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The Gods Trilogy: A Discworld Omnibus: Pyramids, Small Gods, Hogfather by Pratchett, Terry (2000) Hardcover
The Discworld is, as everyone knows, and no one should now need to be told, flat. It rides through space on the back of four elephants* which, in turn, are standing on the shell of an enormous turtle. But just because it is being borne through space on the back of a turtle, doesn't mean it doesn't need gods ...The Gods Trilogy is a bumper volume containing the complete text of three of Terry Pratchett's celebrated SMALL GODS Brutha is the Chosen One. His god has spoken to him, admittedly while currently in the shape of a tortoise; and Brutha now has a mission. PYRAMIDS It isn't easy, being a teenage you're not allowed to carry money; uninhibited young women peel grapes for you and the Great Pyramid has just exploded because of paracosmic instability ...HOGFATHER It's the night before Hogswatch ...and it's too quiet. There's snow, there're robins, there're trees covered with decorations, but there's a notable lack of the big fat man who delivers the toys ...He's gone. *There used to be five, but that's another story entirely
Hardcover
First published January 1, 2000
6 people are currently reading
519 people want to read
About the author
Terry Pratchett
684 books46.1k followersSir Terence David John Pratchett was an English author, humorist, and satirist, best known for the Discworld series of 41 comic fantasy novels published between 1983–2015, and for the apocalyptic comedy novel Good Omens (1990), which he co-wrote with Neil Gaiman.
Pratchett's first novel, The Carpet People, was published in 1971. The first Discworld novel, The Colour of Magic, was published in 1983, after which Pratchett wrote an average of two books a year. The final Discworld novel, The Shepherd's Crown, was published in August 2015, five months after his death.
With more than 100 million books sold worldwide in 43 languages, Pratchett was the UK's best-selling author of the 1990s. He was appointed an Officer of the Order of the British Empire (OBE) in 1998 and was knighted for services to literature in the 2009 New Year Honours. In 2001 he won the annual Carnegie Medal for The Amazing Maurice and His Educated Rodents, the first Discworld book marketed for children. He received the World Fantasy Award for Life Achievement in 2010.
In December 2007 Pratchett announced that he had been diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer's disease. He later made a substantial public donation to the Alzheimer's Research Trust (now Alzheimer's Research UK, ARUK), filmed three television programmes chronicling his experiences with the condition for the BBC, and became a patron of ARUK. Pratchett died on 12 March 2015, at the age of 66.
Pratchett's first novel, The Carpet People, was published in 1971. The first Discworld novel, The Colour of Magic, was published in 1983, after which Pratchett wrote an average of two books a year. The final Discworld novel, The Shepherd's Crown, was published in August 2015, five months after his death.
With more than 100 million books sold worldwide in 43 languages, Pratchett was the UK's best-selling author of the 1990s. He was appointed an Officer of the Order of the British Empire (OBE) in 1998 and was knighted for services to literature in the 2009 New Year Honours. In 2001 he won the annual Carnegie Medal for The Amazing Maurice and His Educated Rodents, the first Discworld book marketed for children. He received the World Fantasy Award for Life Achievement in 2010.
In December 2007 Pratchett announced that he had been diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer's disease. He later made a substantial public donation to the Alzheimer's Research Trust (now Alzheimer's Research UK, ARUK), filmed three television programmes chronicling his experiences with the condition for the BBC, and became a patron of ARUK. Pratchett died on 12 March 2015, at the age of 66.
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Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews
November 10, 2014
This is a great set of books to have been put together. If you haven't read any Terry Pratchett it's a pretty good starter book if you like the themes of gods. I'm really happy to have picked this up even if I own all the books in standalone form as well.
June 27, 2025
1. Pyramids ⭐⭐⭐
An Eccentric Satire on Tradition and Time
Perhaps the most unconventional and experimental novel in the widely beloved Discworld series by Terry Pratchett, Pyramids was awarded the British Science Fiction Association prize in 1989. Nevertheless, it remains one of the author’s lesser-known works – likely because it diverges from the familiar subject matter and iconic locations of the Disc. In short, it strays from the beaten path and has been somewhat devoured by obscurity.
