon Your Majesty, and for pretty much the same reason.
Miss Susan wore black, which the headmistress disapproved of but could do nothing about because black was, well, a respectable color. She was young, but with an indefinable air of age about her. She wore her hair, which was blond-white with one black streak, in a tight bun; the headmistress disapproved of that, too — it suggested an Archaic Image Of Teaching, she said, with the assurance of someone who could pronounce a capital letter. But she didn’t ever dare disapprove of the way Miss Susan moved, because Miss Susan moved like a tiger.
It was always very hard to disapprove of Miss Susan in her presence, because if you did, she gave you a Look. It was not in any way a threatening look. It was cool and calm. You just didn’t want to see it again.
The Look worked in the classroom, too. Take homework, another Archaic Practice the headmistress was ineffectively Against. No dog ever ate the homework of one of Miss Susan’s students, because there was something about Miss Susan that went home with them; the dog brought them a pen and watched imploringly while they finished it, instead. Miss Susan seemed to have an unerring instinct for spotting laziness, and effort, too.
Contrary to the headmistress’s instructions, Miss Susan did not let the children do what they liked. She let them do what she liked. It had turned out to be a lot more interesting for everyone.
Miss Susan held up the cardboard clock and said:
“Who can tell me what this is?”
A forest of hands shot up.
“Yes, Miranda?”
“It’s a clock, miss.”
Miss Susan smiled, carefully avoided the hand that was being waved by a boy called Vincent who was also making frantically keen “ooo, ooo, ooo” noises, and chose the boy behind him.
“Nearly right,” she said. “Yes, Samuel?”
“It’s all cardboard made to look like a clock,” said the boy.
“Correct. Always see what’s really there. And I’m supposed to teach you to tell the time with this.” Miss Susan gave it a sneer and tossed it away.
“Shall we try a different way?” she said and snapped her fingers.
“Yes!” the class chorused, and then it went “aah!” as the walls, floor, and ceiling dropped away and the desks were all hovering high over the city.
A few feet away was the huge cracked face of the tower clock of Unseen University.
The children nudged one another excitedly. The fact that their boots were over one hundred feet of fresh air didn’t seem to bother them. Oddly, too, they did not seem surprised. This was just an interesting thing. They acted like connoisseurs who had seen other interesting things. You did, when you were in Miss Susan’s class.


~ Terry Pratchett, Thief of Time

"Miss Susan Teaches Time" from the Discworld Calendar 2014, illustrated by Marc Simonetti.

jackscarab:

The other teachers in the school were known as Stephanie and Joan and so on, but to her class she was very strictly Miss Susan. “Strict,” in fact, was a word that seemed to cover everything about Miss Susan and, in the classroom, she insisted on the Miss in the same way that a king insists upon Your Majesty, and for pretty much the same reason.

Miss Susan wore black, which the headmistress disapproved of but could do nothing about because black was, well, a respectable color. She was young, but with an indefinable air of age about her. She wore her hair, which was blond-white with one black streak, in a tight bun; the headmistress disapproved of that, too — it suggested an Archaic Image Of Teaching, she said, with the assurance of someone who could pronounce a capital letter. But she didn’t ever dare disapprove of the way Miss Susan moved, because Miss Susan moved like a tiger.

It was always very hard to disapprove of Miss Susan in her presence, because if you did, she gave you a Look. It was not in any way a threatening look. It was cool and calm. You just didn’t want to see it again.

The Look worked in the classroom, too. Take homework, another Archaic Practice the headmistress was ineffectively Against. No dog ever ate the homework of one of Miss Susan’s students, because there was something about Miss Susan that went home with them; the dog brought them a pen and watched imploringly while they finished it, instead. Miss Susan seemed to have an unerring instinct for spotting laziness, and effort, too.

Contrary to the headmistress’s instructions, Miss Susan did not let the children do what they liked. She let them do what she liked. It had turned out to be a lot more interesting for everyone.

Miss Susan held up the cardboard clock and said:

“Who can tell me what this is?”

A forest of hands shot up.

“Yes, Miranda?”

“It’s a clock, miss.”

Miss Susan smiled, carefully avoided the hand that was being waved by a boy called Vincent who was also making frantically keen “ooo, ooo, ooo” noises, and chose the boy behind him.

“Nearly right,” she said. “Yes, Samuel?”

“It’s all cardboard made to look like a clock,” said the boy.

“Correct. Always see what’s really there. And I’m supposed to teach you to tell the time with this.” Miss Susan gave it a sneer and tossed it away.

“Shall we try a different way?” she said and snapped her fingers.

“Yes!” the class chorused, and then it went “aah!” as the walls, floor, and ceiling dropped away and the desks were all hovering high over the city.

A few feet away was the huge cracked face of the tower clock of Unseen University.

The children nudged one another excitedly. The fact that their boots were over one hundred feet of fresh air didn’t seem to bother them. Oddly, too, they did not seem surprised. This was just an interesting thing. They acted like connoisseurs who had seen other interesting things. You did, when you were in Miss Susan’s class.

~ Terry Pratchett, Thief of Time

"Miss Susan Teaches Time" from the Discworld Calendar 2014, illustrated by Marc Simonetti.

There are many horrible sights in the multiverse. Somehow, though, to a soul attuned to the subtle rhythms of a library, there are few worse sights than a hole where a book ought to be.
Someone had stolen a book.

Guards! Guards!, Terry Pratchett, p. 100 (via myprivatelibrary)

“I meant,” said Ipslore bitterly, “what is there in this world that truly makes living worthwhile?”
Death thought about it.
CATS, he said eventually. CATS ARE NICE.”

'We taught her everything she knows,' said Granny Weatherwax. ‘Yeah,’ said Nanny Ogg, as they disappeared into the bracken. ‘D’you think…maybe…?’ ‘What’ ‘D’you think maybe we ought to have taught her everything we know’ ‘It’d take too long.’

Lords and Ladies - Terry Pratchett (via neeenorsbookcollection)