When the Tiger Came Down the Mountain was just as enchanting as its predecessor. Maybe even more so, as the incredibly subtle and nuanced – if not to When the Tiger Came Down the Mountain was just as enchanting as its predecessor. Maybe even more so, as the incredibly subtle and nuanced – if not to say twisted – way it depicts love and sexuality makes for an even more enticing read.
The story is full of danger, betrayal, and reluctance to help a fellow person. Musings on different versions of the same tale by very different interpreters makes their fate even less certain. Yet, there is something about Nghi Vo's that makes you feel all warm and secure. There is emotional depth and ambiguity to every encounter and I'm sure the novel would fully unfold its depth only on when you really slow down and relish the experience on multiple rereads.
Helen Brandt is a private detective in Chicago in the 1940s. She was hired to solve a series of murders committed by the same killer, the mysterious WHelen Brandt is a private detective in Chicago in the 1940s. She was hired to solve a series of murders committed by the same killer, the mysterious White City Vampire. If you've seen any of the traditional film noir movies released in the same area the story is set in, you'll vividly imagine the mist-shrouded greyscale as Helen investigates the bloody crime scene.
But she's not just any regular detective. We quickly gather that she was hired for her insights in the supernatural. The lore is a rich portmanteau involving stellar constellations, a secret Brotherhood, and her ability to cast spells. We learn that she was cast out of the order and that she lost a lot, which is somehow related to the falling out with her brother.
Lost souls, angels, and demons fit seamlessly as additional details as the dark tale of urban fantasy unfolds. Quickly we realize that Helen is given a once-in-a-lifetime chance, one that might cost her life if she fucks up (no pressure). And of course in the end it's all for love. No seriously, this is all established in the first couple of chapters. The novella doesn't waste any time to introduce the reader to what is at stake.
For me Even Though I Knew the End was all about the romance. I discovered the book in a video that presented Romantasy recommendations (check out Jessica's channel if you enjoy more cozy and laid-back book discussions). I cannot say I had any points of contact with the genre so far, but the short-form neonoir detective story seemed like a great way to ease in.
Admittedly, for the most part the romance presents only the backdrop to the main investigation plot. As Helen moves through the shady milieus of her city, she gathers the clues from which the whole picture gradually emerges. It's interesting enough, but I didn't feel fully invested. I think it's because I've read A Master of Djinn only last week, so that all the reveals felt too similar to what for me was easily the more exciting world building.
To be honest, I was often kind of confused as to what was going on. I'm not sure if it's because of a minor language barrier, since I've read the book in English and had to look up some words to actively figure out what was going on. It certainly didn't help with the immersion. I'm sure I would like it much more on a second read, or when reading a follow-up in case this is continued as a series (it should be).
Moreover, the character of the brother, Ted, to me felt severely underused and underdeveloped. He has little personality and it was kind of confusing how easy their big conflict is resolved in the end. I also felt that some things just fall into place, without much agency on Helen's part. At times she just luckily ends up where she has to be, right? Which is not to deny that the things that do happen at their stopovers aren't exciting to read. The pacing is very on-point, with page-turning action conjuring up the needed color whenever things begin to feel rather too black & white.
But above I've said it's mainly the romance that made it all worth-while. More specifically, it's the ending that was just so sweet to read. Perhaps it's the way Helen narrates her admiration for Edith that made their relationship so heart-warming.
The whole novella reads kind of like a 90s TV show, and I'm sure if you like Buffy or The X Files you'll absolutely love Even Though I Knew the End. It might not be perfect, but it sure is perfect comfort food.
Cairo at the turn of the last century. It's a place of wonder, full of alchemy and magic, fanciful machinery, and even Djinn living among us. It has nCairo at the turn of the last century. It's a place of wonder, full of alchemy and magic, fanciful machinery, and even Djinn living among us. It has not always been like this, it was only due to the mythical Al-Jahiz that the portal to the other world was opened and since these events about forty years ago the world was never quite the same. Only a group of colonialist foreigners seem to remember now, the Hermetic Brotherhood of Al-Jahiz.
From the very first page I loved to immerse myself in the enchanting world of A Master of Djinn. The story opens with occult mass murder and quickly turns into detective mystery as we follow Fatma el-Sha'arawi of the Ministry of Alchemy, Enchantments, and Supernatural Entities as she tries to uncover what dark forces are behind the puzzling deaths. For obvious reasons my mind quickly jumped to Agatha Christie, only that P. Djèlí Clark spices things up with steampunk technology and fantastic imagery.