The protagonist, Teppic (short for Pteppicymon XXVIII), is a young assassin trained in Ankh-Morpork, who is obliged to return to his ancestral kingdom, Djelibeybi – a surreal, ironic pastiche of Ancient Egypt. His central conflict – between the need for change and the inertia of tradition – delivers a pertinent and weighty commentary, served with Pratchett’s signature subversive humour.
The plot is rich as a proper pastry custard (the kind now lamentably rare, given the public’s unfortunate infatuation with that abomination known as whipped cream), though at times fragmentary. A host of secondary characters – such as the philosophers of Ephebe, the obsessively consistent contractors Ptaclusp, or the “eerily eternal” high priest Dios – enrich the novel’s intellectual universe, though not always to the benefit of its narrative cohesion.
Compared to other Discworld titles, Pyramids oscillates between the theological satire of Small Gods and the philosophical musings of Mort, where concepts such as time and fate are treated with both wit and gravity. Yet here, the intellectual heft is distributed rather unevenly, with ideas introduced boldly but not always developed to their full potential.
The allegory of the “temporal polder” – a domain cordoned off from the flow of time – is arguably the book’s most philosophically ambitious construct. It touches upon the notion of how societies entrench themselves in a self-contained, anachronistic stasis, resisting external change. However, despite its symbolic power, this idea remains somewhat underutilised: Pratchett opens a tantalising metaphysical door, only to leave it swinging.
Dios, as the personification of unyielding tradition, is perhaps the most striking and sinister character in the novel. His devotion to preserving order at any cost exposes the absurdity of “eternal” continuity. Yet his denouement feels somewhat hurried, as though he deserved a more gradual narrative dismantling.
Pyramids is a bold work, brimming with acerbic satire aimed at religion, conservatism, and the machinery of power. While its ideas are undeniably clever and its scenes frequently delightful – notably the return of long-deceased gods and monarchs – the execution is uneven and at times chaotic.
Conclusion:
A novel marked by intellectual ambition, scathing humour, and existential curiosity, Pyramids does not always succeed in balancing satire with narrative coherence. It remains, however, a noteworthy and distinctive stop on the Discworld journey – ideal for the initiated, but perhaps less enticing for newcomers.
For those embarking on their first visit to the Disc, more accessible starting points might be Guards! Guards! , Mort , or Wyrd Sisters – works that strike a more harmonious balance between plot, humour, and philosophy.
In any case, Pyramids reaffirms that even when Pratchett misses the mark, the journey remains well worth taking.
2. Small Gods ⭐⭐⭐⭐
Small Gods (the 13th novel in the Discworld series) is arguably Terry Pratchett’s most philosophical and provocative work. Though nominally (and, admittedly, practically) part of the wider series that spans 41 volumes, it functions entirely independently and requires no prior familiarity with the other books — unlike Mort (which deals with Death and fate) or Guards! Guards! (a satire on policing and political institutions). Small Gods, by contrast, strips Discworld of its usual cast of familiar faces and focuses instead on one god and one believer — making it stand out through its contemplative tone and its focus on the nature of belief, divinity, and humanity. It explores how belief itself confers existence upon the divine — belief which, of course, originates in the human.
The story begins with the god Om, who has been trapped in the body of a humble tortoise due to the fact that only one true believer remains: a young novice named Brutha, illiterate but blessed (or cursed) with a photographic memory and very little critical thought (if this brings to mind the rote-learners of your schooldays who could recite a text flawlessly without grasping its meaning, I don’t blame you — I despised them too). Their journey, both literal and spiritual, leads them into conflict with a theocratic empire, philosophers with dangerously subversive ideas, and a regime terrified of dissent (nothing more familiar, really…). The result is a rich allegory exploring the relationship between faith and power, as well as the capacity of individual conscience to resist dogma.
Pratchett, with his trademark humanist wit and quiet irony that never bows before sacred cows, absurdities or cognitive dissonance (the quintessence of all religion), takes aim at institutions and authority. In one scene, for instance, Om — still a tortoise — attempts to deliver a divine sign to Brutha by dropping a brick on his head, only to discover that “divine revelations have a disappointingly low success rate when they involve blunt force trauma.” In another, the philosophers of Ephebe engage in an abstract debate about the existence of the external world, even as one of them is quite literally on fire, refusing to acknowledge it because it “didn’t fit with his theory.”
