Diary of an Autodidact: Witches Abroad by Terry Pratchett

Source of Book: Audiobook from the library

Another long summer camping trip, another stack of audiobooks to make the miles go by faster.

And also, another Pratchett book, because we love those.

Witches Abroad is the third book in the Witches series of Discworld books, and the twelfth in order of publication. While all discworld books can stand alone, it is best to read some of the series in order - and the Witches is one of them. So, start with Equal Rites for an introduction to Granny Weatherwax, then read Wyrd Sisters to meet Magrat and Nanny Ogg and enjoy some Shakespeare spoofs.

And then, this book, for a look at the world of fairy tales.

Everyone’s favorite Triple Goddess trio is back: The Crone (Granny Weatherwax), The Mother (Nanny Ogg), and The Virgin (Magrat Garlick). It all starts when Desiderata Hollow dies. Not only was she a witch, she was moonlighting as a Fairy Godmother and looking after Emberella, the once and future princess of Genua. Before she dies, she bequeaths her wand and duties to Magrat, with strict instructions that Weatherwax and Ogg not come along on the journey. (Knowing full well that by forbidding them, she will guarantee that all three in fact do go on the quest.)

Unfortunately, Magrat receives little to nothing in the way of instructions. The most she ever figures out how regarding the want is how to turn things into pumpkins. And as far as how to actually do fairy godmother things? Forget about it.

Genua turns out to be something like New Orleans and Disneyland. And someone is using magic to control things, insisting that the citizens of Genua be exactly like stories. So, an innkeeper is imprisoned when he isn’t able to be red-faced and fat, a toymaker is banished for failing to tell children stories, and so on.

And, a frog has been made to look like a prince so he can marry Emberella, who is (of course) the lost daughter of the murdered former ruler of Genua.

Who might be doing this, and how? Well, it turns out that it is Granny Weatherwax’s sister, Lily, now calling herself Lilith, and using the power of mirrors to work her fateful magic.

Trying to stop Lilith is Mrs. Gogol, a voodoo practitioner, and the zombie of the former king of Genua.

But before the witches can fix things, they have to get to Genua, on the edge of the Discworld - and public transportation is slow and sketchy. Hence, a very long journey on brooms, and a lot of misadventures on the way. Although Nanny Ogg’s ill-tempered cat Greebo does an inadvertent good deed by eating a vampire. As the book puts it:

Vampires have risen from the dead, the grave and the crypt, but have never managed it from the cat.

How will the witches set things to rights again? Can they overcome the power of stories and write a new ending - one where Emberella doesn’t have to kiss the frog and marry the prince? At least we know that any story in Pratchett’s hands will be hilarious while illuminating serious ideas.

And, of course, so many great lines! Let’s start with this one, from the preamble - Pratchett’s philosophical musings appear in the opening parts of his books so often.

…it used to be so simple, once upon a time.

Because the universe was full of ignorance all around and the scientist panned through it like a prospector crouched over a mountain stream, looking for the gold of knowledge among the gravel of unreason, the sand of uncertainty and the little whiskery eight-legged swimming things of superstition.

Occasionally he would straighten up and say things like ‘Hurrah, I’ve discovered Boyle’s Third Law.’ And everyone knew where they stood. But the trouble was that ignorance became more interesting, especially big fascinating ignorance about huge and important things like matter and creation, and people stopped patiently building their little houses of rational sticks in the chaos of the universe and started getting interested in the chaos itself – partly because it was a lot easier to be an expert on chaos, but mostly because it made really good patterns that you could put on a t-shirt.

Oh man, so many experts on chaos these days…

And, the central premise of the book:

This is called the theory of narrative causality and it means that a story, once started, takes a shape. It picks up all the vibrations of all the other workings of that story that have ever been. This is why history keeps on repeating all the time.

This is what Granny calls “headology”: the way that human minds work in predictable ways, and most of what is called “magic” is thus mostly psychology. The power of the story is in the way that it shapes events. Those of us who aspire to follow Christ have noticed that he didn’t preach per se, but told stories. His narratives cut across the grain of the stories that humans like to tell themselves, and thus have managed, in a number of ways we often don’t appreciate, changed the world.

This one is also pretty good:

Most witches don’t believe in gods. They know that the gods exist, of course. They even deal with them occasionally. But they don’t believe in them. They know them too well. It would be like believing in the postman.

And another astute observation:

It’s a strange thing about determined seekers-after-wisdom that, no matter where they happen to be, they’ll always seek that wisdom which is a long way off. Wisdom is one of the few things that look bigger the further away it is.

