I have been sick. So, so sick. Now I have a pile of books to write up, but they're mostly pretty light stuff because you can't read anything heavy when you're miserable. Anyway I'm grateful to have had Terry Pratchett's new book, because it got me through the worst bit.

Snuff, by Terry Pratchett

It is completely amazing to me that Terry Pratchett has written 39 Discworld novels, and they're still good. I cannot think of another fantasy author--or any author at all--that has done that (if you can, let me know). Piers Anthony has written 35 Xanth novels so far; they started off so-so and have been utterly abysmal for years. Whereas with Discworld, the first couple aren't so great, but they got better and better for a long time, and are still really enjoyable. Maybe it's because Pterry changed so much over time and kept doing things differently; if he'd stuck with the same light parody he started with, it would never have worked so well.

Snuff is another Sam Vimes book, and we can always use one of those. His wife, Lady Sybil, has finally succeeding in dragging him off on a vacation to the countryside, and he's not at all sure what to do. But crime is everywhere!

I liked it (especially the very complicated chickens) and it's a worthy addition to the Discworld list.


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