Yet despite the satire, the novel is not devoid of tenderness. Brutha does not become a prophet because he hears voices or performs miracles, but because he learns to think, to feel — and ultimately, to doubt. His transformation from a passive believer to a morally autonomous individual forms the novel’s core, as does Om’s own slow and moving metamorphosis from an egotistical god into something more… human.
If there is a flaw, it is that the plot occasionally halts to make room for philosophical or historical digressions. These, however, serve to deepen the work’s intellectual resonance — even if they require a touch more patience from the reader.
Small Gods is a bold meditation on what it means to believe — not necessarily in a god, but in something greater than oneself. It challenges without alienating, amuses without mocking (well, perhaps it does mock — but with that distinctly Pratchettian elegance), and moves without ever descending into sentimentality. One of Pratchett’s most mature and distinctive novels, and an ideal point of entry for those wishing to explore the Discworld through a more philosophical lens.
3. Hogfather ⭐⭐⭐⭐
Hogfather (the 20th novel in the Discworld series) stands as one of Terry Pratchett’s most philosophically astute and thematically rich works — undoubtedly his most subversively festive. While it retains the author’s trademark wit and linguistic inventiveness, it also delves into weightier themes such as belief, imagination, rationality, and the very nature of reality itself.
Thematically, it belongs to the so-called “Death arc” — considerably less macabre than it may sound — alongside Mort, Reaper Man, and Soul Music. Yet it stands out as the most “institutionally subversive” of the quartet. It is less overtly “funny” and rather more meditative than many other Discworld novels. If Guards! Guards! parodies the myth of the hero, Hogfather is a kind of existential inquiry into why we need myth in the first place.
Let us examine what unfolds in this little gem...
The world’s balance teeters when the Hogfather — essentially the Discworld’s version of Santa Claus — disappears on the eve of the Winter Solstice (the local analogue of Christmas in our tediously spherical world). The Auditors of Reality — intangible, faceless entities that abhor the chaotic messiness of life — assign the task of his “elimination” to the psychopathic Jonathan Teatime. In response, Death (not exactly jolly or rotund) takes it upon himself to impersonate the Hogfather in order to keep the idea of him alive, distributing presents to children with the aid of his inescapably literal logic. Meanwhile, his granddaughter Susan Sto Helit (a familiar face to loyal readers from Soul Music) attempts to unravel the mystery behind these happenings.
Philosophy and satire — a bit like strawberries dipped in Nutella, only literary
Pratchett does not satirise Christmas per se, nor does he aim to; even if the odd side-glance towards our world slips through, the Hogfather becomes his vehicle to examine why humanity so deeply craves belief. In one of the novel’s most memorable passages, Death explains to Susan:
“You have to start out believing the little lies (like the Hogfather)... so that one day you can believe the big ones — justice, mercy, duty, hope.”
It is a moment bordering on the profound: the most “inhuman” character (albeit not quite — despite his macabre role) defends the very foundations of civilisation, namely symbolic belief and the creation of concepts that transcend the basic barter of daily survival. The collective imaginary that gives birth to notions such as justice or human rights. In contrast, the Auditors embody a soulless devotion to logic and soulless bureaucracy — what one might term the “accountants of perdition”, who would gladly wipe out humanity if it balanced their metaphysical spreadsheets. Their instrument is Teatime, a man in name only, terrifying precisely because he lacks any understanding of empathy. The irony in juxtaposing this with Death’s surprising tenderness is striking.
Speaking of characters, let us take a closer look at a few:
• Death: Utterly literal (he does, after all, speak in ALL CAPS), yet curiously gentle. Donning a red cloak and false beard, he makes a rather endearing attempt to “maintain appearances” and, if we are being honest, to save not only the day — but perhaps the very world itself.
• Susan: Logical, pragmatic, and quietly formidable. She acts as a bridge between the world of the living and the divine or mythical, not unlike the demi-gods of classical mythology.
• Teatime: One of Pratchett’s most chilling villains — unnerving because he possesses the cruel innocence and remorseless logic of a child without moral boundaries. Human only in the biological sense, he is entirely alien to the concept of empathy.
Hogfather resembles a Brothers Grimm fairytale passed through a filter — or perhaps a meat grinder — of surreal irony. The Tooth Fairy’s Castle, a major setting of the story, exudes a near-Gothic atmosphere, while Pratchett’s humour pervades all — serving simultaneously as a tool of deconstruction and, paradoxically, as a means of enhancing the underlying gravitas.
