Readers surprised by my post “Books do furnish a (hospital) room” where I list Shakespeare, Dickens, Conan Doyle, Wodehouse and Pratchett, as authors to take with me for an extended hospital stay, are obviously unfamiliar with Terry Pratchett.
Pratchett is an author who can write thoughts like this – “No one is finally dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away, until the clock he wound up winds down, until the wine she made has finished its ferment, until the crop they planted is harvested. The span of someone’s life, they say, is only the core of their actual existence.”
He is an author of books in which almost every sentence jumps up, hits you on the head, and demands to be read a second time, and a third, and …….
He belongs in the company of the other four authors, and me, and you.