I think to many readers, the city of Cairo will appear quite exotic, not the least because of how skillfully foreign terms are interwoven into the descriptions of places and events. Before getting used to it, it forces you to slow down a bit – personally, I liked to use the Kindle's dictionary function to read up on things – but it rewards you with the feeling of drinking relaxing shai to escape the busy streets. It's wonderful.
As is the pacing in this book. It's a very cinematic experience, with many scenes appearing spectacularly on your mental screen. As when very early on a Djinn emerges from the bottle that held him for the past centuries. It's not the most original moments of genre fiction, yet the peculiar circumstances make it very entertaining to read. From here on expect many events of similar grandeur.
The character portrayal is certainly not as strong as the world-building. I think here too the novel is very reminiscent of blockbuster movies. Personalities are defined more by recognizable idiosyncrasies than by any potential to surprise. When asked to describe our main protagonist, Fatma, most people would probably point out that she likes to dress well and that she was very capable to get her way in male-dominated spaces. She's involved with someone, and the fun dynamics of their relationship often liven up some scenes. Don't expect in-depth or heartwarming romance, though.
I'm very of two minds about the main villain. I thought in the opening act Al-Jahiz was a very powerful symbol. However, the way the investigation is going his true identity becomes painfully obvious even to the less astute reader. To be honest, I was genuinely surprised when the reveal turned out to be exactly what you expected all along. At that point the character becomes overdrawn to a degree that borders ridicule.
Which is not to say that the over-the-top climax wasn't fun to read. It wasn't exactly what I was hoping for, but if indeed it had been a night at the movies on some hot summer day I would have left the cinema gleeful and satisfied. What remained with me is the memory of a place that makes me feel all warm and happy inside.
The Empress of Salt and Fortune demonstrates that genre fiction can be remarkably beautiful. Admittedly, maybe I was fooled by the marketing and you sThe Empress of Salt and Fortune demonstrates that genre fiction can be remarkably beautiful. Admittedly, maybe I was fooled by the marketing and you shouldn't really think of it as genre fiction at all. It's praised for winning the Locus Award for Best Novella, but there are barely any fantastical elements. Maybe what I want to say is that it would be deserving of wider cultural recognition (though I don't think that in the following I'll be able to explain why).
Reading the little novella is a wonderful and refreshing experience, not the least because your usual SFF categories won't apply. After the first couple of chapters you suspect that there won't be an epic journey, no intricate motives, or even shocking reveals. The very brief chapters are often somewhat self-contained, so for the most part there aren't even any underlying themes to discern in the course of the story. I don't think there are even spelled-out dialogs.
It was only when I was done that I fully understood that it's really all about the story it tells (if you know what I mean). Maybe the beauty lies in its simplicity. Or in the fact that there is richness and significance in the more mundane relationships, objects, and events. It's a relationship with an empress, yet somewhat that barely matters. There is love, tension, and even war, but it's told in this amazingly unagitated prose that mirrors the calm and withdrawn nature of its narrator, an old woman named Rabbit.
Though I think I remember the plot fairly well and maybe to some extent I also understand what it's "saying", the novel remains not fully tangible. It tells you what is happening, but maybe in the somewhat vague sense that newspapers do. Nghi Vo won't describe what happened in detail, which creates rather underdetermined ideas and images. Maybe it's because she uses the most colorful words that dwelling on these images leaves you feeling all warm inside.
You should experience this yourself, is what I'm saying.
**spoiler alert** "Romance was awful. She couldn't even do something as simple as murdering rude people anymore."
The region around the town of Underlo**spoiler alert** "Romance was awful. She couldn't even do something as simple as murdering rude people anymore."
The region around the town of Underlook is haunted by a monster. At least that's what the locals believe. Its most powerful family, Baroness Wulfyre and her children, even thinks it's cursed and that the monster is after their lives. To turn the tables, they are determined to hunt it down.
If the story was told from the Wulfyres' point of view it would probably be in the air whether there really was a monster. But from the very beginning we as readers know there is a monster. Don't misconstrue the marketing—when the predator goes out to appease her hunger there is nothing lovely about her. The novel opens when Catharsis Wulfyre and his two hired monster hunters invade her home, and she deals with the situation ruthlessly.
What makes the narrative immediately stand out is that we follow this killer from the close third-person perspective where we learn about her thoughts and emotions. That is to say, Shesheshen (the name by which she refers to herself) is a self-conscious being that is mentally not too unlike what makes humans tick.