His language is distinctive:
“I THOUGHT THAT WAS HOW IT WENT. THEY SAY ‘THE HOGFATHER ISN’T REAL’ AND THEN THEY CRY.”
The humour never exists for its own sake — behind each joke lies a bitter, or at least bittersweet, truth.
Now, for a few minor quibbles (one might say the complaints of the overindulged)...
The subplots involving the wizards of Unseen University, Bilious (the God of Hangovers — in stark contrast to the plethora of gods of revelry found in classical myth), and the anthropomorphised childhood beliefs serve the novel’s themes, yet at times prove distracting. Though they ultimately tie into the narrative’s central arc, the story’s “mosaic” structure may test the patience of less seasoned readers. That said, if one is not already familiar with the series and has chosen to begin with the 20th book, one’s gluteus maximus might be said to have been asking for it.
Furthermore, while the novel can be enjoyed on its own, it yields far richer rewards for readers already acquainted with Susan from Soul Music or Death from Mort and Reaper Man. The recurring themes and evolving character arcs offer greater depth to those who have already invested in the Disc’s idiosyncratic universe.
In conclusion, Hogfather is a “Christmas” book for adults — not because it is dark, but because it treats the human need for belief with a seriousness that is never patronising. It is not belief in “imaginary beings” that defines our humanity, but our very capacity to imagine them — and by extension, our ability to conceive of and believe in concepts such as justice and truth, thereby leaving the world better than we found it.
Indeed, it may not be the most accessible entry point into Discworld, but it is one of the most meaningful. A novel that asks: “If there were no fairytales, what would you believe in?” — and leaves you with Death’s unsettling, oddly comforting, and strangely human smile. A Death, it turns out, more human than many creatures with a pulse.
Do not overlook this philosophically nuanced, literarily mature, and emotionally resonant work. It is perfect for those seeking to explore the fine line between myth and reality — clad in a red cloak and carrying a small bag of... teeth.
P.S. This is one of Pratchett’s novels that has been successfully adapted into a dramatized film (of considerable length, thus released in two parts) — which I wholeheartedly recommend as well.
An Eccentric Satire on Tradition and Time
Perhaps the most unconventional and experimental novel in the widely beloved Discworld series by Terry Pratchett, Pyramids was awarded the British Science Fiction Association prize in 1989. Nevertheless, it remains one of the author’s lesser-known works – likely because it diverges from the familiar subject matter and iconic locations of the Disc. In short, it strays from the beaten path and has been somewhat devoured by obscurity.
The protagonist, Teppic (short for Pteppicymon XXVIII), is a young assassin trained in Ankh-Morpork, who is obliged to return to his ancestral kingdom, Djelibeybi – a surreal, ironic pastiche of Ancient Egypt. His central conflict – between the need for change and the inertia of tradition – delivers a pertinent and weighty commentary, served with Pratchett’s signature subversive humour.
The plot is rich as a proper pastry custard (the kind now lamentably rare, given the public’s unfortunate infatuation with that abomination known as whipped cream), though at times fragmentary. A host of secondary characters – such as the philosophers of Ephebe, the obsessively consistent contractors Ptaclusp, or the “eerily eternal” high priest Dios – enrich the novel’s intellectual universe, though not always to the benefit of its narrative cohesion.
Compared to other Discworld titles, Pyramids oscillates between the theological satire of Small Gods and the philosophical musings of Mort, where concepts such as time and fate are treated with both wit and gravity. Yet here, the intellectual heft is distributed rather unevenly, with ideas introduced boldly but not always developed to their full potential.
The allegory of the “temporal polder” – a domain cordoned off from the flow of time – is arguably the book’s most philosophically ambitious construct. It touches upon the notion of how societies entrench themselves in a self-contained, anachronistic stasis, resisting external change. However, despite its symbolic power, this idea remains somewhat underutilised: Pratchett opens a tantalising metaphysical door, only to leave it swinging.
Dios, as the personification of unyielding tradition, is perhaps the most striking and sinister character in the novel. His devotion to preserving order at any cost exposes the absurdity of “eternal” continuity. Yet his denouement feels somewhat hurried, as though he deserved a more gradual narrative dismantling.
