Tiffany Aching strikes again!

"You know, sometimes it helps to talk about these things.”

More silence from Tiffany.

“Actually, that’s not true,” Miss Level added. “But as a witch I am incredibly inquisitive and would love to know more.”

The Nac Mac Feegles strike again!

"[y]ou shouldn't try to remove a stubborn stain from a plate by repeatedly hitting it with your head.

I'm not 100% sure I agree with that -- I've certainly got nothing that works on stubborn stains -- but I'm open-minded enough to tolerate other perspectives.

Granny Weatherwax, the Dude of the Discworld, abides.

It was interesting to see how the crowd parted, all unaware, to let her through, like the sea in front of a particularly good prophet.

And Sir Terry Prachett strikes again as well. How do I feel when I read about Tiffany Aching, figuring out her place in the world and how to be what she can be in it? How do I feel when when I read about Granny Weatherwax, relentlessly doing her best? How do I feel when I see that the Nac Mac Feegle do household chores like a bar fight?

I feel joy.

Joy is to fun what the deep sea is to a puddle. It’s a feeling inside that can hardly be contained.

A famous Wodehouse quote describes a character "rolling the words around his tongue like vintage port." Sir Terry's words are more like a premium whiskey. Probably so posh that you have to drop the e -- whisky -- and I guess in honor of the obviously-Glaswegian Nac Mac Feegle we should go with a fine Scotch whisky. Best sipped, on the rocks, so that the cold numbs your tongue and you can spend your time fighting a pointless holy war about rocks/actual rocks/water/neat. Sure, you get the same sweet taste in your reading tastebuds, but it's a gentle aftertaste, following the weird bitter and sour and sharp alcohol taste at the top. It's certainly not the up-front almost-corn-syrup sweetness of port.

I suppose at some point I should give a brief overview. of the plot, and comment thereupon. Tiffany Aching, age 11, formerly Kelda of the Nac Mac Feegle, star of [b:The Wee Free Men|7881001|The Wee Free Men The Beginning (Discworld, #30 & #32)|Terry Pratchett|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1388181365s/7881001.jpg|22017239], burgeoning witch who once read the entire dictionary because nobody told her you weren't supposed to, goes off to learn the craft of witching from a practicing witch in a nearby village.

[Said village is smaller than a town they encounter in their travels called "Twoshirts." Tiffany is told by the shopkeeper -- for there is one shop in Twoshirts -- "that Twoshirts was very popular later in the year, when people came from up to a mile around for the Cabbage Macerating Festival." The place she winds up makes Twoshirts look like Versailles.]

A series of unfortunate events befalls her. There's a sort of fantasy-novel Mean Girls thing going on nearby, there are the upcoming witch trials (which is more like a county fair than the delightful things that we use mostly as metaphor these days), and there's some sort of relentless force that's attracted by her power and coming after her. Granny Weatherwax and the Nac Mac Feegle nudge her into position to repel the antagonist, and she does indeed repel it.

It's not much of a plot, but I'm not here for the plot. I'm here for Sir Terry's characters; he writes incredibly sympathetic characters. It's like what Game of Thrones would be if everybody was a cross between Daenerys and Arya and Hot Pie. I'm here for Sir Terry's jokes; I occasionally write to the Conférence générale des poids et mesures and advocate for use of the Pratchett as the unit of measure for humor. And I'm here for Sir Terry's wry side observations, literary leitmotifs for little bursts of positive emotion. Like so:

Tiffany’s father didn’t cry but gave her a silver dollar and rather gruffly told her to be sure to write home every week, which is a man’s way of crying.

So, Hat Full of Sky, here's a dollar. Write home every week.