In fact, this is the essence of her greatest survival strategy. Initially, she might be an amorphous lump (as the book's publisher puts it); but after she devoured her prey, she can take up the bones and organs to shape them into something resembling human. With the throat in place she can even speak, although she really doesn't like to.
Naturally, there is more to being human than the perfectly convincing façade. What is most surprising (at least to herself), it turns out Shesheshen is receptive to kindness. After a series of unfortunate events, she is nursed back to health by a most likable woman called Homily. It leaves her reluctant to kill and absorb her, which is already saying a lot! As the romance develops, Shesheshen learns about the intricacies and nuances of the condition humaine as prerequisite to keep her friend safe.
For us socially awkward readers it's easy to sympathize with a protagonist that struggles to behave or even recognize what would be the "normal" things to do. I'm sure Shesheshen has has been compared to Martha Wells's Murderbot. But the bizarre nature of her relationship to Homily is particularly enticing. It's recognizably love, even in its most disturbing qualities. Like when she is affectionately thinking of how she would turn Homily into a nest to put her eggs hin. Yikes!
What makes the relationship even more unique is that it's mutually rewarding. There are things that humans do—that humans expect other humans do and enjoy—she cannot bring herself to do. What makes their love believable and special is that Homily shares the sentiments. It's not what they do with each other that brings them closer together; they bond over the things they agree they wouldn't do.
The romance is only one aspect of the overall narrative. The fast-paced and action-packed plot is told in often short and very on-point chapters that are fully focused on the Wulfyre family. It might not come as a big surprise that Homily too is one of the Baroness's daughters, though I highly enjoyed how the foreshadowed twist ties into Homily's quest to hunt for the monster, too.
To be honest, in my mind the latter half of the story played out like an unusually dark Disney animation. The Baroness and her other children are unambiguously mean and they serve their clearly defined purpose. What kept me fully captivated, though, were Homily's shifting loyalties. Admittedly, I think I would have liked a bit more depth to the relationships between the members of the family, but I'm sure the intention was to purge the story from everything that would weigh down the fun or distract from the romance. Great fun it certainly was.
Someone You Can Build a Nest In is horror pounding with heart.
**spoiler alert** When compared to the first two novels, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban is a significantly more mature work of fiction. I su**spoiler alert** When compared to the first two novels, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban is a significantly more mature work of fiction. I suspect there are few people who wouldn't put it at least in their top-3 of the series. The fanfare is in no small part due to a climax that doesn't cease to give.
When I say climax what I'm talking about is actually more than one third of the book. The rest is essentially build-up about an escaped mass murderer and about how the school no longer a safe place. Or it is again, but only because of the Dementors haunting the place. The only space to take a breather is the village of Hogsmeade with its attractions for older students. For Harry, who wasn't able to convince his uncle to sign the necessary paper, going there is yet another grievance and stress factor.
The whole scenario seems darker. People are not just good or evil anymore. They are constantly afraid, they drink, they severely bully, they want to kill. Ron and Hermione quarrel for months. That is, people are more human. For me this meant that the world came more to life. Perhaps the reason why the reader will now fully sense the danger in the air.
The before-mentioned climax is so great because of its complexity and for how fell things fall into place. We learn that Harry's father played a very dirty trick on Severus Snape during his formative years, one that left him bitter for years. It really puts things into perspective. At the end he plays the part of the villain. That's what we feared he would be all along; only that he is motivated by injured pride rather than pure evil.
Pure evil, that lies elsewhere, with the followers of Lord Voldemort. Like Sirius Black, the escaped prisoner of Azkaban. There is very good evidence that he's after Harry. I enjoyed how his backstory eventually ties into Harry's own. Like his new favorite teacher, Remus Lupin, the group of friends are all Animagus. It's not greatly motivated or anything. In fact, it seems a bit silly that Harry's father and that other kid consciously became humans that can turn into animals. Still, it was a thrilling reveal.
Hogsmeade was and still is the place for secret gatherings. I liked that, it gave you the cool resistance-fighters vibes. There is talk of some secret and of people as containers of information. Not exactly sure whether this meant anything in any deeper sense, but it sounded like science fiction to me (which is good). There was betrayal, rage, lust for vengeance. Frankly, it's all a bit silly in its simplicity, but it well fit into the darker theme.