Pyramids is a bold work, brimming with acerbic satire aimed at religion, conservatism, and the machinery of power. While its ideas are undeniably clever and its scenes frequently delightful – notably the return of long-deceased gods and monarchs – the execution is uneven and at times chaotic.
Conclusion:
A novel marked by intellectual ambition, scathing humour, and existential curiosity, Pyramids does not always succeed in balancing satire with narrative coherence. It remains, however, a noteworthy and distinctive stop on the Discworld journey – ideal for the initiated, but perhaps less enticing for newcomers.
For those embarking on their first visit to the Disc, more accessible starting points might be Guards! Guards! , Mort , or Wyrd Sisters – works that strike a more harmonious balance between plot, humour, and philosophy.
In any case, Pyramids reaffirms that even when Pratchett misses the mark, the journey remains well worth taking.
2. Small Gods ⭐⭐⭐⭐
Small Gods (the 13th novel in the Discworld series) is arguably Terry Pratchett’s most philosophical and provocative work. Though nominally (and, admittedly, practically) part of the wider series that spans 41 volumes, it functions entirely independently and requires no prior familiarity with the other books — unlike Mort (which deals with Death and fate) or Guards! Guards! (a satire on policing and political institutions). Small Gods, by contrast, strips Discworld of its usual cast of familiar faces and focuses instead on one god and one believer — making it stand out through its contemplative tone and its focus on the nature of belief, divinity, and humanity. It explores how belief itself confers existence upon the divine — belief which, of course, originates in the human.
The story begins with the god Om, who has been trapped in the body of a humble tortoise due to the fact that only one true believer remains: a young novice named Brutha, illiterate but blessed (or cursed) with a photographic memory and very little critical thought (if this brings to mind the rote-learners of your schooldays who could recite a text flawlessly without grasping its meaning, I don’t blame you — I despised them too). Their journey, both literal and spiritual, leads them into conflict with a theocratic empire, philosophers with dangerously subversive ideas, and a regime terrified of dissent (nothing more familiar, really…). The result is a rich allegory exploring the relationship between faith and power, as well as the capacity of individual conscience to resist dogma.
Pratchett, with his trademark humanist wit and quiet irony that never bows before sacred cows, absurdities or cognitive dissonance (the quintessence of all religion), takes aim at institutions and authority. In one scene, for instance, Om — still a tortoise — attempts to deliver a divine sign to Brutha by dropping a brick on his head, only to discover that “divine revelations have a disappointingly low success rate when they involve blunt force trauma.” In another, the philosophers of Ephebe engage in an abstract debate about the existence of the external world, even as one of them is quite literally on fire, refusing to acknowledge it because it “didn’t fit with his theory.”
Yet despite the satire, the novel is not devoid of tenderness. Brutha does not become a prophet because he hears voices or performs miracles, but because he learns to think, to feel — and ultimately, to doubt. His transformation from a passive believer to a morally autonomous individual forms the novel’s core, as does Om’s own slow and moving metamorphosis from an egotistical god into something more… human.
If there is a flaw, it is that the plot occasionally halts to make room for philosophical or historical digressions. These, however, serve to deepen the work’s intellectual resonance — even if they require a touch more patience from the reader.
Small Gods is a bold meditation on what it means to believe — not necessarily in a god, but in something greater than oneself. It challenges without alienating, amuses without mocking (well, perhaps it does mock — but with that distinctly Pratchettian elegance), and moves without ever descending into sentimentality. One of Pratchett’s most mature and distinctive novels, and an ideal point of entry for those wishing to explore the Discworld through a more philosophical lens.
3. Hogfather ⭐⭐⭐⭐
Hogfather (the 20th novel in the Discworld series) stands as one of Terry Pratchett’s most philosophically astute and thematically rich works — undoubtedly his most subversively festive. While it retains the author’s trademark wit and linguistic inventiveness, it also delves into weightier themes such as belief, imagination, rationality, and the very nature of reality itself.
Thematically, it belongs to the so-called “Death arc” — considerably less macabre than it may sound — alongside Mort, Reaper Man, and Soul Music. Yet it stands out as the most “institutionally subversive” of the quartet. It is less overtly “funny” and rather more meditative than many other Discworld novels. If Guards! Guards! parodies the myth of the hero, Hogfather is a kind of existential inquiry into why we need myth in the first place.
