A couple weeks ago, my gorgeous lady bought me The Shepherd’s Crown for my birthday. I had been waiting with a rabid anticipation (as I always have for a new Discworld novel) but when I actually had it in hand a strange thing happened. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to read it.
The abstract on the back of the jacket ends with a devastating line: “The Last Discworld Novel”. Thats it. The last one. Fin.
This, the 41st Discworld novel, rushed up the best seller lists, taking just three days to sell over 52 000 copies in the UK alone, and Terry Pratchett’s daughter (Rhianna Pratchett) and his assistant (Rob Wilkins) have confirmed that neither of them will be writing any more Discworld books.
The series has been a running theme in my life for so long that I can’t really envision a world where it doesn’t continue. It occurred to me that if I don’t read The Shepherd’s Crown, there will always be a new Discworld novel waiting for me.
That’s obviously insane and I am, of course, going to read it. Still: if ever there was a time to build the anticipation, the last Discworld novel must be it. To that end I’m going to re-read the other Tiffany books before I sit down with The Shepherd’s Crown.
If you’re a fan of Pratchett I wonder if you thought of this at all and if you’re not, then I envy you the discovery of the Discworld.
“Fantasy is an exercise bicycle for the mind. It might not take you anywhere, but it tones up the muscles that can. Of course, I could be wrong.” -Terry Pratchett