The Truth by Terry Pratchett (25th Discworld novel)
01/09/2002 . Source: Jane Palmer 

Pub: Corgi Books. 444 page paperback. Price £ 5.99 (UK) ISBN 0 552 14768 0 .

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No doubt Discworld fans will have already read ‘The Truth’, which came out in hardcover 2000.

This review is for anyone who has not been tempted to paddle in the kaleidoscopic pool of Terry Pratchett's bizarre invention. I have encountered some of that number who claim to dislike fantasy but Terry Pratchett's novels are much more than dragons, dungeons and bloodthirsty warlords.

There are also trolls, dwarfs, vampires, golems, talking dogs, pigeon eating gargoyles, DEATH, werewolves, zombies, witches, wizards, luggage - with legs and some seriously heroic and maladjusted humans.  

No writer could get away with this rarefied mix without being an accomplished satirist. Terry Pratchett has moved more and more from the belly laugh at the fantastic to a parody of the human situation. It is difficult to tell when this evolution began. There has always been acute analogy amongst the catalogue of jokes. Now it is set in a recognisable universe that more sharply equates with human history.  

The humour in ‘The Truth’ is triggered by the contentious issue of the modern tabloid and how news can be easily manufactured to blur, sometimes erase, the boundary between truth and puerile invention.

A lot can be said through a zombie lawyer and reformed vampire without losing credibility. If Buffy was let loose amongst these characters she would soon need counselling.   Otto, the vampire photographer, is one of those brilliant ideas that seed the author's work.

Whenever the reformed vampire triggers his camera's flash he is reduced to a pile of ashes which have to be reconstituted by a drop of blood. The photograph in Discworld is actually created by a frantically painting imp inside the camera. (This for those who have not read the novels, of course.) There isn't enough space here to describe how the equivalent of a cassette recorder works.  

The eponymous Truth revolves around who framed Lord Vetinari, the Machiavellian patrician of Ank Morpork and newspaper editor William de Worde's efforts to root out what actually happened.   Two comic and Pulp Fiction, without the wit, hit men engage in thuggish ploys to stop ‘The Truth’ getting out.

This includes tossing two sacks containing small dogs into the River Ank. Fortunately the water is so polluted they are rescued before they can sink   There is an uncluttered neatness to the novel. Instead of including a kitchen sink of Discworld peculiarities, the author has created a virtually linear tale that is a joy to follow, even when alluding to the despicable Mr. Tulip and Mr. Pin. Knowing that in Terry Pratchett's multiverse they will get their just desserts does help.  

He can make a valid point about the absurdity of human foibles without the stultifying moralising that alienates. In fact, the way arguments are reasoned out is mostly pure entertainment and when something valid is being said it is not platformed as though common sense was a new discovery.   After 26 Discworld novels the formula still works.

Nevertheless, given the author's huge capacity for wit and invention, it is difficult not to wonder what he could achieve in a dimension other than Discworld. He is obviously capable of much more.

Even in the confines of his invented world supported by a great turtle swimming through space, his writing can be profound enough to match literary categories with more pretension. Because there is a levity to his style, it does not make it any less valid.   It may be sacrilegious to why ask whether, while Terry Pratchett's following is so huge, a change of scene might trigger another classic to equal ‘The Light Fantastic’.

But then, the loss of Douglas Adams' satirical acuity has left expectations that few other authors could match.   Unlike ‘Cold Comfort Farm’, where Stella Gibbons could not achieve the genius of her novel again, Terry Pratchett has proved that he can hit the humorous nail on the head time and time again, albeit with varying degrees of accuracy.

So much so, it is now not only expected but also an imperative.   Casting out on the ocean that spills over the edge of Discworld might seem suicidal.

With Terry Pratchett's capacity for invention, however, he could easily row out into a dimension of new possibilities before predictability insinuates its way, Vetinari like, into the Discworld pantheon.

Jane Palmer