The climax very unexpectedly draws from another staple of science fiction. We know that Hermione attends numerous classes literally at the same time. Turns out, the attends a single class at a single time – only that numerous versions of her are at different places in different time threads. Yeah, time travel, I love that. And I appreciate how this is revealed only at the moment we go all-in in the time-travel action to save Black who turned out to be the (mostly) good guy and godfather of Harry's.
Another dark moment was when Hagrid's hippogriff was executed per judicial discretion. At the moment you'll think it dead for good and you feel Hagrid's pain. It's great how this becomes part of the plan to safe Black. There is an even better scene where the plot really comes full circle. Harry thought he saw his father cast a spell – the famous Patronus charm – to save him from the Dementors. Only that what he saw was him himself. In a great twist on the Grandfather Paradox, he was able to finally do what necessary because he knew he could do it. He did do it after all. Or he will have done it, as soon as he gets do it.
The novel also features by far the most exciting Quidditch season to date. The matches are described in more vivid and comprehensible detail. To be honest, it finally made me understand why it mattered whether there were any points other than for catching the Golden Snitch (it's not obvious, is it?). They even lose for once! I think the novel does a much better job at conveying the general fever for the game.
It's easy to see why The Prisoner of Azkaban is held in so high regard. For me there are still too many shortcomings in the narrative to make it rank among my fantasy favorites, but it's still a lovely book to read on a cozy day.
**spoiler alert** First Harry Potter re-read since the books were originally released. Back then it was amazing to young me that there was genuine lit**spoiler alert** First Harry Potter re-read since the books were originally released. Back then it was amazing to young me that there was genuine literature featuring magic and wizards and the kind of things I only knew from video games (and maybe some crappy movies). A year or two ago I re-watched the movies and thought they really lost some of their blockbuster quality; let's see how the books hold up.
Well, I re-read Philosopher's Stone already, so I "started" with Chamber of Secrets. It's probably not exactly a fan favorite, but as a follow-up in the series it basically improves on all fronts. The world and relationships are established and we can now get to some of the more interesting mysteries.
I loved the opening chapters. Since the Dursleys now know of what Harry is capable of (in theory), their dynamics changed. At least he has some bargaining chips. He had this great time in Hogwarts last year, but none of his friends ("friends"?) are writing now. Maybe their relationship wasn't that meaningful? Well, obviously a grown-up reader suspects that something must be going on. But it's still easy to sympathize with our little hero, especially since it's kind of similar to how when as a child you met people on holiday and wondered whether they would write afterwards. (Of course people never do. It's probably better that way.)
Then the shocker, when the house-elf Dobby shows up, Harry is warned no to return to Hogwarts! It's for his own safety (he says), but still – no friends and no way out. Things are not looking good. The conspiracy is kind of intriguing, though. Actually, it will form the backdrop to most of the story. Alas, it's still very much a children's book and for grown-ups the political intrigue feels a bit silly and simplistic, especially when in retrospect you think about the details of their plot.
There are really two sides. From the perspective of Harry and his friends (spoiler alert: they'll return) there is the whole mystery with Tom Riddle and the attacks on children of the school. Rowling tried to tie this up with the conspiracy and there is probably an inner connection (given that the conspirators seek to revive the dark lord), but in the story itself the Hogwarts purge comes across like an afterthought to the main events. Maybe later still we can think of this as part of something bigger.
I'm getting ahead of myself. I was talking of the great opening, and easily one of the most memorable scenes is when Harry and Ron follow the Hogwarts Express in Mr Weasley's flying car (I loved his fascination with Muggle technology). It's no big chase, for the most part it's the comforting pursuit for hours. Before things go very bad, which also leads to their unfortunate final arrival at school. Poor guys.
The mystery and danger begin with the great scene where Mr Filch's cat is attacked. It loses some impact when it is revealed that Mrs Norris not actually dead, and neither will any of the students be (what a psychopath thing to say). But it gets very ominous with the message on the wall: "The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir, beware." You have no idea what the Chamber is nor what heir they are talking about. But it sure sounds very important.
It was great how the mystery ties into the history of Hogwarts. We learn about the four founders and their disagreement over whether budding wizards that are not "pure" in blood should be allowed. Then there is the thing with Riddle's diary, the cover-up of a girl that was killed (for good this time, kind of), and suddenly Hagrid is in the middle of it all. It ends on two reveals, one obvious and the other you really didn't see coming: Tom Riddle is Lord Voldemort and it was Ron's little sister Ginny who was behind it all. Wait, what?