Mrs. Gogol is also a cook, and reads the gumbo the way others do tea leaves. Pratchett gets this right too:

Genuan cooking, like the best cooking everywhere in the multiverse, has been evolved by people who had to make desperate use of ingredients their masters didn’t want. No-one would even try a bird’s nest unless they had to. Only hunger would make a man taste his first alligator. No-one would eat a shark’s fin if they were allowed to eat the rest of the shark.

This one made me laugh, even as it illustrates an unfortunate way that older people look down on the young:

‘Look,’ said Magrat desperately, ‘why don’t I go by myself?’

‘‘Cos you ain’t experienced at fairy godmothering,’ said Granny Weatherwax.

This was too much even for Magrat’s generous soul.

‘Well, nor are you,’ she said.

‘That’s true,’ Granny conceded. ‘But the point is…the point is…the point is we’ve not been experienced for a lot longer than you.’

There is also a running gag in the book about Nanny Ogg’s songs. She is shamelessly bawdy - she had a number of children by different men in her youth, and is probably down to…you name it, even in her old age. Granny, on the other hand, prefers to pretend sex doesn’t exist.

‘I know all about folk songs. Hah! You think you’re listenin’ to a nice song about…about cuckoos and fiddlers and nightingales and whatnot, and then it turns out to be about…about something else entirely,’ she added darkly. ‘You can’t trust folk songs. They always sneak up on you.’

So, naturally, Nanny starts in on songs that get interrupted before they get too explicit, but the double entendres are definitely there.

There are also a lot of jokes about British tourists in foreign lands. The “Ugly American” as we North Americans would say. Nanny’s command of foreign languages is limited to a few words (mostly malaprops) in a smattering of tongues, employed with great confidence and little result. But Granny is even worse.

‘And I don’t hold with all this giving things funny names so people don’t know what they’re eating,’ said Granny, determined to explore the drawbacks of international cookery to the full. ‘I like stuff that tells you plain what it is, like ... well ... Bubble and Squeak, or ... or...’

‘Spotted Dick,’ said Nanny absently.

But, Granny never lacks confidence.

Magrat might always be trying to find herself, but Granny didn’t even understand the idea of the search.

Or common sense:

It had taken many years under the tutelage of Granny Weatherwax for Magrat to learn that the common kitchen breadknife was better than the most ornate of magical knives. It could do all that the magical knife could do, plus you could also use it to cut bread.

I also liked the character of Casanunda.

‘My name’s Casanunda,’ he said. ‘I’m reputed to be the world’s greatest lover. What do you think?’

Nanny Ogg looked him up and down or, at least, down and further down.

‘You’re a dwarf,’ she said.

‘Size isn’t important.’

Later, he admits that he hasn’t been completely honest. In fact, he isn’t the world’s greatest lover:-

‘I’m a world-famous liar.’

‘Is that true?’

‘No.’

‘What about you being the world’s greatest lover?’

There was silence for a while.

‘Well maybe I’m only No. 2,’ said Casanunda. ‘But I try harder.’

I’ll end with what I believe is the philosophical heart of the book. It is an idea that ties in well with why those who would force others to their will…for their own good of course…are not only destined to fail in the end, but are also the definition of what evil means in our world.

‘You can’t go around building a better world for people. Only people can build a better world. Otherwise it’s just a cage.’

This is the thing. You can create conditions in which people can thrive. But you can’t force them to be how you envision, to make them about the story you want to tell. This is ultimately the problem with the Taliban and today’s Religious Right. Sure, the leaders are mostly straight-up evil and crave power and wealth - and many just love to hurt others like any bully. (See: Trump)

But the rank and file often have good motives - they really think everyone would be happier if they conformed. Just like my mother likely believes my wife would be happier if she quit her job, and many evangelicals think LGBTQ people would be happier if they lived like heterosexuals. And Lillith is sure that everyone would be happier if they fit their roles in the story.

In real life, though, there was nothing wrong with the toymaker who didn’t tell stories, or the innkeeper who remained skinny. And there was nothing wrong with my wife who thrives in her career and is a better parent because she has an outlet. And LGBTQ people - so many friends and family included - are happier when they live their authentic selves.

You can’t make other people fit your story. You can only try to lock them in a cage.

As always, Witches Abroad was a fun read, and Pratchett’s natural optimism and empathetic humanism is a breath of fresh air, and a reminder that there still are a lot of good people in the world, even if the bad guys seem to have all the advantages in our time. And also, a reminder that there are new stories, with different endings, open to us.

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The Terry Pratchett list:

Rincewind:

The Colour of Magic

The Light Fantastic

Tiffany Aching: