There was a time when the only attraction of going to the library was to borrow a new Discworld book. (School texts and other ‘necessary’ books were only the veneer.) This could be an entirely Discworld meme instead and I would’ve had no difficulty in filling it up at all.
What can I write about this series? I’ve often started and then backed away from trying to analyze it; I’ve tried to write fanfic and been hit by serious inferiority complex; and anyway, more or less all the intelligent people I know have read most of the books. I’m tempted to fill this post with pictures, since I love Paul Kidby‘s illustrations almost as much as I love the books themselves. (But if I begin with pictures, this post will never end.) Never have I suffered from a worse ‘literary anxiety’ than Pratchett’s Alzheimer’s. Never have I so constantly prayed that anyone should write one more book before he gives up for good. (The ‘one more book’ wish keeps being extended, of course. The next book — called Snuff — is to be published in October and I can hardly keep myself calm! A Vimes story! The cover is already out!) The day there will be no more Discworld to look forward to will be the day I’ll be truly, completely sad. Like all great anticipated tragedies, I try not to think about it or believe it will actually come.