Academy of Unchronology

When I wrote about Men At Arms I mentioned that Feet Of Clay had a far stronger sense of righteous anger about it, and while that's certainly true, I had forgotten the compassion that Pratchett also writes into it.

It also is exhibit A in why reading Discworld books as disconnected thematic 'series' is a bad thing. This is a must-read before any of the Moist Von Lipwig books, establishing the golems and how they operate, as well as the first proper examination of dwarfish attitudes towards sex and gender.

Feet Of Clay is kind of a masterclass in the deft use of allegory (though it can be argued that a lot of it wasn't intentional at the point of writing). Cheery/Cheri isn't exactly a 1:1 mirror of the trans experience, and the golems aren't 1:1 matches for slave labour, but in both cases there's so many elements on show that it's hardly surprising that many people have found the stories of Cheri and Dorfl speak to their own personal experiences in some way.

It is, at its core, a story about personhood. For Dorfl (and by later extension all golemkind) the question of just how alive he really is doesn't get a definitive answer by the end of the book, although the story is clearly leaning in the direction of 'yes'. It's very interesting that the way this notably deviates from the real-world struggles for human rights is in the value placed on a golem's existence; Dorfl knows his value, and the value of other golems - it's the price they were bought for, and the price he intends to pay to buy them their freedom. Contrast that with experiences of enslaved peoples throughout history, where putting a monetary value on a person's life or declaring they equate to ⅗ of human being is today considered utterly dehumanising and a violation of their personhood, it makes the point stronger by way of contrast, rather than simply making the plight of golems a cipher for slavery.

Or perhaps it doesn't. Perhaps it takes too light a touch on such a heavy issue, perhaps I'm letting Pratchett off too easily for a denouement where golems see the way out of ownership is to simply save up and purchase themselves (though historically this has been one of the most common methods for leaving relatively). I can't say on any personal authority, as I have no lived experience to compare it to.

The same goes for Corporal Littlebottom, who of course quickly became a character many trans readers identified with. Again, I can't speak to a lived experience here. But as with Dorfl, this isn't a direct allegory for trans experiences - indeed, the joke (or at least the twist) is that she isn't trans, but is coming out as being her birth gender, a huge taboo (especially for women) in dwarven cultures. But the journey of self-expression and identity is recognisably similar.

I think Pratchett was, at least at time of writing, not fully aware of how important this would turn out to be for LGBTQ readers, as a lot of her scenes are pushed as humour first and foremost, but I understand he grew to appreciate the feedback from such readers, and this helped inform later works.

The other part I find fascinating here is that a third faction is introduced to the political landscape of Ankh-Morpork - the nobility. In Men At Arms the guild hegemony was built up, in order for it to begin its long, slow decline at the expense of a civil service branch (exemplified first by the Watch and later by Moist Von Lipwig). But the nobility are a group whose decline has already taken place, and yet still have power and influence in the city (though, it should be noted, not very much. The idea to promote Nobby as a puppet ruler is so badly thought out that it actually shows their utter incompetence as conspirators).

In any case, the book is largely a triumph, though it does have a few flabby areas which could have done with trimming down. Angua's subplot doesn't really go anywhere or have much to do with any other aspect of the story. I don't much like that the Patrician works out the plot against him before Vimes does - in Men At Arms he was actually vulnerable, but making him seem omniscient reduces the stakes too much.

Later, much later, when Pratchett was in the thick of writing the Tiffany Aching series, he reportedly said that he had to invent the country of The Chalk to keep the events well away from Lancre, as otherwise it would swiftly morph into a Granny Weatherwax-led story.

I can't help wonder if Maskerade wasn't somewhere in the back of his mind at the time.

If you take the events of the book, the plot in its purest form, it doesn't look like a Witches book. Practically anyone could have been the protagonist - a Watch book with Andre at the centre, or Agnes solving the murders without needing prodding from others, or even Walter himself. Granny and Nanny are the first to admit that the events at the Opera House aren't anything to do with them

It also stands out among other Witches books by having extremely low stakes in comparison. Indeed, the stakes are some of the lowest in the entirety of Discworld, with perhaps only The Amazing Maurice And His Educated Rodents and Going Postal as competition. Considering the witches are usually battling for the safety of a kingdom or the whole world, the prospect of a destroyed theatre is a holiday by comparison.

Where the book shines is in setting itself so intimately within the Opera House itself, with finely detailed descriptions of the geography of the building and its warrens of passages, cellars, studios, offices and accommodation all together. This is what elevates it from being just a parody of The Phantom Of The Opera, which is obviously where it started life. But it's clear that Pratchett springboarded from this into researching the life backstage in theatres and opera houses, and ended up rendering it with such life that you just end up enjoying hanging around there.

It also features possibly my favourite Granny Weatherwax scene in any book, where she plays cards with Death over the life of a sick child. It's so separate from the story proper that I suspect it was written independently as a sketch or short story, and integrated into the novel because it was so extremely powerful.

Frontispiece from De Chelonian Mobile (Morporkian).

Extract from The Historie of the Guilds and Citye of Ankh-Morpork vol. VIII.

Er, the best Rincewind book, right?

Well, that's a complicated arena at any rate. But if The Colour Of Magic and The Light Fantastic are more prototypical, you've got Sourcery (retreading old ground), Eric (a bit of a mess) and The Last Continent (lacking in plot), this one kinda wins by default.

The story gives Rincewind more room to shine. The problem with writing a character as a coward and a cynic is that the natural reaction to a call to adventure is to run the other way, and most of Rincewind's stories have had to work very hard to keep him from just doing this. Interesting Times leans right into this. We see him at his happiest (idle, safe, bored), and when he's thrown out of this situation we see him do his level best to get back to it. On multiple occasions he literally tries to escape his adventure, and yet Pratchett deftly threads the needle of letting the character involved without it seeming out of character.

The chief of these methods is that Rincewind does have some strong personal motivation for once, beyond that of 'try to not die'. A powerful theme running throughout is that of his identity as a wizard, something that has been core to his character from the start, despite lack of ability. All the way through Interesting Times Rincewind is up against threats to that identity, from the University faculty, through Pretty Butterfly, Lord Hong and his own hat, all challenging his right to be both the 'Great Wizzard' and a wizard at all. By the end, Rincewind has managed to earn his identity as a wizard in a quintessentially Rincewind way - not through magic or bravery, but arguably still acting like a wizard.

It can't be avoided that this is also a pretty heavy satire about real world cultures by a white man who isn't a party of said cultures. This is pretty awkward, as some of the jokes do occasionally have the potential to be unkind (what exactly did Pratchett have against sumo?). But weirdly enough, I think this is actually less of a problem today than it was when the book was written.

In the early 90s China (which provides the largest amount of inspiration for the Agatean Empire) was still just emerging onto the world stage. A heavy criticism for the culture being endemically repressive all the way to the root, told by a European author, might have been seen as punching down somewhat. But today China is a global superpower, and quite frankly is able to take a few lumps here and there.

I often imagine Discworld books existing on a pair of scales, weighted either towards parody and satire. Interesting Times is practically entirely satire, which makes it easy to remark on the difference between it and the earliest books, which were entirely parody. But while Pratchett's style, and indeed his purpose, might have changed it's remarkable just how well this book links the old and the new. It's the same Rincewind, the same Twoflower as before, but the richer world gives them more room to be themselves.

I like it, is what I mean.