There are some details to the plot that don't fully add up. For instance, in the very beginning the Dursleys fight very hard against Harry leaving their house. Isn't that what they wanted? Maybe I kind of get that human psychology is quite complex and that you can imagine what is going on. Well, and the scene would have been kind of dull otherwise. Still seems odd, though. Riddle's diary somehow just turns up and the convenient moment, too. Sure, Ginny tried to flash it down the toilet then, but it's not the most inspired writing. The case of the piece of paper in Hermione's petrified hand is similar.
There is very lazy writing, too. Perhaps the most obvious example is at the very end. For reasons not exactly obvious in the first place, house-elves are slaves that are freed if their masters give them something of theirs. I guess it doesn't have to be a present in the narrower sense, but this sounds very much like intention should be involved. It was clear that Dobby needed to be freed at some point (for some reason I thought this would happen only much later). But the way this comes about feels to incredibly clumsy: Harry gives some sock of his to Malfoy Sr., he throws it away and Dobby catches it. This is giving (and giving to him) only in the loosest way.
Nitpicking aside, it's still a wonderful cozy read. Or cozy listen, since it was the first time I heard the mesmerizing German audio-book adaptation read by Rufus Beck. It's another kind of magic how he brings the children's book to life. Perfekt for the Christmas season, even if Christmas doesn't figure in the book at all. Why do I think of Harry Potter as a Christmas book?
**spoiler alert** I'm sure most readers of world literature, philosophy, or related fields are familiar with Plato's Allegory of the Cave. In the anci**spoiler alert** I'm sure most readers of world literature, philosophy, or related fields are familiar with Plato's Allegory of the Cave. In the ancient tale children are imprisoned in the eponymous cave. They are chained so that they cannot go about (in fact they cannot even look around). All they see are the shadows of objects that are moved unbeknownst to them by freemen.
The story must have inspired the peculiar world that Piranesi inhabits. He roams an endless place referred to by the House, a seemingly infinite sequence of halls and vestibules that he numbered within some frame of reference. His surroundings are lined with statues depicting events alien to his mind (yet familiar to the reader). He's not quite alone in the house. Twice a week he meets with another person whom he simply calls the Other. The tasks assigned to him serve the quest for Great and Secret Knowledge hidden within the House.
Not only spatially Piranesi construed a system by which to locate himself within his world. The events of the novel are set in the year the albatross came to the South-Western Hall. He keeps track of the passing of time in a notebook he updates every day. It's through these entries that the reader learns of the events that took place in the life of the avid note-taker. And it's by reverting to past entries that Piranesi realizes that unsolvable mysteries plague his existence.
It's truly fascinating to see the world through Piranesi's eyes. The perspective of the narrative strongly reminded me of Christopher Nolan's Memento in the way how severely impoverished background knowledge deprives him of the ability to accurately conceptualize the world in more objective terms. Later he comes across words that remain meaningless as their corresponding experiences are inaccessible to him. To make this even more intriguing, Piranesi is warned not to investigate any further as this would be the sure path to madness – which in a twisted sense is true.
Similar to the Wood between the Worlds in C. S. Lewis's The Chronicles of Narnia series, prolonged existence in the house leads to gradual amnesia of who you are and of your past. Susanna Clarke further pursues these themes in ways continues to Piranesi's own placing. Certain discoveries leave his mind shattered into numerous personalities. Different minds within himself would see things differently, but there is only one consciousness presently in control. This character must create his own identity from what he can gather about his past selfs, from the objects and people he finds – and from what they wrote in their journal.
As you will have realized at this point, I was fully captivated by how our hero unravels the mysteries about his world and his place within it. There are so many episodes that blew my mind and made me thirst for more. It were especially the conspiratorial undertones from which the story builds its suspense. Readers will be immediately suspicious of the Other's motives and provable deceive, yet you are never quite sure whom he can trust. What he finds are occultist and cult-like circles in the real world that only add further to the overall dark mood.
Being an introvert myself, I thoroughly enjoyed the quiet of the House. Being an inveterate note-taker, I strongly emphasized with Piranesi. And being a passionate reader of the philosophy of language on how background knowledge determines the meaning of the expressions we use, I was truly amazed by the depth of the ideas presented here. The novel also introduced me to Giovanni Battista Piranesi's delightfully nightmarish Imaginary Prisons. It's a very rewarding and highly enjoyable experience I appreciated even more because of the audio-book adaptation that was so wonderfully read by Chiwetel Ejiofor. Highly recommendable!