Let us examine what unfolds in this little gem...
The world’s balance teeters when the Hogfather — essentially the Discworld’s version of Santa Claus — disappears on the eve of the Winter Solstice (the local analogue of Christmas in our tediously spherical world). The Auditors of Reality — intangible, faceless entities that abhor the chaotic messiness of life — assign the task of his “elimination” to the psychopathic Jonathan Teatime. In response, Death (not exactly jolly or rotund) takes it upon himself to impersonate the Hogfather in order to keep the idea of him alive, distributing presents to children with the aid of his inescapably literal logic. Meanwhile, his granddaughter Susan Sto Helit (a familiar face to loyal readers from Soul Music) attempts to unravel the mystery behind these happenings.
Philosophy and satire — a bit like strawberries dipped in Nutella, only literary
Pratchett does not satirise Christmas per se, nor does he aim to; even if the odd side-glance towards our world slips through, the Hogfather becomes his vehicle to examine why humanity so deeply craves belief. In one of the novel’s most memorable passages, Death explains to Susan:
“You have to start out believing the little lies (like the Hogfather)... so that one day you can believe the big ones — justice, mercy, duty, hope.”
It is a moment bordering on the profound: the most “inhuman” character (albeit not quite — despite his macabre role) defends the very foundations of civilisation, namely symbolic belief and the creation of concepts that transcend the basic barter of daily survival. The collective imaginary that gives birth to notions such as justice or human rights. In contrast, the Auditors embody a soulless devotion to logic and soulless bureaucracy — what one might term the “accountants of perdition”, who would gladly wipe out humanity if it balanced their metaphysical spreadsheets. Their instrument is Teatime, a man in name only, terrifying precisely because he lacks any understanding of empathy. The irony in juxtaposing this with Death’s surprising tenderness is striking.
Speaking of characters, let us take a closer look at a few:
• Death: Utterly literal (he does, after all, speak in ALL CAPS), yet curiously gentle. Donning a red cloak and false beard, he makes a rather endearing attempt to “maintain appearances” and, if we are being honest, to save not only the day — but perhaps the very world itself.
• Susan: Logical, pragmatic, and quietly formidable. She acts as a bridge between the world of the living and the divine or mythical, not unlike the demi-gods of classical mythology.
• Teatime: One of Pratchett’s most chilling villains — unnerving because he possesses the cruel innocence and remorseless logic of a child without moral boundaries. Human only in the biological sense, he is entirely alien to the concept of empathy.
Hogfather resembles a Brothers Grimm fairytale passed through a filter — or perhaps a meat grinder — of surreal irony. The Tooth Fairy’s Castle, a major setting of the story, exudes a near-Gothic atmosphere, while Pratchett’s humour pervades all — serving simultaneously as a tool of deconstruction and, paradoxically, as a means of enhancing the underlying gravitas.
His language is distinctive:
“I THOUGHT THAT WAS HOW IT WENT. THEY SAY ‘THE HOGFATHER ISN’T REAL’ AND THEN THEY CRY.”
The humour never exists for its own sake — behind each joke lies a bitter, or at least bittersweet, truth.
Now, for a few minor quibbles (one might say the complaints of the overindulged)...
The subplots involving the wizards of Unseen University, Bilious (the God of Hangovers — in stark contrast to the plethora of gods of revelry found in classical myth), and the anthropomorphised childhood beliefs serve the novel’s themes, yet at times prove distracting. Though they ultimately tie into the narrative’s central arc, the story’s “mosaic” structure may test the patience of less seasoned readers. That said, if one is not already familiar with the series and has chosen to begin with the 20th book, one’s gluteus maximus might be said to have been asking for it.
Furthermore, while the novel can be enjoyed on its own, it yields far richer rewards for readers already acquainted with Susan from Soul Music or Death from Mort and Reaper Man. The recurring themes and evolving character arcs offer greater depth to those who have already invested in the Disc’s idiosyncratic universe.
In conclusion, Hogfather is a “Christmas” book for adults — not because it is dark, but because it treats the human need for belief with a seriousness that is never patronising. It is not belief in “imaginary beings” that defines our humanity, but our very capacity to imagine them — and by extension, our ability to conceive of and believe in concepts such as justice and truth, thereby leaving the world better than we found it.
