It is with great emotion and sadness that I learned last Thursday’s the disappearance of Terry Pratchett, an author whose novels I loved. I finished a few weeks ago his latest, “Derailed”, and I could not wait to read the next one, which unfortunately will not exist.
I discovered the novels in the late 1990s and the months of May and November were those when I watched for the publications of the French translations of his novels. I remember numerous times to have chosen the longest line at the checkout of the library, in order to begin to devour the last published novel. It was a kind of pilgrimage. I found myself giggling every time, laughing alone, nose in my book.
I always regret not being able to personally say “thank you” to Sir Terry Pratchett, for laughs, for reflections, because behind his burlesque, there was always a critical look at our world. We can combine a multiverse, wizards, gods playing dice with the fates of humans, trolls, goblins, witches and fantastic creatures with reflection on the failings of our society, its exuberance, its excesses, but also a form of hope.
I would have wanted Terry Pratchett to do like his character Granny Weatherwax, holding his little sign “I am not dead!”
I have a heavy heart, but I know above all he left us beautiful and intelligent readings to give us a smile.
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