After just a couple of chapters, The Shining's blend of psychological and supernatural horror had me fully sucked into its dark family drama. The storAfter just a couple of chapters, The Shining's blend of psychological and supernatural horror had me fully sucked into its dark family drama. The story is amazingly powerful because of its tragic antagonist that is more complex than your usual garden-variety villain. Jack Torrance is recognizably human in his ambitions and pride, caring and irritability. He is only slowly recovering after his irascible dispositions again got the better of him, when the dismal forces of the Overlook Hotel seize on his weaknesses.
Jack's alcoholism, tempers, and the negative consequences of his actions weigh heavy on his marriage with his wife Wendy. The two have a five-year-old son, Danny, whose psychic abilities enable him to read minds, place thoughts and he has premonitions and episodes of clairvoyance. Danny is far ahead in his development, but who is still sharing his age-mate worries and fears. I think there is persistent criticism of King's child characters to be too adult-like, but here I was amazed by how reflective yet genuinely fragile and even naïve the protagonist was. It's this complexity that kept me thoroughly engaged throughout.
Given that the ending is clear very early on, the novel may appear lengthy at first. But as the plot unravels there is very little downtime. There is a great built-up to the inevitable climax and by gradually increasing the level of suspense King is able to keep Jack's madness firmly rooted in real human psychology.
There were action sequences that to my mind were more silly than shocking. I'm especially thinking of the various instances of topiary animals coming to life. But overall I loved how various occurrences at the hotel, its troubled history, and Jack's biography are developed as the rich backdrop and catalyst to the intensifying atmosphere. King's gripping writing style often vividly evoke images of the described scenes. At certain moments he weaves in thoughts that contrast with the uttered words, a stylistic device that was particularly effective in the audio book version.
There is an interesting cast of supporting characters. Among them, the cook, old Dick Hallorann, is easily my favorite. You'll warm your heart to him when he reveals to the boy that he is a psychic, just like him. It was such a great surprise, the more so when it turns out to be legit. His journey from Florida to the hotel, in an attempt to save the boy at the very last moment, was seriously hilarious.
Among the Stephen King novels I've read, The Shining may very well be my new favorite.
I'm not sure if it's because of the somewhat clumsy German translation or because of the story itself, but I struggled to love it as much as I wanted I'm not sure if it's because of the somewhat clumsy German translation or because of the story itself, but I struggled to love it as much as I wanted to. Don't get me wrong, it certainly is very entertaining. However, I cannot say that reading the book excited me much.
The story is about the upcoming final battle between Heaven and Hell, which is expected to come about now that the son of Satan, the so-called Antichrist, is born. However, there are forces involved which make it less certain that the end of the world really is imminent. First of all, there are angel Aziraphale and demon Crowley, who have for all intents and purposes been friends for centuries, really took a liking in their life on Earth and would rather prefer if their time there didn't yet have to end. In fact, there is a prophecy book which foretells exactly how things will turn out - if only we were able to interpret its auguries. So, in addition to the cosmic forces, there are also numerous human characters lead by this book and/or other metaphysical or earthly ideologies. Finally, the world below is summoning personifications of human scourges, which are to appear as the Four Horsemen when the Apocalypse comes. If Heaven and Hell have been somewhat quiet lately, they are really cranking it up for these final hours!
What surprised me the most is that I actually thought that this was funny. Not in the sense of having gags that will make you laugh out loud, but rather by its thick description of a truly absurd world. Pratchett and Gaiman take all the religious shenanigans to liven up what for most people in this secular age is a boringly profane world. With every single paragraph, the authors inexhaustibly work away on one aspect of the creed after another, to create a truly fascinating, if incredibly ridiculous, world of fantasy. This will make you smirk like an idiot for the entire ride.
I have to admit that I would have preferred a more conventional plot structure. From the start it is obvious that the story will culminate in the End of the World (or the prevention thereof). Things just seem to happen to the protagonists, without them having much of a say in anything. I get it, everything has been foretold, so that the different subplots move forward as if on rails. Actually, I liked the feeling of confusion that some scenes invoke in the reader, making you gradually figure out how the pieces fit together (while ultimately the Great Plan really is ineffable, as a character in the book is impishly pointing out). However, philosophically this doesn't actually preclude the characters from having their own agendas and motivations - and having this would have made it a more interesting read for me.
Now I really wonder: Is there more purpose to the Discworld novels?