Small Gods is Terry Pratchett’s finest work, and not because it’s the funniest. Well, it may be the funniest if you’re a down-to-earth monk or a lethal atheist who enjoys mocking the religious sector. But aside from that, this book makes you think, which is a tall order for any book based on magic or comedy. There’s a genius in the way this story unfolds, which might have a little to do with the fact that there are four geniuses at the core of the plot. A monk with a photographic memory, “Brutha” (mind you, this name sounds a lot like Buddha), is befriended by a very convincing villain- head of the Omnian Inquisition Vorbis, to confront a barbarous foreign nation: the philosophical, pagan paramount of Ephebe. But along the way Brutha hears a voice in his head, which doesn’t mean he’s crazy... this is Discworld after all... it means that an ironic surprise awaits the fate of the Omnian Empire. Along the way we meet Didactylos, a blind philosopher who is crazy by all means, but insanity often accompanies genius, so the intrigue is mutual. There’s also his rigid sidekick Urn, a naive inventor who probably belongs in the Aristotelian denomination of philosophy. Could a book like this possibly be written without Death? No; he makes his usual cameo.
The reason I consider this as a work of genius is because the cosmogony of science, religion, and philosophy are meshed together perfectly, while at the same time being confounded by the fact that every certainty is a ridiculous waste of certainty... er, yeah. Terry proves that an outrageous wit isn’t the only thing you need to write books that people will buy over and over again; he also has a unique way of illustrating deep insight among the creative plot shifts of his bizarre world. I’m still hooked. Going to read Discworld books until I fall off its edge.
No comments:
Post a Comment