I was raised by Sir Terry Pratchett.
Not in the literal way of ever having met him. Just in the way that I have read him for so long, his perspective on life has shaped my own.
Somebody leant me The Colour of Magic when I was eleven years old. It was silly and funny and I fell in love with the innocence of Twoflower and the way that his passion and interest seemed to shape the world around him. Look around, the book seemed to say, there is beauty everywhere.
Twenty-three years later, I am still in love with Pratchett’s Discworld and his deeply funny, deeply felt stories of the wonder and power of being human, whatever shape you come in.
At World Fantasy Con, Pratchett and his assistant Rob are talking about his new book, Raising Steam. Pratchett’s PCA seems to be progressing cruelly. His vision is impaired—his hands bang into the microphone repeatedly, eliciting a grimace each time. Frustration? Embarrassment? Even from my second row position it’s difficult to tell. Rob reads a section of the book for us which seems as funny and vital as ever. There are more details of the book and his struggles in this recent Telegraph interview.
Rob does all the heavy lifting of the appearance. He dangles morsels of information about upcoming TV and film projects, but the third member of the panel (Mike?) won’t allow him to give away much. Rob shares anecdotes about the writing and media development processes, pausing frequently to leave Pratchett space to contribute. Sometimes he does. Often, he doesn’t respond, or seems about to speak but decides against it. When he does land upon a small anecdote to tell, a thousand people in the audience hold their breath. We hang on his words like they are a rope dropped into the dark well of our lives, guiding the way up and out.
The joy of reading Pratchett, is that he knows the world is a slick smiling conman built from the lies we tell ourselves and each other, that pile up into a lie so heavy that no-one can move it alone. He knows we all struggle to see, let alone change our own realities. Pratchett twitches back the curtain and shows us how ridiculous it is—shows us the greasy machinery of prejudice and ignorance behind the scenes and inside our own minds. We don’t feel stupid for believing the lies. We’re all in it together, he says.
But we are left thinking that we’ll spot it next time. Next time someone tries to trick you with your own fear, with ignorance or vanity or shame, you’ll see it for the silliness it really is. You won’t feel angry or afraid or any other emotion that provides fertile soil for lies to grow. You’ll remember his stories and you’ll laugh. The lies will shrivel. Leaving space for a breath, for a lifetime.
That is his gift to us: a brief respite. A moment’s freedom for us to figure out what we want our own truths to be.