It’s impossible to do justice to reviewing a classic. The Death series and character is my favourite in Pratchett’s disc world, maybe followed by the wizards. Who knew the grim-reaper’s story could be so sweet?
Somehow Pratchett draws almost every character, however fearsome, as a public servant, just trying (not overly hard) to get by. Only the women are powerful and determined in these books, even when inclined to frills.
You just can’t beat the scene of Death interviewing for a job, seeking something with cats and flowers.
The use of capitals as Death’s voice is hilarious and so clever, adding a third dimension to two-dimensional words on a page. I wish Pratchett had lived to turn the world of texting and tweets on its head in the same way as he did with these books.
Pratchett builds relationships between the characters with the barest line or two, almost incidentally or outside the narrative, yet with complete conviction.
The poetic rambling writing, while seemingly leading to nowhere, other than to footnotes, builds an incredible story and powerful characters. In Pratchett’s beautifully unassuming way, this book is, simply, masterful.
In this, Pratchett’s cynical witty honest world, where “there is no justice, only ME” (Death), where there is no way Mort can win, Death delivers the most unexpectedly just end. With hardly any death. Poetic justice at its finest.
Only Pratchett could write about death and eternity in this way. It’s bittersweet reading this when Pratchett has passed. Few people leave behind this kind of creative, enjoyable, thought-provoking legacy.
That’s the best inadequate review I can give.
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