Your Humble Blogger is only moderately fond of Terry Pratchett books. I think of them as having a high floor but a low ceiling; I am unlikely to have a bad time with one of them, and I am unlikely to remember much about them, including which bits were in which books, half an hour after putting one aside. I had never, in fact, actually purchased one of his books, or even considered purchasing one of his books, what with there always being half-a-dozen of them on the shelf at the public library, if I’ve been unsuccessful at finding something to read.
Then came Nation, which was much-reviewed and much-awarded and much-discussed as being Something Different, a Terry Pratchett book that is wholly Pratchettesque but also more, somehow. A Terry Pratchett book with thump. I bought it, in trade paperback, and took it on the airplane, eagerly anticipating the reading-and-flying experience.
Meh. I enjoyed reading it, and three weeks later I don’t remember much about the book at all.
Now, having said that in an offensively dismissive way, it is a wonderful thing that a fellow can have written a hundred thousand books and I am willing to just pick one up and read it. Who else is like that? P.G. Wodehouse. Anyone else? And there are plenty of P.G. Wodehouse books that I have enjoyed reading and don’t remember much about.
Tolerabimus quod tolerare debemus,
-Vardibidian.