Indeed, it may not be the most accessible entry point into Discworld, but it is one of the most meaningful. A novel that asks: “If there were no fairytales, what would you believe in?” — and leaves you with Death’s unsettling, oddly comforting, and strangely human smile. A Death, it turns out, more human than many creatures with a pulse.
Do not overlook this philosophically nuanced, literarily mature, and emotionally resonant work. It is perfect for those seeking to explore the fine line between myth and reality — clad in a red cloak and carrying a small bag of... teeth.
P.S. This is one of Pratchett’s novels that has been successfully adapted into a dramatized film (of considerable length, thus released in two parts) — which I wholeheartedly recommend as well.
December 12, 2021
Pyramids was fun, but also, imo, pretty problematic at points. There’s some historical stuff that, wether purposeful or otherwise, is outright disrespectful and punching down, and the Greek/Egyptian bits being conflated for laughs is more-or-less exactly what people cite in cultural appropriation these days. The themes regarding tradition and blind adherence to it is pretty well fleshed out though. And the riddle of the sphinx did make me laugh out loud (though, again, it’d not have spoken unless Greek, right, so kind of odd), and finally—the challenge for becoming an assassin was well handled and probably the funnest sequence.
Small Gods was a stand out for me. I think it’s my favourite, beating out Going Postal. The interrogation of atheism and organized religion feels insightful and respectful of both sides, while also being critical of both viewpoints. It’s honestly a masterful straddling of lines. While the plot isn’t as fun as Pyramids it made me think a lot about certain things and I doubt I’ll forget it. Also, the librarians zipping into your save books at a certain crucial moment and the way the conflict at the end is resolved is just great.
Hogsfather is relegated to a fun romp. The end did come together far more than expected, but the puns and tone and jokes and what not left me a bit cold, especially after Small Gods. The idea that believing in something makes us human and is the cog in our ability to continue on is a good one, but the actual plot, which involves an assassin taking out Father Christmas and what not, should have been a lot cooler than it was. I think it was just a bit too silly for me, whereas the other books walk a line with it.
I can see why these books are grouped together like this. All are about belief in gods, the relationship being far more complex than most tend to perceive it as. It’s like the silly, fun, wildly fantastical version of American Gods at times.
Small Gods was a stand out for me. I think it’s my favourite, beating out Going Postal. The interrogation of atheism and organized religion feels insightful and respectful of both sides, while also being critical of both viewpoints. It’s honestly a masterful straddling of lines. While the plot isn’t as fun as Pyramids it made me think a lot about certain things and I doubt I’ll forget it. Also, the librarians zipping into your save books at a certain crucial moment and the way the conflict at the end is resolved is just great.
Hogsfather is relegated to a fun romp. The end did come together far more than expected, but the puns and tone and jokes and what not left me a bit cold, especially after Small Gods. The idea that believing in something makes us human and is the cog in our ability to continue on is a good one, but the actual plot, which involves an assassin taking out Father Christmas and what not, should have been a lot cooler than it was. I think it was just a bit too silly for me, whereas the other books walk a line with it.
I can see why these books are grouped together like this. All are about belief in gods, the relationship being far more complex than most tend to perceive it as. It’s like the silly, fun, wildly fantastical version of American Gods at times.
April 22, 2024
A trilogy of Pratchett's discworld novels themed around Gods.
As ever, I just enjoy being guided by Pratchett's mind. There were all sorts of funny commentaries on things, a whole interesting set of ideas about gods, tradition, or organised religion, and some larger-than-life characters.
Made excellent bedtime reading for me!
As ever, I just enjoy being guided by Pratchett's mind. There were all sorts of funny commentaries on things, a whole interesting set of ideas about gods, tradition, or organised religion, and some larger-than-life characters.
Made excellent bedtime reading for me!
June 22, 2012
this was my first terry pratchett book, and i would like to read more, but not so much in a row. i read all three of these one right after the other and the humor got to me somewhere in the middle and i didn't enjoy them as much as i could have.
Want to read
January 8, 2016Haven't read a pratchett book in a while and enjoying getting stuck into this one so far.
January 4, 2013
Excellent.
March 26, 2017
40 of so books, different collections, some audio, it's pratchett, read and heard some as well, all. Dates wrong.
Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews